Indomitable Spirit Is Built, Not Discovered

I want to share a personal story of a lesson I learned one mile at a time.

There was a time when I truly hated running.

Not disliked it. Hated it.

To me, running felt like punishment. It was exhausting, uncomfortable, and offered none of the immediate feedback I enjoyed from martial arts training. Yet during my preparation for my 3rd Dan Kukkiwon Black Belt test, I knew something was missing. I wanted to test my endurance in a way that went beyond the dojang, something that would challenge not just my body, but my willingness to stay committed when nothing felt familiar or enjoyable.

That was the year I decided to run my first race.

Not a short race.

Not a “starter” race.

I chose the Chicago Marathon.

Going from running zero miles to 26.2 was not logical. It was not comfortable. But it was honest. I wanted to see who I was when things felt impossible.

The First Step Is Rarely Impressive

I still remember my first day of training. I had brand new shoes. New shorts. A tank top. Everything looked right. I stretched at home feeling confident, almost invincible. I walked outside with the mindset of someone ready to conquer a challenge.

I made it to the end of the block.

I was out of breath. I hated every second of it. I turned around and went home.

Day one did not go well.

In that moment, quitting would have been easy. Justified, even. But martial arts teaches us something important about tests. The only test that truly matters is the next one. So I tried again. And then again.

One mile became two.

Two became three.

Slowly, without ceremony, consistency began to take hold.

When the Mindset Changes

As the miles added up, my days became full.

I would run in the morning. Go to work. Come home and run again. Then I would train Taekwondo. Five miles. Then ten. Long runs on the weekends. Training for a marathon while preparing for a major black belt test was not efficient. It was demanding.

But something unexpected happened.

My relationship with running changed.

I began to understand the “runner’s high” I once thought was a myth. Not because I suddenly loved running, but because I had finally stayed with it long enough to listen. Even my music changed. The aggressive playlists of hard rock, heavy metal, and rap that fueled my sparring and weight training only exhausted me on long runs. I switched to ambient sounds, slower rhythms, and found myself syncing my breath with movement.

I noticed things I had never noticed before.

Birds moving through the air.

Water flowing alongside the paths.

The quiet rhythm of effort and breath working together.

Running stopped feeling like a fight. It became a practice.

When the Body Pushes Back

Just as things began to settle, pain arrived.

My right knee started to hurt. I tried resting from Taekwondo. Still pain. I stopped running. Still pain. I took time off entirely. Still pain.

Eventually, I went to the doctor.

He told me there was good news and bad news.

The “good” news was that I had broken my leg. A hairline spiral fracture running from beneath my knee down toward my shin. The reason it was healing was because of the bad news. I had also torn my LCL, and the inflammation was pressing the bone together.

Surgery was discussed. Physical therapy came first.

It turned out a piece of bone had snagged the ligament, causing the tear. Through months of physical therapy, the ligament released. Slowly, carefully, I returned to training.

Once again, the lesson was patience.

The Big Day Was Only a Small Part of the Journey

In the end, I reached two milestones that year.

I passed my 3rd Dan testing.

And I completed the Chicago Marathon.

My time was not remarkable. Four hours and fourteen minutes. But it was my personal best (and only) race time. And more importantly, it represented something far larger than race day.

I rarely think or talk about the four hours and fourteen minutes.

I think about the year and a half leading up to it.

The early mornings.

The rain.

The snow-covered paths.

The ninety-degree heat.

I remember running before sunrise and seeing house lights turn on as I returned home. The quiet pride of knowing I had already done something that morning I once believed was impossible for myself, while others were just getting their day started.

That is what indomitable spirit really looks like.

Where and Why I Keep the Medal

The marathon medal is framed in my office at TVMA Academy.

Not as a trophy.

As a reminder.

Everyone has days when things feel stacked against them. Days when motivation disappears and doubt grows loud. When that happens, I do not look at the medal and think about race day.

I think about the journey to earn it.

And I remember that perseverance is not something you are born with. It is something you build, one difficult step at a time.

That is the lesson I carry into Taekwondo, teaching, and life.

Reflection Question

What challenge in your life is asking you not for talent, but for consistency and patience?

Sit with that question. The answer often reveals where indomitable spirit is being built.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is indomitable spirit in martial arts?

Indomitable spirit is the ability to continue forward despite discomfort, setbacks, or self-doubt. It is one of the core tenets of Taekwondo and is developed through perseverance and consistency.

Do I need to enjoy something to grow from it?

No. Growth often begins in discomfort. Enjoyment sometimes comes later, once understanding and patience develop.

What if I feel like quitting when progress is slow?

Slow progress is often a sign that something meaningful is happening. Indomitable spirit is built by continuing even when results are not immediate.

How does this apply to Taekwondo training?

Every belt, form, and test reflects the same principle. Progress comes from showing up consistently, trusting the process, and staying committed through challenges.

Can anyone develop perseverance?

Yes. Perseverance is not a personality trait. It is a practice