Karate: What to Expect

Just like I do in my profession, I rarely turn down a chance to let others know about the art that is karate. My way to do that journalistically is to teach. In karate, if there is an opportunity to do the same, I'm there.

Now that summer is ending and school is starting again, after-school programs are up and running. A new one has opened in the school district and, curious to see if they had an interest in adding a karate program, I called. We set up a meeting for next week to discuss it further, the program director asked if there was any literature about karate that I could send her in the interim.

It's been a few years since the program Training Partner Ed and I started at the church was up and running, and our website isn't operational anymore. That made me think about what I could send to the program director about karate program basics. I've written a lot in this space about the issues I had finding a (new) place to train over the years, but I've also talked about what others should look for as well - particularly parents thinking about signing up their children - here, too. I ended up sending her this entry as an intro, but as it is really a primer for parents who are already interested in getting their children into karate, I realized I wanted to give a bit more. I couldn't quite find what I wanted in any one place so I decided to write about what karate is - and isn't - myself. 

So, if you are interested in karate - whether that interest in the art is from a desire to work out on a regular, learn how to better defend yourself, work on your self-discipline, or be a part of a regular, group activity – it’s important to know a bit about it before you step barefoot onto the mat.

KARATE literally translates to “empty hand.” In most situations, the idea is self-defense, but it also teaches how to be aware of what's happening around you, how to avoid potential conflict when possible, and how to handle your business efficiently if necessary. Know that there will be physical conditioning (via drills and exercises for your cardiovascular system as well as for your forearms, legs, stomach and even hands/knuckles) to help prepare your body and mind for learning what to do and how to do it.

Based on eastern Asian principles and techniques, martial arts are steeped in tradition. Karate classes usually use Japanese words and terminology. Words used in a traditional dojo (training hall) - or one that simulates traditional training etiquette – will help you learn a bit of the language as well as the culture.

Respect – or “rei” – is expected and applies to everyone in the training hall. Of course instructors and senior students are expected to be received respectfully, but is also means that students should treat all dojo mates, visitors and spectators in the same regard, simply because it is the right thing to do. One way respect is shown for the art and its practitioners is by bowing to each other, which is really a sign of reverence for the art, the people with whom you are training, and all those who have trained before you. Understand that it is par for the course in the dojo.

Intensity while training is expected, but it is also understood that everyone on the mat is learning and, as a result, hurting folks you’re training with is a no-no. Accidents happen, but being mindful that folks could be injured can help keep those accidents to a minimum. What I tell the youngsters: Training partners are friends and hurting friends isn’t something we do. Be purposeful, but be careful, too.

Also understand that the martial path is all about the journey, not the destination - and a fast trip is often not the generally recommended road. Any school or program promising to make you a black belt in X number of years is one you should probably run from as quickly as possible. The things you learn are designed to take a long time to master, so delayed gratification is the name of the game. The hard work put in will certainly pay off, but that payoff isn't always immediately apparent. You will get there if you work at it and stick to it, thought.

To those who are training, have trained or are thinking about kicking off your shoes and falling in, enjoy your journey. Don’t be afraid to look around your path every now and again, as reflection is important and necessary.

Hope that is helpful...

Thank You, George...

Before karate for me, there was track and field. I tried out for my school track team in ninth grade, a few months after watching my uncle run the NYC Marathon. The sense of determination and purpose in the runners' faces as they plodded through the streets of Manhattan was mesmerizing. It filled me with an excitement I hadn't really ever felt before. Hence my decision to give track and field a try my freshman year.

Not at all a natural athlete, I was pretty awful in the beginning. Someone suggested the high jump the day the field events were introduced since the mats were in the boys gym. My very first try ever, I sent the metal bar flying to the floor, clanging so loudly that it echoed through the entire room. Everyone in the gym turned around to see who had caused the disturbance, which was embarrassing as hell. I swore I'd never, ever try the event again.

But I did. I got better and eventually qualified for my first state meet the next year - and bombed miserably there. I grew to love the sport because it challenged me to put my best into it each and every time. 

The summer before my junior year, my mom and some of the other track parents somehow found the Empire Track and Field Camp for Girls (this was the early 1980s and way before Google). For an entire week near Lake Champlain, NY, four of my teammates and I learned about our individual event specifics, nutrition, lifting weights and more. It was also where I met George Horne, a collegiate All-American high jumper who was a coach at Temple University in Philadelphia. Knowledgeable about the event to a fault, he was extremely witty and personable, too. He gave us the notes he'd taken on all of the high jumpers that outlined the things we did well and the things we needed to work on. He helped me understand the event better by encouraging me to train smarter and with specificity. He also suggested I run cross country to get stronger.

And I did. I did well with it and did get stronger to boot. My junior track year went so well that when we met again the next summer, he let me know that Temple U. was watching my performances on the track with interest. I went into my senior year with a plan to narrow in on what I wanted to major in, learn more about the school and apply there. When the decision letter arrived just before Thanksgiving, I was too scared to open it. I had applied to other schools and gotten into them, but this was really where I wanted to go. My mom sat with me as I opened it. We saw the "Congratulations!" at the same time but the full athletic grant-in-aid details came a little later.

Academically and athletically, things went extremely well at Temple. I fell in love with photojournalism and magazine writing/editing and eventually, made a career using both disciplines. I also became a six-time NCAA Division I All-America athlete, moving to #10 in the US at one point and qualifying for an Olympic Trials (I finished sixth). None of that would have been possible without George. He literally became a guiding force in helping me move safely through that space between adolescence and adulthood and a pivotal part of the village that helped raise me. 

Last July, I went to a screening for "Sisters on Track," a movie about three runners and their growth in the sport and life. During the post-movie chat with the filmmakers, we were given the following assignment: Recognize someone who has had an impact on/made a difference in your life. It took me two seconds to figure out that my homage belonged to George and the chance meeting with him that most certainly changed my trajectory. He made me appreciate the value of fine-tuning details and the necessity of hard work to get where you want to be. We did regularly chat via phone/text, but I took the picture above about a decade ago when we met at Penn Relays. Last year, when he was dealing with some health challenges, I posted the photo and the "recognize the impactful people" tribute online but, being mindful of how important it is to give folks their flowers while they are here to enjoy them, I shared it with him, too. I'm sure he understood what he meant to me before, but I'm really, really glad I got a chance to tell him.

This past February, my track sister/former Temple U teammate and I went to see him. He and his wife had moved to Myrtle Beach from their home in New Jersey and we just wanted to see how he was really doing. His chemo regiment had made his feet and hands blister, which made walking difficult, as well as playing golf - one of his most favorite pastimes. The gleam in his eye and his incredible sense of humor were still there, but it was plain to see that some things were more difficult for him to do than they use to be. While sitting in the dining room munching on the pastries we'd brought over, he told us about the new table they'd ordered and how he hoped to be here still when it arrived - a reminder to us that not only was time short, but he knew it was and maybe wanted us to know, too.

He passed on July 16 - almost a year to the day of the movie screening assignment. When I tell you it hit me like a sledgehammer, I'm not exaggerating a bit. My track sister said it felt like losing a parent and I agree. I've been so out of sorts for almost a week now, too, like I don't quite know what to do with the fact that he's just not here.

I'm far from the only athlete whose life George heavily influenced. There is a literal sea of women whom he helped parent. He coached for over 30 years, "raising" more high school state champions and both high school and collegiate All-America athletes than you can shake a stick at. He was the proverbial "You can do this!" guy who taught us all how to believe in ourselves both on and off the track. For each of us, he was there exactly when we needed him. Many, many of us coach now as a result. His legacy will live on in more ways than one.

So many similarities between track and karate. Both paths can veer off on tangents and even be a bit weedy at times - but the mind/body connection are definitely kindred spirits. I know without a doubt that without my track journey, I wouldn't have had the courage or focus to begin my karate one. 

For me, there are always living signs left behind when someone close to me passes away. When I lost my mom, a beautiful, red cardinal accompanied us out of the cemetery the day of her funeral. For my dad, it's always been roses - as he sent me a dozen the day I landed my first staff magazine editing gig. Still feeling off-kilter at yesterday's summer team practice, butterflies kept fluttering by. There were at least a half a dozen within minutes of stepping onto the track. Knowing I wanted to finally sit down and write this today, I saw another flutter by while walking the dog. 

I hear you, George - and thank you. For everything.

Throat Punch Dreams

Every now and again, images of defense-of-self flash through my mind. Usually, they are escape scenarios punctuated by me gaining the upper hand and subduing a faceless person out to do someone harm (and usually, that someone is me or a loved-one). Normal stuff for folks who study or teach martial arts or self-defense, I suppose. 

Lately, though, assailants in my day dreams aren’t so faceless. And they aren’t happening after random, surprise attacks from a bad person springing from the bushes. Lately, every attacker has identifiable features and each one looks a lot like folks I come in contact with on a regular, or at least know on some level. They are folks that are causing a lot of havoc and chaos in my world.

 

It’s truly funny how the mind works – because each scenario ends the same way: with my left hand wrapped firmly around their throat and my right hand cocked back, aimed at their nose or left eye. I never hit, but that the intent to neutralize them and stop their attack is on full-throttle.

 

Physical harm is not actually being done to me and mine, really - but my head is looking for ways to stop the crazy before it gets out of control, it seems. I am far from a violent person (save for class or the competition ring, the only fight I’ve ever had was in second grade and the only physical altercation as an adult occurred about 10 years ago [read about it here). My weapons outside of the ring have been words. As a writer, I’ve had ample opportunity to give a verbal beat-down or two (hundred). As a journalist, I’ve found the facts to let people draw their own conclusions about corruption, murder-suicides, and other wrongdoing. Words have always served me well. 

 

I think my fear is that although I know wrong is being done, there will never been an opportunity to voice the "You know, what you're doing is offed up, right?" to the offender and be heard. That’s why my mind is working through on-the-mat scenarios, trying to find some semblance of order in a “put up your dukes” way.

My actual physical default is not to raise my hands, but my dream self has other plans, it seems.

In Defense of Those Who Can't Defend Themselves

In martial arts circles, we spend lots of time training to understand threats to our person. We work hard to prevent as much crazy as we can by being aware of our surroundings, avoiding situations that might lead to trouble and neutralizing confrontations via verbal or physical de-escalation to keep ourselves and our loved ones safe. We assume that the potential for violent confrontation will come from outside the home, but statistics constantly tell us that most attacks will come from someone we know - and maybe even someone we live with or near.

That is truest for children. But unlike adults, the choice to get to higher ground is not one they can ever really make.

According to the National Children's Alliance, almost 700,000 humans under the age of 18 are abused in the U.S each year. In 2018, there were about 678,000 unique incidents of abuse and neglect nationally, which represents about one percent of the population of American children across all social-economic and ethnic barriers. It's all an estimate that many consider low, in that these numbers rely on actual reported cases - and if rape statistics are any guideline, we know that not all cases are actually reported. (Read more stats from the organization here.) 

During my time as a case worker, most of the children and families I worked with struggled with issues most of us can't even imagine. Whether the parents MEANT to cause their children harm was never the issue, understand - as our goal was to make it stop. Sometimes that meant removing the children from the home. Sadly, there was never a straight path to that outcome at all - and it sometimes took many months to untangle it all. Bureaucratic red tape really is a thing, believe me. What that often looks like is "we need to exhaust all other options first" which of course kept the tape - and the crazy at home - flowing.

The assumption seems to be that a child is better off with his or her family, so placement of a child outside of his/her home is considered a last resort. But some guardians simply have substance-abuse/misuse, emotional/medical issues and/or a myriad of other personal or societal situations that make the home they head and the space they provide for a child an absolute minefield. How that can ever be considered "better" is truly beyond me.

Yes, leaving everything a child has ever known can be traumatic as hell - but imagine the trauma living with neglect or physical, sexual or emotional abuse can cause. We too often rationalize the signs in front of our faces and automatically default to the "he/she is better off with them than without them" setting on our moral compasses. We try too hard to save the family (read: the parents) from the trauma of dealing with child protection services because, you know, it could ruin their careers (insert eye-roll here).

And while we are doing all that to protect the reputations of the abusers, no one is protecting the children affected.

Abuse and neglect are never "It's simply not my business" situations. Ever. Think about it this way: Although an infant can't tell you what they're experiencing, a toddler, grade-schooler or teen many times won't or can't. The reasons why are varied and complicated - which makes it all the more important that we step up and get someone to ask the right questions, or ask them ourselves.

Afraid Uncle Ray-Ray might lose his job if you call the abuse hotline? The pastor's family might be disgraced if the state gets involved? The neighbors might lose their home? Why is any of that more important than the damage being done to the children under their roof?

While we should be treating such situations like an abandoned backpack in the airport, we get a little squeamish instead. We hesitate and hope, I guess, that someone else will handle it. That simply shouldn't be.

Like that unattended backpack, if you see something, say something. Let the investigators determine if there are problems that can only be addressed if the children are no longer living with their abusers. But that can't ever start if those investigators aren't aware of what might be going on - and awareness, as martial artists know, is the very first step of self-defense.

If you see something - or even if you think you do - call or text the National Child Abuse Hotline at 1.800.4.A.Child (1.800.422.4453). 

An abusers best friend is silence. We all owe it to children not to be quiet anymore.

That's Not Suppose to Happen!

One of the advantages to living in a small town is you almost always run into someone you know wherever you go. Since most of us have to eat and pay bills, I run into folks I haven't seen in a minute the most in the grocery store and post office.

But last week in the gym, I ran into a woman that I use to train with at my first dojo. After we hugged and caught up a bit on what was happening with family and life, Ms. H. mentioned that she stopped training a while ago due to her work schedule. But now that she is retired and leaning toward coming back to the dojo, she's not sure she wants to train where we both use to.

She started training because she was experiencing some violence at home. Her hubby, she said, occasionally got physical with her and she wanted to be able to defend herself. She stepped into the dojo looking for some tools and strategies she could use to help her avoid the fray and de-escalate when necessary.

Then she told me about her very first day in class.

The second-highest ranking student in the dojo was a woman who was a fourth-kyu. When I first stepped onto the mat, she out-ranked me and would often turn up the aggression dial when we sparred. I remember my then-sensei telling us all that class/tournament sparring was really a game of tag. The point, he said, was to get in and get out as quickly and efficiently as possible with light touches being par for the course. I noticed the fourth-kyu wasn't doing that, but was never reminded that she should.

The day she and Ms. H. met in class, Sensei had them doing a partner line-sparing drill that was supposed to be light with minimal contact as they were not wearing gear. But when Ms. H. lined up with her fourth-kyu partner, she was rushed, held and swept to the ground where she hit her head hard and almost passed out.

After class, with a headache and a need to understand what had happened during the drill, Ms. H. asked Sensei if the sparring session was supposed to leave her dazed and holding an ice pack to her skull. He told her she would eventually learn to defend herself better so she could fight back and give as good as she got.

Yes, that was the explanation he left a brand-new student with an injured head with. And I wish I could say I was surprised at what he told her, but I'm not.

Whether or not he knew or understood her reason for stepping onto the mat is irrelevant. No new student should suffer an injury while training with an advanced student unless it was a fluke accident - as in "I turned around to wave to someone at the door and my hand hit a student who was just walking by" or "There was an earthquake and I pushed the student out of way of falling debris which caused her to bump her head." Seriously - there aren't many other circumstances at all that would justify a student who just walked into the dojo leaving hurt. Injuries like that in a learning environment simply should not happen.

Sensei M. use to remind us all the time that injuring the friends/ukes we trained with was not something that he tolerated. "Nobody gets hurt in my dojo, understand?" he'd say at the end of every warmup/before we began whatever we were going to be working on that class. Sure, there were boo-boos, but we all came to realize that although accidents happen, they should always be a class exception and not a rule.

I now tell my students the same. For my younger karateka, I remind them that it's not fun to hurt friends. For my older students, I simply acknowledge that our dojo is a place for all of us to learn, which we do as ukes and as nages. Controlling the mind so the body can follow is priority.

I give Ms. H. a lot of credit for even stepping foot in that dojo again. It took lots of courage to return and risk injury happening a second time. But she did and trained there for a few years more, eventually earning the rank of sixth-kyu before her work schedule shifted and Saturday morning classes were no longer an option.

Of course I invited her to my class. Things at home are better, she said, but she wouldn't mind coming back to the dojo. I'm kind of excited about the idea of seeing her in a few weeks.

And if she does happen by, I'll be sure to do what our first sensei didn't: Let her know that nobody really should get hurt in the dojo.

Listen, hear...

This has nothing much to do with martial arts, but I'm putting it in this space anyway. Bare with me, please.

Last summer, my Beloved and I were on our way to grab a bite at our local mall. At the entrance of the mall is a stoplight. As it was red and there was another car in front of us, I'm pretty sure he came to a complete stop before turning right onto the mall ramp entrance. Unfortunately, the police officer who pulled us over didn't think so.

Since this wasn't long after Sandra Bland's mysterious in-custody death, the journalist in me sat up and began to look for any strangeness in the interaction. But since it was also the first time I'd been in the car when my Beloved was pulled over, most of my attention was drawn to him - how he sat (nice and straight), where he kept his hands (in plain view on the steering wheel) and how he handed not only his license and registration over when asked but also his gun permit and military ID. He also calmly told the officer he had the gun he was licensed to carry in the vehicle.

When the officer finally let us be on our way with a warning to come to a complete stop next time, we sat there for a few minutes while he put everything back into his wallet and glove box. Still not quite over how calm he'd been during the stop, I asked him how he'd managed to remain so non-vexed.

"Do you know how many times I've given that exact speech this month?" he asked. I had actually had no idea the tall, dark-skinned fella with the loud, deep voice (that, in 18 years, I only ever heard him raise at track meets when he's screaming out encouragement to the athletes he coaches) got pulled over so often.

About two weeks ago, it happened to him again. He was leaving school during his prep period to run to the bank and got pulled over for not slowing down enough in a construction zone. He said the officer who pulled him over knew him ("Hey coach - is that you?" the officer said when he saddled up to his window) and let him off with a warning.

"But what if I had gotten a little loud or my license wasn't straight? It might have turned out very differently," he said.

He's probably right.

Tonight, a friend I work with called me about an hour after a phone conference we were supposed to have. He said he was unable to make it because his wife's car had broken down and while they waited in front of her office for the tow truck to arrive, the police tapped on their car window, asking for license and registration - responding to a report of "suspicious activity." While they were explaining their wait for their tow, the CEO of his wife's company came out of the building, got a ride across the parking lot to her vehicle and left, never even acknowledging them or the police. As the thought drifted through their minds that maybe she had been the person who made the "suspicious activity" report, the tow truck driver pulled up.

I wondered what might have happened if neither he or his wife remembered their wallets, if the tow truck driver had gotten lost or their "What's the problem, officer?" came out a bit harsher than intended. Not gonna lie - it made me a little nervous.

Well over 20 years ago, my then 30-something brother was enjoying a movie in a suburban Philadelphia theater. He called me fuming because he'd just been forcibly removed from the theater when one of the attendants said he "fit the description" of some person who'd apparently done something wrong. It was so long ago that the particulars are fuzzy, but I remember that he came over right away and asked for help drafting a letter to the police department that had handled the whole thing so terribly.

Each of these situations made/make me feel so powerless, but since none of them happened directly to me, I can only imagine what the heck my Beloved, my friend and his wife and my brother went through as it was happening to them.

Sure, police have tough gigs - I get that - but there is something so humiliating about the being accused of things you know you didn't do simply because you look a certain way or happen to be where you aren't expected to be. No law-abiding citizen should ever be put in the position of hoping the police believe their story when that "story" is the God's honest, plain, boring truth.

Driving to get take-out, waiting for a tow truck or watching a movie shouldn't really ever be humiliating experiences.

And remaining calm or simply complying with all requests slowly and deliberately should keep everyone out of harm's way, but they don't always. The tone of your voice shouldn't determine if you make it home or not, I don't think. But unfortunately, sometimes, it does.

After their respective incidents, my Beloved, my friend and his wife and my brother all wrote letters as a way to try and recap what happened or as a way to let somebody know that what was experienced wasn't kosher. I'm writing this now for the same reasons - but also because I'm upset and don't really have any other recourse. I'm not looking for excuses or tales about that one time you or someone you know were treated similarly and it wasn't racial profiling because you aren't a person of color. So if your inclination is to "ya, but..." a response - just. don't.

Words aren't written just so you can disagree or explain them away. Sometimes they're there so the person writing them feels heard.

Listen and hear - then empathize and understand. It may not ever be your reality, but that doesn't mean it's any less real.

It really is just as simple as that.

One of these is not like the other...

As my solo karate teaching has been going on for about a year (Training Partner Ed and his family moved south last October), I'm noticing things that I never really noticed before.

For instance, whether teaching or studying the martial arts, I don't really remember comparing two karate-ka before - as in a "they are the same rank but they are very different" kind of way.

The reason I'm having to do that now is because another grading is coming up. And for the first time in a long time, I have two students going for the same new rank.

One of them is 12-year-old. He was away from the dojo for almost a year, then came back like a person possessed. His kihon, kata and kumite have all improved 10-fold. He actually came back to the dojo a better karate-ka than when he left.

The other is 10, and was away from the dojo for the summer. His basics and kata have stagnated although his kumite has improved a bit. He missed a few weeks since school started due to an injury, but his focus is good and he genuinely seems like he wants to be there.

Interestingly enough, they are fine-tuning the same kata together - going over stances, hand positions and the like - in preparation for the upcoming grading. Again, they are the same rank and have been training for roughly the same amount of time, but in everything from how they tie their belts to how they shift stances and where they place their feet, it's kinda evident that the younger student has fallen a bit behind his dojo brother.

They both will grade and probably earn their next rank, but I can already see the separation. And I do anticipate it being an issue as they continue to train through mudansha. My big fear is that I will lose my younger student if he gets frustrated by feelings of not being "as good as" his dojo mate and winds up discouraged. As often as it is said, it's usually very difficult for the younger lot to understand the idea of the individual nature of the each person's martial path.

See, when there were two of us instructing and issues like this came up, we often switched up primary teaching duties. For instance, when Training partner Ed had difficulties teaching his son on occasion (as lots of parent instructors often do) I'd take over the lesson and work with his son for a bit. If two students didn't gel or frustration was developing, we usually staved it away by having Ed work with one student while I worked with the other. Saved everyone lots of frustration and kept the desire to learn high.

Now that it's just me and I don't have anyone to trade instruction duties with, I miss those days a lot.

What do other instructors do when they have two students who could and probably should be working at the same level but aren't? Any tips and techniques you'd like to share?