My Journey With The Grandmaster

Good resources on traditional martial arts, let alone Okinawan karate, are a hard find these days. With the influx of sportive and new fangled modern systems devised by self-appointed "masters" it seems the techniques and values of karatedo have been lost, or worse, misunderstood by one generation after another with the administering of so-called "improvements" leading to an aberration of the survival arts of Okinawa that have been passed down through antiquity.

In his book My Journey With The Grandmaster, retired Major Bill Hayes recounts his experiences in karate training while stationed on Okinawa as a US Marine following a tour of duty in Vietnam from 1966 - 67. There, at Camp Hansen, Okinawa, he encounters Eizo Shimabukuro, 10th dan in Shorin-ryu karate. Hayes Sensei describes in fascinating detail his metamorphosis from a slightly full-of-himself "jarhead" to a dedicated and humbled student under the Grandmaster. While he was awed by the unbelievable skill and deadly proficiency of his teacher, the OSensei nonetheless possesses the compassion and wisdom one would expect from a master of any stripe.

The book is filled with thought provoking, mystical, and at times amusing tales relating to the maturation process necessary for one to embark on the karate path. The author explains that an in-depth understanding of Okinawan culture and history is imperative to appreciate karate's original intent as a bugei system (combative or "life protection" art).

In summation, Journey's formula for karate mastery as a way of life requires nothing less than a strong moral character, duly recognized high skill level and optimal health through proper training and nutrition.

For Hayes Sensei, the way of the empty hand is a never ending path, as he still regards himself an "Old Student" under the Grandmaster.

*For those interested in purchasing a copy of "My Journey With The Grandmaster", kindly contact the author at oldstudent1@cox.net.

Fancy Kicks

The other night while watching some MMA (something I rarely do) I noticed that the arsenal of some of these fighters contained low kicks to the thigh, a la Muay Thai. They don't look like much, but speaking from experience they're pretty brutal. I remember a seminar where the instructor showed some conditioning moves designed to prepare the legs/quadriceps in the event of a nasty low-kicking assault, similar to kotekitai (forearm toughening routine) that karate people employ. With the exception of Kyokushin practitioners, most karateka aren't accustomed to taking leg strikes (or head shots for that matter), so some desensitizing routines for the lower extremities isn't a bad idea. In most traditional Okinawan karate tourneys, low kicks are prohibited, yet high-target kicks are okay if delivered with control (i.e. without knocking out your opponent). You don't need a degree in kinesiology to figure out that a low-kick has a far higher success rate of being delivered with "control" than a haymaker crescent kick aimed upstairs. I've already posted my thoughts on low kicks and shooting high, so I'll move on.

When front and roundhouse kicks are taught the toes are curled up. This allows the ball of the foot to take the impact of the target. This is done for practical purposes and safety, but the curling of the toes becomes a moot point if you're on the street and wearing shoes. Many practitioners will round kick with the instep (wearing foot guards) to accentuate reach. Good, flexible kickers that rely on their natural gifts tend to break some toes through the years, probably more from wear and tear than poor kicking form. Chojun Miyagi, the famous founder of Goju-ryu, would puncture holes in kerosene cans at demonstrations utilizing a specialty of his: the toe-kick. Imagine the conditioning and training it took to do that.

In Okinawan karate there's not much flash in the kicking department. Personally I like to keep things simple. Here's what I find works for me:

• Front kick
• Forward leg side kick
• Spin around hook kick

The last one you won't find in the kata of traditional karate, but most schools will show it to some degree. Although far from a stellar kicker, I can actually perform spin-kicks fairly decent, I believe, courtesy of a mild case of scoliosis (curvature of the spine) that actually allows me to rotate my body in an unconventional albeit advantageous manner conducive to this manner of kicking. Lucky me.

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 "carnival hocus-pocus" 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?