Lines in the Sand

What is your line in the sand - you know, that thing which you absolutely will not tolerate? I'm not necessarily asking about the thing that will make docile you become a fighting machine - just the thing that makes you say "Aww - HELL to the NO!" Do you have any idea?

One of my lines is bringing or causing harm to my child. Been there, done that - so I know it revs my Mama Bear Mode engine and makes me go from 0 to 60 in about .4 seconds. It's not pretty, but as my bark really is much worse than my bite, no physical altercations have resulted to date (although I did think about choking my ex-husband waaaay back when the divorce was getting underway). Hey - sometimes a healthy fantasy life is one way to avert catastrophe.

It's becoming more obvious that another line for me is being talked to like I am a three-year-old. No Cybil-like morphing happens, but...well...the same level of pissivity is there without a doubt. Condescension is so unnecessary IMHO and I just don't understand exactly how some have lived long enough to be so darn good at it.

I especially hate it in the dojo. I may be young in my art (coming up on eight years), but the reality is that at the end of the day, I'm still a grown-behind woman. Talking to or treating me any other way makes me shut down and not even want to participate or contribute anymore.

I realize that some folks think their time on the mat is time to work on some self-esteem building by trying to earnestly take others down a peg (in an effort to build themselves up) - but, seriously?!? Work that crap out with whomever it is you're pissed at, not with the person you are standing in front of in the training hall. Last I checked, the dojo was not the place to let your inner demons out to play.

If an instructor is "going through," that does not give him/her the right to take it out on you. "Student" is not the same thing as "Peon for Which I Can Vent My Pent-Up Frustrations" - nor should it ever. There's a reason that silliness is only allowed in military boot camps and fraternity/sorority pledge lines.

But how should such foolishness be handled? Etiquette and rei are important and richly protected/expected traditions in the dojo. Is it even possible to keep the craziness at bay while still observing the rules of the training hall and not killing your instructor or uke?

Just wondering - before I end up losing it...

The Circle of Life: Karate Style

Two different folks have commented on my karate in as many days. "You really know what you're doing!" they've said. These are not folks who have been studying martial arts for as many years as I've been alive, as my senseis have (one has only been training for a few months and the other has never stepped on the mat at all and just happened to be passing through the dojo when I was asked by my training partner to do a kata last Friday night) - so to them, my Empi Ha kata presentation looked all trecherous and bad-ass. But I'm sure if my Sensei was there to witness my presentation, he probably would not have seen the same things as those who gave me kudos did.

I remember when I was learning Empi Ha - a USA Goju kata that has a blazingly fast 11-point attack shortly after it opens - I thought "How will I ever learn that when I can't even SEE what the heck it is that's being done?!?" But I learned it very slowly and, once the bunkai was demonstrated and interpreted, it wasn't such a mystery anymore. Then of course I did it over and over and over again, as most of us are want to do when we are learning a new form. Pretty soon, that 11-point attack - which is done on both sides before it transitions somewhere else - became rote. Fluidity followed and a deeper understanding of it came in drips and drabs after that. It always seemed like a work in progress (as I still have my issues with it), though. I guess that's the point.

I also remember seminars and gradings with the rest of the clan when I was a shiny-new white belt watching the more seasoned karateka move with a grace that I never imagined my choppy, mummy-step movements ever duplicating. I'm sure I spent much of those gatherings with my mouth open in awe, absolutely amazed at what I witnessed - that is, when we weren't forced to avert our eyes and face the wall.

Somewhere along the line, Mummy Me got lost and my movements changed. The more I moved, the easier it became to move. The understanding of those moves just seemed to follow. It's not that I'm a savant or anything (I'm probably one of the least naturally coordinated individuals to ever walk upright, trust and believe), I'm just a firm believer that it is possible to train a body to do anything if you do it enough. Practice might not make perfect - because perfection isn't something that is ever attained in the martial arts, although we all aim for it - but it does make good karateka better.

The interesting part is that as I am still watching my seniors and oooohing and ahhhing over their movements, my students are watching their seniors and doing the same. This weekend, when we took our students down to our sister dojo in NYC, we got quite a few comments from non-gi'd observers about the way our newbies moved. One compliment was directed towards the student I mentioned above who's only been training for a short period. She says she wants to flow like everyone else and doesn't yet realize folks are watching her and admiring what they see. It is a totally cool thing to observe.

The cycle continues...

The Way to Black Belt

Shortly after training partner Ed and I started teaching at the Salvation Army, a parent asked if we'd ever start a class just for the "mature" learners who wanted to delve into the art but who didn't necessarily want to do that while standing next to his or her child on the mat. We began our adult class a few months ago just for that reason, but sadly our inquiring parent, Mr. Dixon Guzman, passed away suddenly before he could gi up and join us. We thank him for the inspiration.

The adults meet each Wednesday evening from 6:30 to 8PM. We work kihon, kata, kumite and self-defense on a regular - and did even after Ed's shoulder surgery and while I was nursing a bum Achilles. The adults are dedicated - even coming to class through the heat of the Northeastern US's summer - and they train hard, which is nice to witness because their passion is infectious.

About a month ago, Kris Wilder sent out some info about the new book he'd written with Lawrence Kane called "The Way to Black Belt" - and specifically about how'd they were looking for a group of martial artists to read it and give it a run. As I enjoy their work - especially "How to Win a Fight" which I reviewed last year - I wrote back and told him all about our group. He sent enough copies for each of our students and we will begin distributing them tomorrow night. We'll post our progress on the school's new blog and I'll update a bit here as well.

And if you're in the Orange County, NY area and not doing anything this Wednesday evening, come join us :-)

The Learning Place

I have a confession to make: this week marked the first class I've been to (at my learning school) in a few weeks. My absence had a little to do with crazy end-of-summer/back-to-school schedules - but it had more to do with me not really "feeling" class for a minute due to the level of comfort in the dojo as of late. Or, more specifically, the lack of it.

It seemed like a big block of classes before my respite was a blaze of chastisements and corrections. My kata stances - in every kata we did - were consistently either too wide or too narrow. My body alignment wasn't right. My movements were off and my self-defense and kata presentations lacked umph. When I tell you that nothing I did was right, I really mean that nothing I did was right. I even got gigged for not being as sharp after my Achilles was all better as I was before the injury sidelined me. It made me wonder if there was anything that I was doing even close to right.

I'm not one who needs lots of phrase and back-patting to feel like I've accomplished something, but hearing "Nope, that's wrong!" all the bloody time is very emotionally draining. It got to the point I was scared to do anything at all because I knew the criticism - as constructively delivered as it was - would fly. Yeah, I know that sounds whiney as all get out, but it's how I felt, and it made me less than enthusiastic about the hour drive to class while eating dinner from my lap on the way there, only to deal with being barked at for two hours before driving another hour home. So I stayed home and worked kihon or kata or technique combos with the heavy bag in my garage.

But then it hit me: I was maintaining - perhaps even sharpening some of the tools in my toolbox - but I wasn't actually learning. And that's not a good thing.

So I made plans to get my body back to class, but I knew if I went back with my head in the same place as it was, frustration would result and I'd be just as uncomfortable as before. That discomfort was affecting my passion for my art - and Sensei told me long ago that if the heart wasn't right, my art wouldn't be either.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I made a pact with myself: I would REALLY try to see the criticism as the earnest attempt that it was to make me the best possible martial artist I could be. When I walked into the building Tuesday I was actually talking to myself, saying "You're going to take whatever is handed to you and use it as a stepping stone to help you get to where you want to be" over and over again and making it my mantra.

Almost soon as we began, I was slammed...err, corrected...while doing a kata I've worked for about five years. Sensei went through it with me stance by stance and showed me exactly where my front stance was shorter than it needed to be and what the unbalance would net: ending at lest three feet off from where I should. In my head, I was thinking "But that's where I've ALWAYS ended!" but I focused to try to receive what he was giving me - and I'll be darned! I actually ended where I started for the first time ever when doing the kata. Perhaps his 40 years of training trumps my meager eight after all - imagine that! He really is quite an instructor, but I have to be open to that instruction to learn.

What I had forgotten in my "He's picking on me!" pity party was that although training is about me, it really isn't at all. Learning to reduce the "you" (so that the underlying thing that is REALLY what it's about can take center stage) is difficult, but very necessary. It's very humbling, too.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I am so far from being the perfect karateka and I still have a great many lessons to learn. But I'm cool with that, because that there is always, always something new to learn is the very reason I love karate as much as I do. I'm growing, which is important, I think. But maybe growing down, like the rice stalk that bends low to the ground as approaches maturity, is just as important as growing up. There are no quick fixes here - but that's what I signed up for :-)

In the Name of Realism

For my 23rd birthday, my mom bought me a pair of diamond studs. She probably couldn't have given them to me at a more appropriate time in my life either, as I was dealing with a new career that was starting to stall and I'd just ended things with my first, real, long-term boyfriend. Suffice to say that with all that and the fact that I was 150 miles from home, I was feeling less than celebratory when my mom called to wish me a happy birthday that January evening.

"Did you open your gift?" she'd asked, referring to the little box she'd sent me back to my new "home" town with after I visited my old one for Christmas. Stuffed in a bag I hadn't even unpacked yet, she made me open it while we were chatting. My "thank you" must have sounded a bit uninspired, I imagine (I thought they were rhinestones).

"They're real, you know," she told me. I couldn't believe that my mom, a homemaker (or "domestic engineer" as she called it) from a tiny town in the middle of North Nowhere had actually spent so much on such an extravagant gift for me - which is exactly what I said.

"Why?" she asked, completely baffled. "Don't you think you're worth it?" I know there was a very pregnant pause as I thought of how to answer. On that day, I didn't think I was - and it made me cry like a baby.

Since that day all those years ago, I've worn the studs almost every day - whether rocking my work attire, Lycra bike tights and a tee-shirt or dressing it up for special occasions (which is easier than you think as I have two holes in each ear. And don't worry - I do clean my studs regularly!) - because, channeling a product slogan I still hear from time to time, I am worth it, but that's another story :-).

My mom passed away 20 years ago, so those studs are, of course, very special to me because they were one of the last things she gave me. I've worn them to every post-colligate track meet I ever competed in, every road race I've ever run and to every trip to the gym I've made in the last two decades. I noticed yesterday - as I was looking for a particular photograph from my son's baby book to send him (after I scanned it) for his birthday - that I even wore them the day he was born! And yes, I wear them to karate class. Never had an issue with them in my sparring gear or anything like that, either. The few times I have taken them off for class (when grappling or working choke escapes for instance), I've been really, REALLY worried that they were going to get lost or left behind somehow, which made it kinda hard to concentrate on practical technique applications.

Some folks train where there are strict dojo "no jewelry" rules. Most of my training partners are smart enough to remove their watches, big rings, necklaces and dangly earrings when we step onto the mat, but wedding rings and small studs have always been allowed where I've trained. Always.

Lately, training partner Ed had been on a tear about the wearing of jewelry at the Salvation Army where we teach. He's become quite insistent about it, too, saying he and I should come to the dojo jewelry-free to "be the example" for the students. Now I'm all for setting the standard, but I'm not sure how I feel about this new "no jewelry" rule - although it has less to do with my studs than you think. (No, really!)

Think about it for a minute - if the crap ever really goes down and I'm not exiting the shower, on the treadmill or in the dojo, I'm probably going to be wearing a watch, a bangle bracelet, a necklace and a belt because I put all of those things on everyday when I get dressed. I don't think any adversary will allow me a few moments to remove my hoops and watch before he or she attacks, right? So, maybe it isn't that horrible a thing to know how to move around with all that stuff on. I'm just sayin'...

But I've said the same thing about shoes and pencil skirts - "girl clothes" if you will - as well. I want to know how to throw a mae geri with a Timberland boot and a heavy parka on just in case a situation has to be handled as I'm trudging to my car in the snow (I do live in a place where that could actually happen as our winter wonderland season lasts from November through March; heck, we've even had snowstorms in April). Why should jewelry be any different?

Japanese culture and etiquette aside, our feet are shoeless and arms/necks unadorned on the mat to keep from hurting our dojo mates and instructors, although keeping from hurting ourselves is part of it, too. But if the three broken and one dislocated toe I've managed to hobble away on in the past few years is any indication, being barefoot can be just as bad, I think.

Trust and believe, I'm not going to class in a big medallion or gargantuan hoops - just like I wouldn't fall in with a pair of Stilettos or a mini-skirt on. But there has to be a happy medium somewhere as far as realism in training goes, right?

Right?

Perspective

A few weeks ago, my beloved had me pick him up from the car repair shop as his vehicle was having a "check engine" light issue. When he got in my car, he asked if we could swing by his brother's house for a bit because he HAD TO meet him at 2:15PM.

His brother - the oldest of 10 - is quite a big wig in the Air Force. A little over a year ago, he retired from the NYS Air National Guard as THE person in charge of over 5,000 service members in the state, which is the nation's largest ANG. His retirement ceremony and the celebration that followed had top enlisted men and women from all over the place, all there to pat "Chief" on the back, celebrate the military accomplishments he had amassed in his almost 38-year career and wish him well in his retirement. At about six feet tall, he looked quite dapper in his dress blues with medals and ribbons gleaming and his gig line tight.

But when we arrived at the house, my beloved, Chief's wife and I had to help him get out of the car, up the few stairs in the foyer and into his favorite recliner because he couldn't walk. 2:15PM, I found, was the time he usually arrived home from radiation treatments for a tumor on his spine that was causing the inability to move his legs.

Not that long ago, Chief had had chemo for lymphoma. Although I'm not sure if he ever really went into a remission, you'd never know it from his demeanor. Lovingly stern, he was the anchor of the family and the one all the siblings went to for advice or to share news, both good and bad. His was the voice I heard on the other end of the phone the night he called to tell us that their father passed away. He was also the one who had put together the specifics for a family cruise this October, setting up the travel agency handling the arrangements and emailing his family members information on what to do to reserve their spots. Vibrant and full of life, he went from military fit to walking with a cane, then walking with two canes, needing a walker and finally a wheelchair in a little less than a month.

Last week, my beloved and Chief's son moved his bed, wardrobe and recliner downstairs so he could get to them without having to tackle the stairs of his split-level ranch home. It was becoming more difficult for him to assist with his arms when he was being helped from one part of the house to another. So all the while I was pouting about being unable to run and do kata because of an achy Achilles, Chief and his immediate family were dealing with that.

Monday night, my beloved called to let me know he was going to be late for dinner because he was en route to the hospital. Seems Chief had had some difficulty breathing and they were heading to the emergency room via ambulance to see what was going on. By the time they got there, Chief was in a lot of pain. They gave him morphine to help ease it. He passed away not long after.

Only 61, he had a lot of life left to live. A husband, father, grandfather, brother and friend to so many, he left quite a mark during the time he was here. As I helped his wife, son and my beloved put together his obituary for the newspaper, that was the thing that stood out the most.

We looked through dozens of military pictures to find just the right one for his funeral service program. Not one for smiling when he was seated in front of the flag in his uniform, he always told the photographer that he needed to take at least one with his pearly whites showing so his wife wouldn't be upset. The one above was chosen because of the serene look into the camera with only the slightest hint of a smile. It seemed to fit.

Yesterday, his wife showed us a picture the two of them had taken together on a recent vacation. Chief wore a pair of shades and a hat to shield his head from the beach sun. He was hugging his wife and had the absolute biggest smile on his face. That seemed to fit, too.

I'm sure he's smiling now - and will be tomorrow as his family and friends gather to remember his life and be with others who will miss him greatly. Perhaps it will be as celebratory as his retirement gathering last year was. Hopefully, after the tears have subsided a bit, we'll be smiling as well, remembering Chief's life and how vibrantly he lived it.

Rest in peace, Chief...

25 to Life

Friday night was a hot one here in the northeast US. Class was held anyway - complete with more frequent water breaks and an extra fan as we do not have air conditioning in the Salvation Army gym we use as our dojo. I'm still on the disabled list and taught from my trusty chair, but I was sweaty by the end of class - though not as much as my students. Suffice to say it wasn't the most comfortable evening to be training.

As we have a tournament coming up in a few months that will be, for some of our students, their first ever, we got into a little kata presentation after our invigorating warm-up. Because of our lack of cool, conditioned air, our students wear their school t-shirts and gi bottoms to class. School t-shirts are all they are allowed to wear on the mat other than their gi tops (and we sell them at cost, so there is no money to be made from their comfort) - simply because it is a way to keep the uniformity and discipline while keeping everyone from suffering from heat exhaustion. It works for us.

One of our teen girls who has not gotten her t-shirt yet and wears her gi top to train, stood up, got herself to the middle of our make-shift ring and told training partner Ed and me - her judges for the day - about her style and kata without a hitch. But what she did next in actually presenting the kata was almost just as flawless. Sure it needs work, but her kata showed the two things we stress most to our young charges: that to an observer, it should look like the practitioner is in a fight and that he/she is winning that fight. We gave her her "homework" (the main things she should work on to improve her presentation for next time), which she accepted before bowing and returning to her spot against the wall.

After class, found her and told her just how solid her presentation and kata were. She humbly thanked me and said the most endearing thing ever: that she could honestly see herself doing karate for the rest of her life. A good student on the mat and in the classroom who is respectful to her instructors as well as her dojo mates and her family, I have no doubt that she will continue to train for a long time.

But then, just as young people are want to do, she changed the subject and began talking about her love for martial arts movies - especially those with female lead characters. We spent the next few minutes comparing notes about her favorite ("Chocolate" - which I have not seen) and mine ("Kill Bill" - which she has not seen). We are exchanging DVDs next week :-)

I've seen those I train with and instruct do amazing things on the mat, including compete/grade with confidence and amazing skill. As we also check the report cards of our students, I know what it feels like to see that "is a pleasure to have in class" comment from our students' teachers. But it's a whole different animal hearing a student expresses her desire to continue on the path you've simply pointed her towards.

"Thanks for a great class, Sensei," she said when our chat was done.

No, kohai, thank you :-)