For months, I believed I had reached the end of my journey as a martial artist.
After more than 40 years of training and teaching Traditional Tang Soo Do, I faced the harsh reality of recovering from bilateral staged total knee replacements. Despite rehab, stretching, strength work, and persistence, progress feels painfully slow. The stiffness lingers. Some days, pain returns like an old adversary. Eventually, I made a difficult decision—one that I had wrestled with for some time.
I decided to quit.
Not because I wanted to. But because I believed my body was telling me it was time. I stepped away from my training. I mourned the loss quietly but deeply, believing I had closed the final chapter of a lifelong discipline that shaped every part of who I am.
Then came my recent follow-up with my orthopedic surgeon. I had questions because after almost two years, I still have issues and no longer know what is “normal”.
I expected the usual: a review of my progress, perhaps a few suggestions for better mobility, a prescription. Instead, what I received was something far more powerful.
He looked at my X-rays, nodded, and said plainly, “Everything looks perfectly aligned. You’re doing better than you think. Keep doing what you’re doing—and push yourself. Your knees will continue to improve over the next year.”
That moment hit me hard. On the drive home, I realized that I am holding myself back.
Because the truth is—this journey isn’t just physical. It’s very mental, too. The fear is real. Fear of damaging the implants. Fear of damaging the soft tissue around them. Fear that pushing too hard might set me back. But the opposite fear is just as real—wondering if you’re holding back too much. Not knowing if what you’re feeling is normal and needs to be worked through… or if it’s a signal to stop.
This uncertainty can paralyze even the most experienced martial artist, and up until now, I took it as a signal to stop.
But now I understand: rebuilding requires courage not just in the muscles and joints, but in the mind. And that courage only grows by continuing to move forward, mindfully, but with resolve.
I want to pause here to acknowledge something important.
To those following my journey— students, fellow martial artists, and friends—I want to offer a sincere apology for flip-flopping over the past couple of years. One day, I was training. Next, I thought I was done. Back and forth, uncertain. The truth is, I’ve been navigating new territory, wrapping my mind around learning how to live in a body that no longer moves the way it used to—but still can move.
And I’m learning to trust that.
So, I will continue training. Not as the martial artist I was, but as the one I am today. Moving forward, my focus will be on the basics, hyung (forms), and a deeper study of Karate itself. I may not be demonstrating jump kicks or sparring, but I’ll be immersing myself in the basics, hyung/kata, adapting and evolving, and studying the roots of Tang Soo Do —its history, structure, movement, and purpose.
Martial arts are not something I simply do—it’s part of who I am. And while my journey may look different now, I realize it’s far from over.
The truth is, our path as martial artists isn’t defined by perfect technique or endless physical capability. It’s defined by spirit. And my spirit is very much alive.
I’m training again. Thoughtfully. Intentionally. With a deeper respect for my limitations—and a renewed hunger to keep pushing.
This isn’t the end. It’s the next evolution.