Pain Sensei

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?