Overconfidence

Confidence is good. But overconfidence can lead to a disconnect when it comes to real life violence. It is too easy to fall into the trap of thinking aptitude in the dojo means one is automatically safe in the real world.

I've seen this in adults, from time to time, but where I've really noticed it lately is with teenagers who have put in a couple of years, and achieved some level of success when it comes to class. You see the confidence increase, which is good, but sometimes there develops a slight arrogance, and a belief that a high belt colour means you can hold your own with anyone, in any type, of situation. But it's just not true. It's not the way life works.

Unfortunately, sometimes, depending on the student (and to a large degree the teacher), success in the dojo can be comparable to being book smart at school. Good grades don't necessarily mean intelligence outside of the classroom.

Once, for example, I was watching a class where the teenagers were having semi-formal grappling/wrestling matches. A new kid was there, and he, because of his size, was paired up with an experienced brown belt in the class. Everyone was thinking, he's going to get destroyed by the senior student, and the group gathered around in a circle to watch. However, within seconds of the beginning of the match, the new kid pinned the brown belt on the mat and the match was over. And then he did it again.

Luckily, it was just a friendly match in the dojo.

In fairness, most of us who have put in any amount of time training have likely felt increased confidence because of our increased abilities. I get it. But what some students don't yet realize, and it may take many more years of training and real life experience to understand, is that humility needs to be one of the key attributes discovered along the road of training. Use your confidence, but don't waver from caution; don't think yourself invincible, because no one is. After all, if we are to never underestimate an opponent, it means to never overestimate yourself.

Real life violence cannot be duplicated in a dojo for the sake of training. Real violence is ugly and unpredictable. It should be avoided, if possible.

I guess I just worry some of these students, with their new-found confidence, will put themselves in bad situations because of, well, being a bit naive. Because confidence can only take one so far, and some of the book smarts have to be interpreted and/or translated into realistic thinking.

Perseverance

The year 2014, while full of memorable moments in the dojo, was a year that ultimately brought lessons in patience and perseverance.

For the first time in seven years of dedicated training, I hit a point where I could see quitting. Plain and simple. I was down in the dumps; my energy depleted, and my focus gone. But only in fits and starts. I would miss three weeks of class, then go regularly for three more. I binge trained, to be honest, and there were points where I had to drag myself out of the house to make it to the dojo for a training session.

What kept me going was knowing that each time I did go to class, I felt so glad that I did so. I felt refreshed, excited, and pleasantly tired from a challenging lesson. But then it would fade in my mind, and one day off would turn into many more. I was extremely busy with my family life, and my drive was just, well, not there.

Another thing that kept me going was watching my seven-year-old son's classes. I observed his excitement as he advanced to the “bigger kids class,” and enjoyed seeing his progression as lessons in the martial arts unfolded in front of his youthful eyes.

But why was I struggling? I needed to figure this out in order to move forward.

I could pin blame on many factors if I wished: exhaustion; injuries; absent training partners; not enough time; feeling too old; other interests, etc. I also have to deal with mental depression and anxiety which severely impacts my motivation at times.

However, these factors have never stopped me in the past. And who doesn't have challenges to overcome?

So what I had to do was dig deep and decide what the martial arts mean to me. And two of those things, among many others, is the cultivation of patience and perseverance. I realized that these lulls and challenging moments are just part of the deal. Training to get past them is not unlike training in endurance or technique. At times it's just hard.

But getting through the challenges, and finding joy once again on the path, is worth all the struggle and discomfort.

summer changes...

Usually, this time of year, I am ready for some down time. The dojo shuts down for a large part of the summer, and the time is used to heal, relax, and think about what comes next.
But this year I don't feel ready.
To start, my training time has been sporadic this year, down significantly from previous years due to a variety of reasons. I also used to attend another dojo--a different martial art--but have taken time away from doing this in order to focus on my main style (which as I mentioned has been neglected somewhat). And it seems as soon as my focus began returning and I became fired up for some serious training, it was announced that the dojo would close for an even longer time this year. And sooner rather than later.
Argh!
So now I have to figure out how to channel my new-found enthusiasm despite this news; how to turn this negative into a positive. But is it even enough time to bother trying a new style? Is it worth going back to the other dojo even though I had made a decision to take a break from training there?
I dunno... But I'd hate to let this enthusiasm go to waste...

being timid...

I often leave seminars with a feeling of ambivalence.

And this is exactly what happened last week as I attended a really good self-defense clinic about an hour away from my home.

The good feelings are usually first. They are a result of having just learned some great stuff, having met with some great martial artists, and having tons of exercise-induced endorphins pumping through my system.

What’s not to be happy about? Right?

Well, the second emotion that hits me is usually frustration with myself. And not because I’m overly critical with my technique--because I know that it is not perfect. Rather, the feeling is because I am upset with how I react to different training partners than those I am used to. As I have mentioned before, I train in a very small dojo, where one becomes very comfortable with one’s instructors and/or peers. When I am at a seminar, I train with many, many different people, and my reaction to this is very inconsistent. With some people, I feel immediately comfortable, and the mutual learning goes smoothly. With other partners, it is neutral, and likewise, the training remains solid. However, for some reason, with just a few, (and here is the crux of the matter), I get shy and even a bit intimidated at times. And not so much physically intimidated—the environment is always friendly--but rather socially intimidated. I start to feel awkward with my partner and am overly apologetic and/or overly polite. I get quiet and uncomfortable, and I'm generally a guy who is comfortable in most social situations. And this doesn’t go by rank, either. It could be while working with a white belt or fifth degree black.

I guess I just worry about what ramifications this could have outside the dojo. Could it hurt my confidence in real life...? Could it make me a weaker person in a real confrontation...? 
Or is it all just good for me. The whole overcoming one’s comfort zone etc. But it’s difficult to totally overcome, especially since opportunities for such group settings only come up every few months or so.

more lessons on weapons...

Despite my wavering (and likely naive) opinions on weapons as of late, I decided to jump right in and go to a seminar on classical Japanese sword technique.
And, well, I loved it.
 The instructor, who I have attended sessions with in the past, is truly one of the best I have seen. His breadth of knowledge is immense, and his ability to simplify seemingly intricate techniques is incredible. To top it all off, I got to work on what he showed us with my own sensei for the entire three hours.
And while many realizations were had during the course of the afternoon, two things really hit home with me this time.
Firstly, although I have always known the link between weapons and empty hand exists, this was one of the clearest examples of this concept for me. I could see how the difference between the two could seemingly dissolve, and how the bokken, or wooden sword, could truly become an extension of one's body. (I am not claiming to have mastered this... I am claiming an understanding of how one could master this...). Likewise, I could further feel how one's body could feel more weapon-like, and how the two could in fact be melded together.
Second, and one of the most valuable things I am getting out of my recent foray into the world of weapons, is an intensified view on the importance of timing. On the battlefield, life and death could be reduced to a millisecond, as a technique would work or fail based on the same. This instructor really conveyed this concept, and as a result, he made the techniques seem very real to me. (Of course, this extreme awareness of timing is, once again, transferable back to empty hand.)
Don't get me wrong, I still have a sense of awkwardness in comparison to my normal comfort zone of training. I can feel my shoulders are still stiff and I overthink most aspects of the techniques. But my mind is, in fact, being slowly pried open. My brain is absorbing new material and adding it to my previous knowledge base.
And yes, it was fun this time too.....
 

words...

My last class was one of my most important to date. I entered the dojo (I was the only student at class), my sensei and I bowed, and he asked me to sit down on the floor. And for two hours we just talked about martial arts. I learned a lot, and thanked him for such an insightful class... some of the words i will carry with me for a long time...

diversity...

I am happiest when there is diversity in my training.
While repetition is important, it can be done by revisiting the same techniques over time, rather than two hours each class just hammering the same lesson over and again (there is a time and place for this, don't get me wrong).
The past week is a good example of  what I like doing. Class One: stretches, kicks, strikes, once through all katas, and a fairly lengthy lesson on swords. Class two: stretches (with push ups, sit ups, etc.), focus mitts, light sparring, blocking drills, joint locks/take downs, and a session with the sticks. It was a great mix, and my brain feels like it worked out, too.
We all know that martial arts takes years of repeating a concept, not just specific classes where one technique is repeated endlessly. For example, I have likely done thousands and thousands of wrist throws over the past five years alone, yet never have I spent a whole class just on this one technique--not that I wouldn't. I just think diversity helps, keeping things fresh, and thus allowing greater focus on learning.
Maybe this is just me and my attention span. However, the repetition, if I look for it closely, is still there, just over years instead of hours...
I repeat, instead of hours.... hours... hours...
(groan). 
 

blending...

I'm learning that blending two offensive combat styles is a different beast than blending two defensive styles. As I've mentioned before, I have lately been adding a few boxing drills to my traditional training. And while the striking fits fairly seamlessly, switching from a TMA blocking style to a more compact boxing one is a bit difficult for me.
This is why I am trying to merge the two.
Firstly, there are pros and cons to each style. These involve a more side-facing stance or a squared-off stance. It involves a closer striking/grabbing lead hand versus "covering up" quicker. However, the premise is the same: minimizing damage by deflecting or absorbing the impact of an opponents attack. And for me, I'm mainly interested in blocking the initial strikes in order to crash inside and use my jiu-jitsu.
To complicate things, I spar with a strong-arm-forward southpaw stance. This is uncommon in boxing where the power comes from the back (same with many martial arts). But I feel stronger defending this way, and feel I can strike faster, and better get inside to utilize throws, locks, strikes etc. Also in sparring, I like to be able to switch stances, to confuse an opponent or readjust an attack strategy on my part.
But as always, I am really looking for a way to get the best of both worlds. Is this more dangerous than committing to one style? Is this counter productive and spreading my defenses too thin?
As long as I don't eat too many punches I guess I'm on the right track.

what we like and what we need....

Inevitably, when it comes to training, there are aspects we all enjoy more than others. However, we all tend to suffer through the areas we don't like as much to better ourselves all around.
I'm not a fan of weapons (defense I appreciate, but I'm talking about weapons for combat). That said, I often find myself practicing with them.
So here's how I look at it:
- it could happen that in desperation I pick up an object to use in a life or death situation.
- it makes me better understand the attacks so I improve my defense in the process.
- it can't hurt my coordination skills.

I guess this is how I spin it, anyway.
Kata is another area where I do this sort of reasoning with myself. A bit of kata I think is valuable... I think we all can figure out reasons why this is so. However, I find too often I get bogged down in so many forms of it that my head spins like a top.
But what if I only practiced what I like? Would that improve my skills to the level I want them to be at? While sometimes the answer feels like it should be yes, I still trust my teachers, and try to focus on the good that can come from doing the things I don't enjoy.

Defensive drills...

I spend too much time dwelling on how good my offence is. That is, in my mind, I focus on progression in terms of how successful my attacks would be in a specific situation.
Funny, since I practice a defensive form of jiu-jitsu. So, I've decided I need to spend more mental time on understanding my level of defense, and understanding the progression of my skills in this respect.
It reminds me of a couple of drills I have done in the past. One is setting up a sparring situation where one person can strike, and the other may only defend. This exercise can hone one's defensive skills and boost your confidence when it comes to evading attacks. You will also find many openings you might normally have overlooked due to utilizing extra patience. Both blocking and footwork will be crucial.
The second drill is almost the same as the first. However, the defender sets up a "wall" or "fence" with his/her hands held high in a defensive position. While your partner throws light and varied strikes, you must keep your hands in the same continuous position (think boxing), blocking strikes by footwork and torso movement alone. Surprisingly, a small percentage of strikes actually get through. This exercise also boosts defensive confidence and teaches economy of movement.
Taking away the attack refocuses your thinking process, and in my case, brings me back to the gentle art of defense.

a new cycle....

Well, training has wrapped up until the new year.
Sometimes a break is good... to heal injuries, ponder one's progress, and relax a bit with family. I'm looking forward to these things, as well as coming back refreshed and with a clear mind. It represents yet another cycle--or circle--of life and training.
Time off, it seems, can actually make one better at what one does. It's strange but true.
So Happy Holidays everyone, and I'll try to write a bit more during the break!

getting hit on the way in....

"I never told you that you wouldn't get hit."
This was a passing comment from a sensei at a recent seminar I attended at another dojo. I knew what he said was valid, and have thought about it before, but it resonated with me this time more than ever. In our style of jiu-jitsu we are taught to immediately move in towards our opponent, so the risk of getting hit--even while blocking--is definitely there.
"I rather take 40 per cent going in and then give 100," explained the instructor. "And the day you aren't afraid is the day you really get hurt."
During the two-hour session we learned and practiced many solid techniques, from joint locks to punch counters. But it was the words such as those above that made the bigger impact on me.
Another comment had to do with the practical nature of low kicks. "Up high is fine for tournaments and practice, but on the street it's foolish." This, too, I've heard before (even in the writings of Bruce Lee), however, there are many respectable individuals who disagree that I've met as well.
Regardless, sometimes it's the little comments that make one really think.

final report...???

Well, I finally gave my leg the full test.
And, touch wood, it held up wonderfully.
Don't get me wrong, I still fear a recurrence of the muscle pull (tear?), but I did some light sparring exercises for the first time since the injury occurred and walked away intact. For those who recall, it was such exercises that were involved in the initial injury. I also used my full weight for other techniques and even kicked the heavy bag full tilt again (this felt good--a lot of pent up tension).
But here's the catch. I took my four-year-old ice skating and felt a twinge by merely doing slow laps of the rink with him. This reinforces caution, of course, but hey, at least the dojo time went well.
So hopefully the injury reports are finished for now and some serious (and not so serious) training can get back under way.

reality....

This story has been in my head for awhile.
A friend, and competent practitioner of the martial arts, was walking down a city street at night with a friend when he was attacked. Two men jumped them and put the one friend into the hospital with pretty bad injuries. My friend was beaten, too, but not nearly as severely.
Since that night, about three years ago, my friend has completely stopped training as he felt his skills didn't 'kick in' when needed. He has become disillusioned and cynical when it comes to the art form he used to love.
Now, I don't want to write a post about how he should resume training and how it could have happened to anybody etc. Nor do I want to comment on his teacher or his style--as I don't think that was the issue anyway.
Instead, I just think about why he feels the way he does and how I would feel
if that happened to me. Are we allowed to 'lose'? Are we allowed to have 'doubts' and weaknesses'?
It reminds me of how real violence can be, and how instincts differ from person to person.
I know there is a gap in my friend's life to this day.

refining...

When you begin your journey on the path of martial arts, little does one know that the bulk of one's training will eventually be spent refining what one already "knows".

It is a time-consuming and often tedious process--adjusting slight movements and footwork--that can occupy a student for the rest of their life. It requires dedication and love; it requires the drive to improve above and beyond the average individual who steps on the mats.

Bad habits form and need to be corrected; new insights are delved into; a new teacher has a new take on an old technique. It all comes down to small things, and small adjustments of one's perception of the art. It is adding the detail to a painting done in big brush strokes. (It was Picasso who said a painting is never finished).

Refining, to me, is an enjoyable aspect of learning. It means you already have a decent grasp of the concept being studied, and the slight nuances can be the difference between a technique working or not working in real life. It also reinforces what you already know via repetition--a major part of budo in general--and allows one to learn further by trial and error.

However, it is the time and dedication that separates the strong martial artists from the adequate or weak. And time is not something just anyone will commit to something they think they already know.

But each day we must have beginners mind.

the sidelines...

Now comes the self-pity, irritation and dismay. Now comes the, "I don't want to reflect anymore, I want to train."
But my leg still hurts. I hobble and cringe every few steps. There is, however, improvement. It's slow, but it's there.
And now my silver lining is this: that it's not a lot worse. I've suffered several kinds of long-term pain in my life, and I am glad this injury is temporary and relatively minor. And it's only been a week, after all.
But the challenge with injuries like this is to not prolong the pain by getting eager and hitting the mats prematurely. The second injury is usually worse than the original.
So back to being patient. Or trying to be.
Here's a good post by Sensei Strange regarding sitting on the sidelines: http://tomikiaikido.blogspot.com/2011/09/saturday-shiai.html

Nature is a language, Can't you read?

I am not in a martial arts funk. However, my practice of meditation and energy work have both been greatly altered over the past few months.

For the most part, with me, the meditative/reflective aspects of my training have been a routine--almost necessary--part of my martial equilibrium. But now, after a few months, I have found my discipline has eroded in this regard. It seems like I am just being lax until I delve deeper into the reason why this is so.

The reason is Nature.

I have found myself spending much more time than usual in the natural world, with my family, far away from concrete and traffic, and in the company of trees, lakes, and just pure quietude. This, I figure, has been my meditation and reflection time, and to learn the principles of energy one need look no further than a wooded area with small birds and squirrels. (Corniness doesn't mean it lacks truth).

In my area, the lotus, so sacred in terms of vedic/buddhist tradition, appears this time of year in the form of a white water lily--amid lily pads and leopard frogs--and opens its pedals to the sun in a like manner. Chestnuts fall to the ground, with a Newtonian thud, and one's place in the world seems a little clearer.

I have often thought about the dojos of old Japan, nested away on a mountainside. Outlook is influenced by environment, and therefore abilities in turn. Do concrete jungles have advantages also, fine tuning our senses to a more realistic setting for self-defense? Should we take training retreats--to our opposite living situations--as a form of cross-training?

Anyway, I feel better to have realized my meditation has not become lost. Rather, it has just changed its form for the time being.

intuition...

Intuition needs to be exercised and developed like any other aspect of training.
When we spend too much time breaking down techniques, analyzing details etc., a partial atrophy of intuitiveness can take place. I think technique is a tool of intuition, not the other way around (or at least it's equal).
In this way, perhaps, no mind can be looked upon as a link to intuitive mind. An open gate to the flow of emotive power; an over-riding of gut feeling over the analytical.
But how is it practiced? Perhaps just by listening to it on a regular basis. Not just in a martial arts perspective, but in daily life situations. By quieting the part of the brain that keeps nagging you with too much data regarding outcome and probability. Intuition, tied to instinct, can save you from hesitation. And hesitation in daily life can be as damaging as hesitation in self-defense.
Of course, there is time for intellect. No one should argue this fact. It's just that most of us practice this on a regular basis, while the other aspects often get silenced by the voice of "reason."

holding the pads....

I always jump at the chance to hold the pads for punching/kicking drills.

Firstly, I just like the feeling of absorbing the energy. It feels good to play hard.

Secondly, I can learn a lot about an individual's style, especially if their martial arts background differs from my own.

When sparring, half of one's attention is focused on offense, and half on defense. You are an active participant, which, personally, narrows my scope to freely observe, while holding pads I become a fly on the wall. Breath patterns, eye movement, strengths, weak points, and tells are all on display.

Now, the goal isn't to use this to defeat anyone, rather, to apply the lessons to yourself. I've talked before about picking up tips from boxers and kick boxers. Tips to use and tips just for the sake of awareness.

Recently, I was training with a heavy striker. I let him pound the pads as hard as he wanted--and I moved him around the room to see how his feet moved. The lesson, however, was not about his telegraphing punches or a potential weakness to exploit in his guard. Instead, a painfully obvious conclusion was made by myself:

Don't strike with a striker! Get in close--without getting knocked out--and use what you know best.

Hey, honesty has to count for something!

Low Rider...

One of the ironies I like best in the martial arts world is the fact Bruce Lee taught that kicks on the street should never go above the waist. High kicks are good for control and balance, he claimed, but best left to practice, and of course, films.

I'm not going to get into the reasons why. Most of my readers will know why a high kick can be a defensive liability. But rather, I just wanted to comment on something I've experimented with while training.

I've lowered my heavy bag from the rafter enough to bring the height of both the knee and shin into play. This has taken the head height right out of the equation, as my heavy bag isn't tall enough to cover both. What this has done is twofold: my leg kicks have gotten much stronger, and I've been forced to strike in areas that exclude the area of the face (elbows and punches often inadvertantly gravitate to the height of the head while practicing).

Aside from the legs, the targets become the ribs, solar plexus, and neck area.

This works for me as it forces me into exploring alternatives to higher punches. I work more on knife hand strikes and palm heel more than I ever have.

Later, I'll raise the bag again in order to change the game once more.