I have a black belt in karate. I haven’t practiced in fifteen years or so, but I guess it still counts. It took me ten years of intensive training. I stopped shortly afterwards due to illness, which broke my heart.
I believe I was drawn to it because I felt unsafe in the world. I was self-reliant because I had to be, and I thought it gave me a layer of protection. It made me more capable.
Also, I had a lot more aggression in my personality then, and karate was probably the least destructive way of getting it out.
I used to wake up sore every day and go to my corporate job covered in bruises. My coworkers would see them and call me crazy. I wouldn’t be proud exactly, but not ashamed either. They were an expression of my identity, like how other people love their own tattoos.