She Fell For Karate And Worked Her Way To The Top

``Ordinary People'' is an ongoing series introducing you to people we rarely write about, people who don't make the headlines because they aren't making news, but who in their own way often lead extraordinary lives.

The tall men in crisp white gi's bow and salute her in Japanese. She returns the greeting and takes her place in line, her dark ponytail swinging, her small bare feet thumping a self-assured walk across the polished wood floor.

Alycia Consego is 5 feet tall, 108 pounds, 15 years old. She's also a black belt in Shitoryu karate.

When she was nine, her parents, Lynnette and Ron Consego, gave her a choice of sports to participate in. Inspired by the martial art feats in Bruce Lee movies, Alycia chose karate.

``I watched his moves and it looked better than ballet,'' she says.

Her body is full of grace and beauty as she proceeds through a kata, or demonstration of form, at the Washington Karate Association in Burien, where she has trained for six years.

The mixed-level class of men watch respectfully. None are black belts. With the exception of the instructor, Linda Marquardt, there are no other women in the session.

While there are other young black belts in the state, it still isn't common for a child to develop the discipline, practice and skill required for karate's highest level, Marquardt says.

Now that she's attained it, Alycia is shooting for a spot on the U.S. Karate Team as an adult - the equivalent of Olympic caliber for that sport. She's already been at the junior level of competition and traveled across the nation.

``When she first started, her instructor said she's a natural,'' her mother says as she watches her daughter practice. ``We thought - this early?''

Disciplining the young black belt has never been a problem, they say.

``She's very responsible and dependable,'' her mother says. ``Through her karate training she's much more controllable than other kids. But she's a normal kid. She has to be reminded to do her room.''

Being a teen-age black belt, however, has it's challenges.

``I've been asked, `Will you beat up this certain kid for me?' '' the Franklin High School sophomore recalls. Another time she had to defend herself when a classmate pinned her against the wall during an argument and she's been threatened twice with bodily harm.

In a dangerous situation Alycia's first choice: ``I'd still run.''

``A true martial artist is very quiet about it,'' instructor Marquardt says.

``We bring up our students to feel confident in themselves and happy with who they are - that they don't need a crutch like drugs.''

Attaining that black-belt level of confidence, however, has taken two-hour workouts, five or six days a week, and there are days when Alycia would much rather do something else.

``But my mom and dad say, `You have to,' '' she says, smiling.

Her sister, Cinamon, 9, is undecided which sport she will participate in.

Where Alycia is concerned, ``Her father and I still are very much awed by her,'' Lynnette says.

And so are her fellow students at the karate school.

``She's aggressive. She knows her technique. She can use her size to her advantage,'' says Hector Ramos, 16, who holds a brown belt, just one level beneath black.

``I think it's a remarkable accomplishment,'' says Craig Voss, 28, a beginning student and Boeing engineer.

``She's been very helpful, instructing me in my katas (exercises).''

Her bare feet squeak against the floor in a sparring match. There is a crisp snap of the canvas duck gi (loose-fitting robe and pants). She moves in - a flurry of arm movements toward her opponent, a kick that stops just short of his ear. He is sweating, she is calm, her eyes, wide, dark and bright. She screams from the base of her diaphragm.

Then suddenly it's over and she is in the car returning to her Beacon Hill home to TV, pizza, homework and talking about how someday she might become a flight attendant.

``Or maybe a beautician,'' she says with a shy smile.

If you know someone you think would make a good profile for Ordinary People, write to Ordinary People, c/o Scene, The Seattle Times, P.O. Box 70, Seattle, WA 98111. Include your name, address and a daytime telephone number.