Most people would say that pain is something bad, something to be avoided. Most of the time, I'd agree with them. But in the Martial Arts, pain can be a constant companion. When I first began training in Shotokan Karate-Do, we just about made pain our fetish, our religion.
"If it doesn't hurt, you're not doing it right!" my sensei (teacher) would yell, as we stretched and strained and endured the harsh trainings he would dish out. He had a smile on on his face but he was more than half serious.
In those days, it seems like I always had something bumped, bruised or occasionally broken. It was a badge of honor to have some blood on your gi (uniform). We all went through miles of surgical tape for ripped callouses and busted fingers and toes. The smell of Tiger Balm (a kind of Chinese Ben-Gay ointment) suffused the air, dulling our aches as well as hiding the stink of our sweat.
Ah, the good old days!
At least in my dojo now, times have changed. We are a kinder, gentler brand of Martial Arts dojo. Even the "tough" schools today don't really match the levels of physical brutality I went through (or is that just the rosey glow of impending senility making things in the past seem more real than the present?). And what I went through back in the day paled compared to what my sensei went through. And so on, back into the days of mortal combat as the supreme test of a Martial Artist's skills.
For the most part, this is a good thing. At it's peak, my first dojo had maybe 50 active students; most classes had about 15 or 20. My dojo today has possibly 500 active students. Classes of 30, 40 or more are common. Many of them are youths, and I doubt their parents would stand by while senior students beat the snot out of them on a daily basis. (Not that the instructors don't think about from time to time. For that matter, maybe a few parents would pay extra for that... but I digress).
The new philosophy is: if it hurts, you're doing something wrong. Pain is your body's way of saying "Stop! Listen to me!" We strive for more natural, easy movement. And if you're injured, you can't train at 100%. We are also looking at Martial Arts as a way of life, and at a lifespan considerably longer than the warriors who developed the various fighting arts. It's one thing to train for a kill-or-be-killed world where anyone older than about 50 years of age represented the cream of the crop, the baddest of the bad. If you made it that far, you probably could retire to a monastery or command an army of bodyguards. It's quite another to reasonably expect to live a healthy life into your 70s and still expect to have the full use of your limbs and not need reconstructive surgery.
And that is a good thing, too. But pain still has it's place in my training. Pain can be a very good teacher. I call it "Pain Sensei." It's my wake up call and my reminder of the reality of the Art I'm practicing.
Tonight, in class, we were doing an exercise somewhere between prearranged sparring (yakusoku kumite) and free sparring (jiyuu kumite). We were going slow, we knew what to expect, though we had the freedom to try different maneuvers to get behind our opponent. I was trying to be soft, yielding, sensing my opponent's tension and movement. I didn't have much of a plan. Without thinking much about it, I tried for a leg sweep and BAM! my shin collided with my partner's knee, which he was lifting to try his own leg technique. I managed to hit the EXACT right spot, a nerve bundle just to the inside of the tibia about 2/3rds of the way up. My toes went numb and the pain shot up my thigh into my stomach. Pain Sensei was on the mat.
The first lesson Pain Sensei taught me was:
When shin meets knee, shin loses.
Ok, not a very deep lesson, I know. But sometimes it's good to be reminded of the basics.
I hopped around a bit and someone got me an ice pack. After a few minutes, I was able to continue training. (In the good old days, my sensei would have said, "What? It's not broken, you're not bleeding to death. Get back out there!" To which I would have replied "Hai, Sensei!" and hobbled back out, no matter the long term damage. There is value there, too, to know that one can transcend pain. But there's also value in getting ice on your owie quickly.)
The second thing Pain Sensei taught me was:
Have a plan.
When I attempted my leg sweep, I had no clear picture of what I was really going to do. I saw my opponent's leg, I'd already launched an attack high, so I went low. But I wasn't visualizing the end result.
My sensei today often says, "You have to see how your opponent is going to die."
He is quick to point out that that doesn't mean physically killing him, but rather, how you are going to defeat him. He also says,
"If you put your hands on someone, you had better have a plan for what you are going to do with him when you have him." (Claire's attacker didn't have much of a plan, apparently, and look what it got him).
Pain Sensei taught me that those words apply to feet (and shins) as well. Maybe someday, I won't need pain to be my wake up call. But I'm not overly optimistic about that, so today, I bow to Pain Sensei.
Now, where's my ice?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Year of the Tiger
I've been thinking about keeping a diary of my martial arts training for some time now. A long time, actually. Ok, a really long time. At first, I thought: "I'm just a beginner. I don't have anything special to say." (I now find even beginners, or maybe especially beginners, can have very insightful things to say. But I thought I was being humble.) Then, before I knew it, I'd been training for 35 years. Where would I begin? (Of course, when I began training, there was no world wide web, and even cheap personal computers were almost a decade off. So publishing anything would have been a challenge).
But here it is, 2010, and everyone from kids to grandmothers has their own blog. Hell, people's dogs have blogs, for Pete's sake. So I guess it's my turn at last. And, perhaps ironically, I'm going to start not with myself at all, but with my wife, Claire.
Claire has been training in Karate-Do herself for almost 20 years. Over the years, as just about every martial artist does at one point or another, Claire wondered if her training was really effective. She is small but has a fierce spirit. She is, in fact, a Tiger in the Chinese calendar. But she was never totally convinced that she'd be able to defend herself if she had to. (I'm sure all Martial Artists have had fighting dreams, nightmares where our techniques are futile, punches land like a tap with a soft pillow, our legs as effective as columns of Jell-O. Claire has had her share.)
Today, she got to find out if her training was worth anything.
She was crossing a busy street in broad daylight, in a normal commercial part of town. She noticed a couple of people in the area and cataloged them in her mind as potential threats. One was a "creepy" guy at a bus stop. The other was a single man in a jacket and hooded sweatshirt walking on the sidewalk she was approaching, coming in her direction.
(At this point, I would stop and say her training was already showing its worth. Many people walk (or drive) around in their own little bubbles, paying little attention to the world around them. We have been taught a system of awareness and vigilance when out in the world, and Claire's awareness was kicking in automatically.)
She reached the other side of the street and noted the guy in the hooded sweatshirt still coming her way. She altered her path slightly to walk along a building so she'd have a wall on one side, away from the street. She turned her head for just an instant, and that's when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She wonders now if she even was touched or just felt his intention, but she began to turn to face whatever was there, and that's when his hand grabbed her left wrist. It was the hooded sweatshirt guy.
Claire said he was about 6' tall and somewhat large. Now, Claire is 5'4" and weighs all of 100 lbs. Just about ANYBODY looks large compared with her. The man didn't say anything, just grabbed her with his right hand on her left wrist. His left hand was in his jacket pocket. Claire didn't think. She didn't have time for fear. She didn't suffer the feeling of unreality that often overwhelms people in crisis situations. She just did what she has trained to do. She dropped her body weight down, pressurizing her legs and, connecting her arm to her hip, pulled her hand free from the man's grasp. (This is the first thing we teach the kids at their introductory class, how to escape a simple one handed grip.) This unbalanced her attacker and he bent forward a little. Claire uncoiled all the pressure she'd built up in her legs and intended to smack the guy in the head with a back knuckle strike. But the guy was bending down and so her elbow caught him in the jaw instead. 100 lbs moving quickly with a hard point at the end. F=MA.
And he dropped. Out cold.
He was still out when the police arrived a few minutes later. A bystander had called from her cell phone. When they heard what had happened, one cop glanced at his partner, then at Claire and said, "You did that?"
We don't know what the assailant was after. Claire thinks maybe he mistook her cell phone pouch for a purse and was going for that.
As far as the physical effectiveness of Claire's response, there can be little doubt. She did exactly what she has trained to do, pictured in her mind for years and did it without fear or hesitation. That is the essence of physical kata (form). But to me, the real proof that her training has been effective was how Claire reacted to the incident.
After the initial adrenaline rush (she said she felt like she could have knocked out 5 more people!) she began to think, "I've hurt someone. Could I have done something different?" We talked about it, and yes, there are other techniques we practice that might have let her control her attacker without clobbering him in the kisser. But those are not without risk. She could have found herself rolling around on the sidewalk with a crazy man, armed with a knife, with traffic roaring by a few feet away. She might have broken his wrist, or he could have hit his head, not to mention all the bumps and bruises she could sustain, even if she won a tussling match with a guy 6" taller and 100 lbs. heavier.
"Maybe I could have just escaped the hold then run away. I didn't have to hit him."
Maybe. She had about .5 seconds to make that decision. Long enough to notice the hand in the pocket. Holding what? Nothing? A pack of gum? A gun? When the cops searched him, they found a knife in his left pocket. Was he going to use on Claire? Would he use it on someone else if Claire got away? These are the kinds of questions no one can answer. But the fact she even asks herself these questions says volumes about the true spirit of the Martial Arts and Claire's mastery of that essence.
The bottom line is: Claire wasn't hurt (though her elbow is sore). The attacker wasn't seriously hurt (though he will have a painful jaw and will have to explain to his cell mates how a whisp of a girl knocked him out cold with one blow). And maybe this will change his life for the better.
There's no question in my mind Claire has learned the best that the Martial Arts has to teach. The Path is endless, but for her, today, her training was good enough.
So I start my own karate diary by bowing to my wife, classmate and former student.
But here it is, 2010, and everyone from kids to grandmothers has their own blog. Hell, people's dogs have blogs, for Pete's sake. So I guess it's my turn at last. And, perhaps ironically, I'm going to start not with myself at all, but with my wife, Claire.
Claire has been training in Karate-Do herself for almost 20 years. Over the years, as just about every martial artist does at one point or another, Claire wondered if her training was really effective. She is small but has a fierce spirit. She is, in fact, a Tiger in the Chinese calendar. But she was never totally convinced that she'd be able to defend herself if she had to. (I'm sure all Martial Artists have had fighting dreams, nightmares where our techniques are futile, punches land like a tap with a soft pillow, our legs as effective as columns of Jell-O. Claire has had her share.)
Today, she got to find out if her training was worth anything.
She was crossing a busy street in broad daylight, in a normal commercial part of town. She noticed a couple of people in the area and cataloged them in her mind as potential threats. One was a "creepy" guy at a bus stop. The other was a single man in a jacket and hooded sweatshirt walking on the sidewalk she was approaching, coming in her direction.
(At this point, I would stop and say her training was already showing its worth. Many people walk (or drive) around in their own little bubbles, paying little attention to the world around them. We have been taught a system of awareness and vigilance when out in the world, and Claire's awareness was kicking in automatically.)
She reached the other side of the street and noted the guy in the hooded sweatshirt still coming her way. She altered her path slightly to walk along a building so she'd have a wall on one side, away from the street. She turned her head for just an instant, and that's when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She wonders now if she even was touched or just felt his intention, but she began to turn to face whatever was there, and that's when his hand grabbed her left wrist. It was the hooded sweatshirt guy.
Claire said he was about 6' tall and somewhat large. Now, Claire is 5'4" and weighs all of 100 lbs. Just about ANYBODY looks large compared with her. The man didn't say anything, just grabbed her with his right hand on her left wrist. His left hand was in his jacket pocket. Claire didn't think. She didn't have time for fear. She didn't suffer the feeling of unreality that often overwhelms people in crisis situations. She just did what she has trained to do. She dropped her body weight down, pressurizing her legs and, connecting her arm to her hip, pulled her hand free from the man's grasp. (This is the first thing we teach the kids at their introductory class, how to escape a simple one handed grip.) This unbalanced her attacker and he bent forward a little. Claire uncoiled all the pressure she'd built up in her legs and intended to smack the guy in the head with a back knuckle strike. But the guy was bending down and so her elbow caught him in the jaw instead. 100 lbs moving quickly with a hard point at the end. F=MA.
And he dropped. Out cold.
He was still out when the police arrived a few minutes later. A bystander had called from her cell phone. When they heard what had happened, one cop glanced at his partner, then at Claire and said, "You did that?"
We don't know what the assailant was after. Claire thinks maybe he mistook her cell phone pouch for a purse and was going for that.
As far as the physical effectiveness of Claire's response, there can be little doubt. She did exactly what she has trained to do, pictured in her mind for years and did it without fear or hesitation. That is the essence of physical kata (form). But to me, the real proof that her training has been effective was how Claire reacted to the incident.
After the initial adrenaline rush (she said she felt like she could have knocked out 5 more people!) she began to think, "I've hurt someone. Could I have done something different?" We talked about it, and yes, there are other techniques we practice that might have let her control her attacker without clobbering him in the kisser. But those are not without risk. She could have found herself rolling around on the sidewalk with a crazy man, armed with a knife, with traffic roaring by a few feet away. She might have broken his wrist, or he could have hit his head, not to mention all the bumps and bruises she could sustain, even if she won a tussling match with a guy 6" taller and 100 lbs. heavier.
"Maybe I could have just escaped the hold then run away. I didn't have to hit him."
Maybe. She had about .5 seconds to make that decision. Long enough to notice the hand in the pocket. Holding what? Nothing? A pack of gum? A gun? When the cops searched him, they found a knife in his left pocket. Was he going to use on Claire? Would he use it on someone else if Claire got away? These are the kinds of questions no one can answer. But the fact she even asks herself these questions says volumes about the true spirit of the Martial Arts and Claire's mastery of that essence.
The bottom line is: Claire wasn't hurt (though her elbow is sore). The attacker wasn't seriously hurt (though he will have a painful jaw and will have to explain to his cell mates how a whisp of a girl knocked him out cold with one blow). And maybe this will change his life for the better.
There's no question in my mind Claire has learned the best that the Martial Arts has to teach. The Path is endless, but for her, today, her training was good enough.
So I start my own karate diary by bowing to my wife, classmate and former student.
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