Absence and Fond Hearts: The Olfactory Connection

About two years ago, my sinuses were so blocked that I actually had my doctor worried enough to order an MRI of my head and find out what was going on. Turned out to be major inflammation (whew!) which resulted in a referral to an ear, nose and throat specialist. About five minutes into the exam, the ENT asked me if I'd ever done a contact sport because my septum was severely deviated. Instantly, I flashed back to a line sparring hand drill we'd done a few years earlier where my own punch was blocked and ricocheted back to whack me in the nose. I saw stars but no blood and incorrectly concluded that all was well. Umm....apparently not. (Karate "strikes" again!). He also found nasal polyps pressing against my olfactory nerve and messing with my ability to smell anything, but they appeared to be unrelated to karate...

Last week, my lungs were a little funky. An asthmatic since my high school cross country days, I can usually keep my lungs under control unless I get a cold, but that was not the case this time. As per my doc, I had to break out the heavy artillery - an anti-inflammatory medicine called prednisone to help get my ailing airways back in line. In addition to my lungs feeling better, the inflammation in my sinuses is down a bit and I can do something I haven't been able to in a while: smell! Last night, it was the whiff of coffee when I went into the local gas station to pay for my gas. This morning was my juice and the syrup on my pancakes. Right now, it's unfortunately the dog in need of a bath, but, trust me, it's better than nothing.

It's funny the things you forget you've lost until you get them back. I got so used to not being able to smell anything that when I finally could, it felt like sensory overload. I felt the same way when breast reconstruction surgery had me sidelined from karate for two months (I spent the time trying to keep my senses sharp by watching karate training videos and kung-fu movies, LOL). When I finally was all healed and able to get back to class, I felt like a kid in a candy store - kicking, blocking and kiaing all over the place.

But unlike after reconstruction, prednisone is only a temporary fix for my sense of smell. The only way to make it more permanent is to have surgery and have the polyps removed. I've resisted the idea for a while because eventually, the polyps will probably grow back and because the surgery itself will force me to be off the mat - again - at least for a bit. Sigh...

Ever have nasal surgery for polyps? Would you do it again?

Making it Work: The Long and Short of It

Last night in class, we worked more ippon kumite add-ons. Our instruction from Sensei S was to pick a technique from our ippon library and add at least one (or two, if possible) to it so our uke was eventually on the ground and neutralized. The goal, he said, was to get us to the point where the technique flowed without pausing to think "What should I do next?" Real fights, he said, don't happen at half-speed like they do in the dojo. Now, I've only been in one "street" fight in my life (a second-grade bru-ha-ha with a classmate named Terry: she pulled my hair, I pulled hers and it was over), so I kinda have to rely on his knowledge and the testimony of others who have felt the adrenalin-drenched "fight or flight" response that comes when a confrontation is eminent for detail of what a knock-down, drag-out fight is really like (like this description by fellow blogger ZenHG, for example).

Anyway, my uke was a woman who hasn't been training in our style for long. A black belt in another art, she donned a white belt and jumped in the back of class over a year ago to earnestly learn USA Goju. She's strong and very fluid, but the ippon she wanted to start with was one she didn't know very well. Subsequently, we spent much of the time that we were supposed to be trading techniques helping her transition from Ippon #5 to dumping and "finishing" me. We got down to brass tacks and eventually, the techniques became seamless for her, but when Sensei S wanted to see what we'd all worked on, he wanted to see each of us defend. Because I hadn't gotten a chance to go through my add-ons, I instantly panicked. When my dojo brother, Ed, saw my face he leaned over and said "Don't worry - it's in your head!" - meaning stop thinking, trust the training and do the damn thing. So after my partner did her thing to me, I got ready to do just that.

Trouble is, the technique I'd picked wasn't very effective at all. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until after her punch was coming and I tried to get out of the way. Not only did I barely move, I ended up behind her in a most awkward position after a hook kick to her back and just kind of swept her lead foot in a way that was strained and forced, not smooth and fluid. In my head, I was saying "What the heck was that?" so I'm sure it looked a bloody mess to everyone else. Of course, Sensei S had me do it a few more times, but it got no better. Eventually, he replaced my 5'2", 105lb. white belt uke with Sensei J, a 6'2" 250lb. fourth dan who is lightening fast. Yep - trouble.

As you might imagine, getting out of his way didn't go so well either, so much so that our knees literally bumped as he came forward and I had absolutely no chance of getting any follow-through technique off. Sensei S got on me for not using my height/fighting like a much shorter person (he literally says this about every third class or so - and he's absolutely right, but I'm working on it). While the rest of the class moved onto refining the subtleties of their add-ons, I was getting remedial "this is how you move out of the way" assistance from Sensei J. Sigh...

Have you ever watched a fellow martial artist or dojo mate do a technique with the grace of a ballerina but looked like a total rock when you tried to emulate it? That's what stepping to the left - a simple tai sabaki move to avoid contact - felt like to me last night. I knew what I needed to do: start moving as soon as Sensei J's hand began moving towards my head, but each time I did, I either moved too slowly, moved too far away (which put me out of range to counter), didn't move far enough (which didn't give me enough room to get the hook kick off) or simply couldn't get my feet to go to the angle they were supposed to. It wasn't like I wasn't trying; I just couldn't do it.

"This really shouldn't be so hard," I kept telling myself. I've been doing Ippons for years, daggone it. Nobody else in the room had any difficulties moving at all. It's simply a STEP TO THE LEFT, for crying out loud! But my feet and the rest of me just couldn't - or wouldn't - cooperate. I had become the "Here's what NOT to do in a confrontation" poster child.

But Sensei J was patient. He physically showed me exactly when I needed to start moving (just when his hand came to the edge of my "danger range" which was just inside my fingertips when my hands were extended in front of me), which we did v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y at first, then sped up a bit. He moved my body to the position it should have been to get the hook kick off effectively and let me try to get it higher - to his head, actually - again and again. He showed me other openings and how to use my legs to get to those openings. When Sensei S glanced over to check my progress, he saw the kick to Sensei J's head and simply said "That could work for you." Then he began telling us all how important it was to get comfortable with and use techniques that would work for each individual. I'm tall and have long legs, but I'm rather light. I know that the techniques that might work for someone shorter or against someone stronger - like a hook kick to the back from close range or dragging a bigger adversary down with one arm - might not work for me. So I need to find other things that will. Finding my "go to" technique(s) so I don't have to wonder "Now what?" may save my hide someday.

The moral of my story? Perhaps every technique won't work for everybody, but knowing what won't work for you is as good a place to start as any - that and the idea that trying and failing miserably is always better than not trying at all. But, of course there is much work to do, as there always is. As I've mentioned before, a musician friend of mine refers to the sharpening of his skills as "shedding" - as in taking it apart, doing it again and again in an effort to learn how to do it better - all in the woodshed behind the house, which is how it was done back in the day...

Heading to the shed again :-)