Striking Distance

Middle-Aged Martial Artist recently penned a post about punching range, in particular how boxers use "reach" to their advantage. In the Sweet Science, having long arms is considered favorable as a skilled fighter can use them to keep an invasive opponent on the outside. The pugilist's jab or the karateka's forward leg front kick both work effectively to stop an aggressor in his tracks.

Still, if you don't possess the reach advantage, or even if you're not that good of a fighter on the outside, getting in that close range shot may be you're best bet. Short strikes such as hooks and uppercuts are fast, powerful and difficult to detect. It was fifties boxing contender Rocky Marciano that delivered a crushing right cross that traveled a mere six inches to knock the heavyweight crown right off Jersey Joe Walcott's head. Taken to its extreme, we have the controversial 1-inch punch that Bruce Lee demonstrates here in 1964:

I'm told that Lee's uke in this footage was in fact a judo player. Note that he's not braced in any kind of a fighting stance whatsoever when he gets hit. Also note that Lee's arm is nearly extended prior to punching. Maybe it's just me, but this looks more like a push than anything else.

Supposedly the trick to this little 1-inch miracle shot is to deliver the strike with a vertical fist and upon impact torque the still standing fist to protrude the bottom two knuckles (as opposed to the traditional method of striking with the top two knuckles). In this way ki-energy that already is flowing down the ulna of the forearm will be dispensed into the bottom portion of the fist and into the hapless opponent. This certainly wasn't Lee's explaination as he had some serious doubts about the existence of ki at all. Draeger believed in its presence but from a practical viewpoint, sans the "hocus pocus carnival" nonsense seen in clips of George Dillman, Jack Hogan, et al.

One noteworthy theory of ki is that it begins in the lower extremities and then radiates to wherever you can get it to go. This idea holds up well alongside of the bio-mechanics involved with delivering any kind of strike. Proper foot alignment and rotation of hips are critical to executing maximum force to punches. Getting real power into short range strikes can be tricky - it might require a little magic - but definitely requires lots of practice.

Size Matters

Yesterday while I was at work making a delivery in the parking lot of a busy village, I noticed a smattering of people heading towards a popular chain karate school. It was obvious they were students as they were already attired in gi-pants and t-shirts with the school logo. As I observed the class from the sidewalk there was a chief instructor barking commands while a couple of younger black belt sempai milled about and made corrections. It was a good mix of men and women at various stages of rank and fitness. Curiously, all the belts worn had a solid black stripe running down the middle. But what really caught my attention was the size of this adult class: about forty students! It was a sizable facility that could easily accommodate a large class. Most schools that I've trained in through the years weren't much bigger than a deli and I can fondly remember spirited sparring sessions where we would occasionally crash into neighboring matches.

Originally, martial-art teachings were transmitted one-on-one. Later, the idea of group "lessons" emerged. Today, some schools have gone the way of syndication, offering courses in MMA, karate and cardio-kickboxing, complete with contracts and TV ads (geared mostly toward kids) with the hopes of attracting a mass following.

Personally I like training in a decent-sized class where camaraderie can thrive - about a dozen people. More than that would likely dilute the quality of instruction, even if the sensei has helpers. If I'm running a class I make it a point to at least get everyone's name right. It seems to me that the bigger the class, the less personal it becomes for everyone.

Do you prefer to train in large groups or smaller settings?

The Art of Forgetting

One of my favorite authors on the martial arts is Donn Draeger. I find his material to contain a wealth of information and has been a reliable source for a number of my articles. As a career military man, Draeger spent decades studying and teaching the martial arts in the US and abroad. Most of his formative training was done in Japan.

One of Draeger's themes that were repeated throughout his discourses was the development of the trainee. Now bear in mind that for Draeger, budo - the Japanese martial ways, were more like spiritual disciplines than systems of combat. He must have realized that getting the typical Western reader to really understand where he was coming from may have been difficult, as the bulk of his writings were done at a time when martial arts were fairly new in the West. Fudoshin and ki weren't exactly household terms in the sixties, so Draeger would deftly fall back on the power of metaphor to get some of his points across. Here, in Classical Budo, he uses the analogy of a typist to explain the mindset of the burgeoning student and the beginnings of martial mastery.

After sufficient experience in typing, the typist becomes a master touch-typist. He no longer needs to depend upon the mechanics of how to type, nor has to rely on memory to find the positions of the keys. He makes few errors if any, and has the speed and accuracy that give his typing the mark of the master. He knows typing, can type, and knows he can type: he is a master typist. Though he is a master he readily fails one test that a less trained typist can manage with ease. This is the keyboard recall test. The master cannot quickly recite the keyboard from memory, for he has forgotten the locations of the letters. But in spite of his "forgetting" we cannot truthfully say he cannot type, nor that he is not a master typist.

So "forgetting" in this sense means that we no longer have to rely on ordinary conscious thinking. This is the desired end-product of training. You simply do it and that's it. But that's not the same as being forgetful. Once I was showing a new student a basic form, one that I've done a thousand times. About midway through I was completely lost. Teaching is not the same as doing, as I found out, and it was this new perspective that threw me.

There's a story about the mystical Morihei Ueshiba. One day after finishing a particularly arduous training session, the master was out in his garden meditating when suddenly there was a flash of light, the ground began to shake, and he forgot every martial arts technique he ever learned. And thus, Aikido was born. Both Ueshiba and Draeger emphasized that through dedicated training, one forgoes or forgets the self - the ego, in order to become one with their art. This is the way to technical mastery.

Racist Bully Gets Thrashed

A Canadian teenager was recently charged with assault after he punched a classmate from his school in the nose following racial taunts. The defendant, who emigrated from South Korea in 2004, has a black belt in an undisclosed martial-art style, and responded to being called a "f---ing Chinese" the best way he knew how.

The boy, a straight A student, was charged with assault after breaking his antagonist's nose and was immediately suspended from school. He may eventually be expelled. Meanwhile, hundreds of students skipped classes to rally against the treatment of the Korean youth. School administrators have yet to comment.

Are "fighting words" enough to make you lose it? Especially when a racial epithet is used, it must be excruciatingly difficult to back down. Fighting is fairly common amongst ninth-graders; have the school administrators gone too far in filing criminal charges? It could be argued the boy was acting in self defense. Sometimes, turning the other cheek is not the most appropriate action, but an invitation for more abuse.

Stay Hungry

In the koryu (classical) martial arts, trophies and rank - with the exception of a teaching license - are decried as egoic trappings, or at the very least unnecessary. In modern martial arts, goals such as these are important only as catalysts. That is, achieving the goal, ultimately, pales in comparison to the rigor and spirit that is required to get you there in the first place. This is why the concept of -do, the Japanese equivalent of the Chinese Tao, is so important in the martial arts. Tao loosely translates as The Way, but another definition is path. When we're on the path, it's the journey that counts, not rushing to cross some preconceived finish line. This should be the mindset in training. Training is a means to improve, we train to maintain skills, but also training should be regarded as an end in itself.

What's best about competing is not coming home with a trophy that will barely fit into the backseat of your car. Just getting ready for a tournament is another matter. I've gone out to compete plenty of times, but I've lost more than I've won. Still, the preparation required for these events took my training to unprecedented levels.

In a recent article, Krista de Castella ponders the effects of grading on training. The day I received the rank of ikkyu, the possibilities of achieving that coveted black belt became a reality. For the next nineteen months I trained like a man possessed. It's often said that the first black belt simply marks a new frontier. So the real trick is to keep that passion after the big promotion. Holding onto that fire isn't easy, though.

What keeps your fire lit?

Hai Karate!

Striking Thoughts' recent mention of Scotty Karate ale immediately brought back memories of another product hawking the karate monicker: Hai Karate aftershave and cologne. Touting to possess aphrodisiac-like qualities, wearers were advised to use caution when out and about and self-defense instructions on how to fend off frenzied women were included. Maybe this stuff had pheromones in it. Hai Karate debuted in the 60s, and I actually recall having a bottle or two of this around as a kid.

Isshinryu karateka please take note that the image of brandishing shuto hands that appeared on the package belonged to none other than Hanshi Ed McGrath. On the gift box set he's shown full view performing a flying side kick.

Check out this TV ad from 1967. Anybody from my generation remember this?

Discerning Self-Defense Techniques

Rank doesn't mean anything, an instructor of mine once said. It's what you know that counts. Knowledge really is power. Making your knowledge work when it counts is the bottom line. But how do you know what you've been trained in "works"?

One of the big knocks against modern martial arts is that some of them have been debased with downright ineffective self defense moves that may seem plausible in the dojo, but would likely get you maimed or killed in an alley. Aside from the fact that most practitioners aren't trained or conditioned to be actual fighters, I'm referring to "techniques" that simply don't work. Personally I've spied on my share of adult instructors who - while they may seem sincere and well meaning - have no place teaching due to incompetence. If you're going to take the title of sensei, you really should be up to snuff with your skills. Kyoshi Bill Hayes of Shorin-ryu karate tells a story of a recent shopping trip where he witnessed "the winner of the 'Worst Demo I've seen in 47 Years of Training!' award." Realize how many people offer martial arts courses without being held accountable for rendering inept teachings.

A while back I posted a story about a magazine article touting The Ultimate Self-Defense Move. It was a bit of a stretch as most of my readers (myself included) had some doubts about the merit of this particular technique. Sometimes part of the problem with self-defense drills is having an uke (attacker) who's just going through the motions. Have you ever been guilty of this? Even if you're working viable, effective techniques, having a training partner who's not attacking with realistic intent (very important!) isn't going to help anyone. But if you feel that what you've been shown hasn't been proven effective or is below par, it may be time to move on.