Paradigm Shift

I'm not sure how "normal" is is to have more than one instructor, but I actually have four. The most I've trained with at one time was three, which seems like a lot, really. But there is a story behind it all.

I started Goju at my son's instructor - Sensei F's - invitation to just "try" it. Somehow, I think he knew I'd be hooked. But as my interest in this new thing grew, I felt kind of limited by the fact that Sensei F's class only met once a week. He graciously pointed us to a sister dojo one county over, whose head instructors - Sensei M and Sensei R - came through the ranks with him. Their classes met twice during the week on days that didn't conflict with my home class. Some things were done differently - especially in kata - which made me kind of scratch my head because the two schools were not only part of the same clan, but taught by folks who had been taught together. Hmmm. But my son and I - and later the training partners from our home dojo who eventually joined us for treks across the bridge - just adapted a "When in Rome..." attitude and acted accordingly. Consequently, we learned two different ways to do many of the self-defense techniques and katas we were required to learn. For almost four years we traveled and learned. We also asked questions that weren't always answered, but that's another story.

It's funny how the things you do seem perfectly sane while you're doing them. But now, the thought of doing the same techniques two different ways with both being accepted as "the standard" seems utterly ridiculous. And just when it seemed things couldn't get any weirder, we started traveling to yet another dojo.

Since the Tuesday/Thursday classes across the river kind of dwindle down to a trickle once summer rolls around (meaning that since Sensei M and Sensei R aren't around too much, you never know which guest instructor or shodan will be leading the class) and since the idea of going from three nights a week of class to one was not one I was willing to entertain, we took Sensei S up on his long standing offer to come train with him and his students as a way to supplement our training. My son, training partner Ed, and I have been traveling an hour each way twice a week since May to get to his class as a result. Although we couldn't continue to travel so far every Tuesday and Thursday once school began again, my son and I still make it at least once a week.

Trouble is that now, some of the information we're getting is starting to conflict with the information we learned way back when. I'm talking polar opposites in the basic, simplest techniques. Direct contradiction is not an overstatement. Again, same style and senseis who at least started with the same instructor - but the differences are astounding.

Last week, after he'd been being ridden by Sensei S like a Kentucky Derby horse over his stances and "floating" kicks, my son said he was upset about how some of the techniques were initially taught to him. Some things - like hand positions during sparring and kata bunkai - seem so ineffective and inefficient now, and even when he asked what the techniques were or why they were done a specific way, he said he got answers suggesting that those reasons had more to do with tradition rather than working what works. He really likes going to Sensei S's class because he gets those explanations - given in practical ways that make sense to him - before he is SHOWN how and why it works. I heard him during our conversation, but last night - when it was MY turn to be that Kentucky Derby filly - I totally FELT what he was talking about.

I've come to realize that much of what I've been taught up to May feels like a watered-down version of karate, which ain't good. And since I'm now teaching a little at my home dojo - and have been asked to teach it how I learned it - I find myself in quite the pickle. If I had to go elsewhere to learn that my techniques weren't effective, I now know that the people I'm teaching those very same techniques to will hafta re-learn them at some point - which they'll have to go elsewhere to do. If they don't, they may get their butts handed to them if they ever needed to rely on those techniques in a real, live situation. In effect, I'm contributing to the watering down by default. I can't be easy with that - which means I've got some decisions to make...

Moving on means I'll be back to one-night a week class at least until summer rolls around again, which is a bad thing. But watered-down is a bad thing, too. Is bad karate better than no karate? That is the question...

Tournament Time - Take Two...

Off to another tourney this past weekend. This time it was downstate in NYC - Queens to be exact. Unlike a few weeks ago upstate, I did not compete and only judged kata, self-defense, weapons and kumite competition. But just like a few weeks ago, I learned a ton, met lots of incredible people and had a blast.

Judging an open tournament can be interesting. Because judges might not be familiar with the style or form presented, each competitor's attitude, focus, intent and body position all become uber important. So, no, Virginia, it's not the flashy splits, high kicks or glitter weapons that will make you champion, but do all that with rock-solid technique and it just might.

One of the first groups I graded was 6-9-year-old intermediate kata. There was one little lady who had amazing kicks and really knew how to move across the ring. But everything her kicks were, her punches were not. Each hand technique revealed bent wrists and sloppy form - almost like she was just putting her hands out there to get onto the next kick already. Apparently use to winning, she literally teared up when she finished third. The sifu sitting next to me spoke with her after she competed to suggest working on her hand techniques to improve her kata. She was polite and listened, but I'm not sure she heard him at all.

Next up was the 6-9 year old beginner boys weapon forms division. The only competitors were two brothers who each did a basic bo kata. The second brother was doing well until he dropped his bo about half-way through his form. He looked devastated, but he picked up his weapon and continued. When his brother was awarded the mondo winner's trophy (no joke, it was six feet tall) brother number two could only watch as his brother hoisted it up as best he could, threw and arm in the air and cheered.

Later in the day, my ring hosted the 18-34-year-old men's intermediate sparring division. Green and green-belt equivalents all, one competitor felt it necessary to speak to the center judge after his match. He said that, because he was hit in the head twice (competition rules allowed for absolutely no head or face contact in the underbelt divisions - but the contact had to be witnessed by two of the three ring judges), he should have been awarded the win over his opponent.

Although all of the competitors above were relatively new to martial arts, humility is a huge chunk of what being a martial artist is about. Budo dictates modesty and temperate attitudes at all times - even in sport karate. But perhaps, like everything else we do on the mat and in the dojo, humility, modesty and temperance all take work and time to develop. How to compete, win and lose with grace must be learned, just like an effective round-house kick or a reverse punch. They also have to be honed. Perhaps they should all be taught right along with those roundhouses and reverse punches.

But I also saw some stellar examples of temperance in action - like the 9-year-old whose glasses flew off in the middle of his form but who continued without missing a step. Or the 5-year-old who got kicked hard in the gut during a sparring match but got up, wiped his tears and finished fighting. Or the blind green belt in the intermediate women's 35+ division who had to be escorted into and out of the ring before and after she presented Empi Ha kata - a USA Goju brown belt form. Or the only two 35+ female black belt competitors who each gave lessons on presenting kata with Super Empi and Seiuchin. Or the many masters there with 20-30+ years of martial arts training under their belts who spent 10-12 hours judging forms and sparring yesterday, sharing their knowledge and taking a relatively new shodan like me under their wings.

Yep. I had a blast.

Six Months and Counting...

Saturday marked six months since my shodan test. I made it memorable it by traveling to a karate tournament upstate with Sensei S. and some of my training partners.

The good thing about the tourney was that all black belt competitors were asked to judge the underbelt kata and sparring competitions, which concluded before the black belt competition began. I'd been a corner judge for point sparring matches before, but never for kata. With Sensei S. guiding me (he stepped out of a ring so I could jump in and get my feet wet) and some great experienced judges setting the tone, it went well - and I learned a great deal.

Karate competitions are one of the few places where people over 35 are considered "seniors." As any female senior who competes can tell you, there often are not loads of people to compete against. But, thanks to a tournament record turnout of black belts Saturday, there were seven female seniors presenting kata. One of only two non-Tae Kwon Do practitioners on the mat, I ended up finishing second to the woman who went on to win grand kata champion. My knees were literally shaking as I walked into the ring and my legs felt like they would just give out, I was so nervous! But I got through it - my first competition as a yudansha or dan (as opposed to a mudansha or kyu) - without any major flubs or rushing it, as I tend to do when I'm nervous.

Sparring went well, too. As is also usually the case, there weren't as many senior women who wanted to spar (only four), but, because competition kumite is really just a game of tag, my plan to be aggressive and "tag" first worked pretty well. I also got to work on my blitzing and moving off my adversary's center line.

I don't compete a lot - usually three times a year, tops - but each time I do, I enjoy it. I know it isn't really what karate is all about, but for me, the idea of going toe to toe with someone of unknown ability in a controlled environment forces me to think and strategize in a way that no other training does. With five judges watching every corner of the ring, I know there is only so much pain that can possibly be inflicted. Competing is about as close to a real life "dukes up" situation as I've ever experienced. I'm hopeful that through it, the idea of having to put my dukes up in a real situation won't be so totally foreign. I've only had one other fight in my life (in second grade with a girl named Terry Daniels; she pulled my hair, I pulled hers and it was over), so the only experience I'm getting at making this a little more innate is on the mat. In short, competition sparring makes me face my fear, which is anything but comfortable for certain.

And it's truly a blast, too! Never in a million years did I ever think I'd enjoy fighting, but I do. How strange is that?

Bruises and Boo-Boos and Breaks - Oh My!

Last night, we got to do lots of round-robin sparring. Between rounds, I stood with one foot in front of the other, watching my dojo brothers and sisters. When I shifted to even my weight, I literally saw stars. Seems that somehow during the rounds, I'd broken the baby toe on my right foot. That's the injured and swollen digit above, tapped to the one next to it.

Of course karate is a contact sport and I know injury is often part of the game. Actually, my lip is a bit swollen today and my left knee is still a bit battered from stance work we did last week. Par for the course in the life of a martial artists, I suspect.

While we were taking off our gear, one of my training partners grimaced when she bent down. She'd gotten a bruise on her foot a while back and was quickly reminded of it when she reached for her bag. "Will we ever be whole again?" she joked.

Par for the martial arts course, I guess...

Afternoon with the Masters

Sensei S. had a brilliant idea some months back: getting teachers who've influenced him over the last 30+ years together in one room to present seminars on martial arts. Last weekend, we got to soak up the fruits of his vision at the "Afternoon With the Masters" seminar at SUNY Purchase.

The five masters - S. Henry Cho Tae Kwon Do Sa Bom Nim Vernon Slader, American Karate Systems Master Kevin Thompson, Hapkido and Jee Do Kwon Tae Kwon Do Sa Bom Nim Walter Eddie, Zen-Do Kai founder Master Michael Campos and Chinese and Nisei Goju/Isshanryu Karate Master Khalef (Pete) Williams - have each studied their respective arts for at least 40 years - so, yep, they brought lots of knowledge to the table, for sure. Hard not to be immediately humbled when in the presence of such an amazing array of dedicated martial artists.

We worked lots of stuff in those four hours - including seemingly small things like stances, flexibility improvement and learning to kiai from the tanden. Between sessions, I scrambled to my notebook to jot as much info down as I could so I could work on it later in hopes of being better able to retain it. I'd had the distinct pleasure of working at other seminars with three of the masters my group was paired with - and was amazed at their knowledge and willingness to share it each time - but I have to admit that I'm still a little star-struck about actually meeting and working with SBN Walter Eddie. I mean THE Walter Eddie - O.M.G.!

Can you find me in the group photo above? I'm the wide-eyed karateka on the bottom right. My son is holding my shoulders to keep me from floating away :-)

A Question of Etiquette

At the end of every class - right before rei - the sensei or the seipai always remind us of the three rules of every USA Goju dojo on the planet: everyone works, nothing is free and all start at the bottom - which brings me to the etiquette question burning in my mind today: If you are a black belt in say, Shotokan or TKD, what should you do with your obi if you decide to step on the mat in a Goju or Wado-Ryu class? It was my understanding that the practitioner should either:

1. wear his/her current rank but line up in the back of the class.
2. turn his/her obi knot to the back and line up in the back of the class.
3. ditch the obi altogether and line up in the back of the class or
4. don a white belt and line up accordingly.

Notice the trend?

Last night, a young woman who is about to test for nidan in Shorin-Ryu - but who has been coming to the college class gi-less for about a month or so - showed up in her Shorin-Ryu gi and black belt. She was allowed to line up directly behind the class shodans, which put her in front of some second and first kyus who have been training with Sensei F for four to five years or more. I got there just as we were falling in, so I'm not sure if she just arrived in gi and Sensei, out of respect for her rank, told her to fall in up front or what, but I'm pretty sure reishiki dictates that she should have deferred and respectfully lined up near the rear.

I really couldn't care less who lines up in front, but since Sensei F. always reminds the newbies in the back to look to the front row for guidance on how certain techniques are done, it seems like the front row should have folks in it who know what they are dong. Sure a front snap kick is a front snap kick, but kata is a whole 'nother ball of wax. And during the second half of class, any color belt in the room could have lead her through the kata she was working on/learning because it was a white belt kata not done in her style.

As summer was approaching last year, I toyed with the idea of studying a style like TKD to improve my kicking skills. I went so far as to sign up for the four free classes the dojang offered (although I later canceled due to some scheduling conflicts), but the idea of walking in to train in a new style wearing my black belt from my current style was never even a thought. I wouldn't wear my current rank to a Judo or Jujitsu class either, simply because I'm not a black belt in either of those styles.

At the summer dojo I finally settled in, a similar thing happened a while back: two students showed up to train who had black belts in other styles (Brazilian Jujitsu and Kung Fu), but lined up in back without even having to be asked. After about a month, the seipai pulled them aside and asked them to please start wearing their white belts to class. They've done so ever since...

Last night, I was the seipai - although I earned my shodan rank only five months ago. What do you think: is it time to channel my summer dojo's seipai and speak to our "new" black belt?

Kiai!: My First Time

I’ve always been very physically active. In grade school it was kickball, tag and later, the middle school’s softball team (I played first base). As a freshman in high school, a few moths after watching my uncle in the NYC marathon, I decided to give the track team a try. I ran and jumped my way right into an athletic scholarship, seeing the US and earning a B.A. without any school loans hanging over my head in the process.

Through career shifts, marriage, pregnancy and divorce, I kept competing (OK - I did take a year off when my son was born). In July 2004, I retired from the sport so I could work on my Master's and still keep up with my then 11-yr-old son. A few days after I started graduate school, I found a pea-sized lump in my right breast.

Thanksgiving break was spent recovering from a bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction (which isn't quite so immediate). In January, after watching my son do kata from the balcony of the dojo while trying to read my school assignments, I decided to take his sensei up on the offer to join the class. Since track had ended, I hadn’t even run to the refridgerator. I missed being active. I missed sweating.

And sweat, we did – thanks to the generous helpings of pushups, jumping jacks and ab work Sensei F. dished out. At least that was familiar – unlike the stances, katas and punching/kicking drills. I felt like the world’s least coordinated person for quite a while (which Sensei assured me was totally normal), but it felt really good to hit something. Plus we were encouraged to scream loudly while punching and kicking. Physically yelling while pummeling a pad (or even a person :-) proved to be pretty darn therapeutic - and a whole lot cheaper than psychotherapy.

Three weeks before my last radiation treatment, I entered my first competition, (I wore a foam chest protector to keep the radiated skin from getting hit). A few days after - a Thursday - I remember getting really excited because Saturday - which had become "karate day" - was right around the corner. My passion for this new mind/body/spirit thing was ignited.

A few days ago (October 4), I celebrated my five year “cancerversary.” Through all the physical changes breast cancer brought, karate was the one constant, proving that I may have had cancer, but cancer didn’t really have me because I could do stuff that I’d never even tried before my diagnosis (seriously - how many of you had ever sunk into a cat, long or horse stance before karate?), so for me, breast cancer and karate will always be connected. I’m so glad I took off my shoes and lined up in the back of the class that day. If I hadn't, my bare feet probably wouldn't be on the path they're on now. And I probably would have never really appreciated how great a good, loud kiai is for the soul.

Since it is Breast Cancer Awareness, I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you about the importance of self-exams, clinical breast exams and mammograms. But before you go and schedule your appointment, tell me about your intro to MA. What was your first training session like?