The Agile Body-3-Old style Karate

Trying to actually hit someone can be very difficult. In this rather unsanctioned instructional class, basically anything goes. We still were on hardwood floors, so there was no grappling. Everything was a standup fight. Except for foot sweeps. Foot sweeps were ok. Unless you are the sweepee and you land hard on the floor.

One black belt came up to me and easily swept me to the side. I landed hard, got up and brushed myself off. I guess he thought that it worked so well the first time that he would do it again. In a blink of an eye I landed harder and most likely cracked a rib. Not much you can do for it in any event. Many years later my doctor took a chest x-ray and found a blackened spot on the rib. He had a name for it, but I forgot to mention where I likely got it.

But the full contact fighting experience was the most exhilarating thing I ever felt. You are completely mindful with what is going on all the time. You become aware of what your opponent might be doing. Is he inhaling, exhaling, perfectly balanced, a bit off kilter? Does he rise up when he comes in, or does he settle down a bit? Our training emphasizes not to telegraph our movements.

I always found that being calm and serene does help for defense. Your opponent has to cover a few feet before he can get to you, so this always gives an opportunity to defend and react. Karate is for defense only as they say.

Our instructor would lay out a practice katana as a line. We would then leap as far as we could in order to hit the body bag. If we managed, he would move the katana back a few more inches. Getting momentum from the back leg allowed me to leap six feet and still punch the bag. Landing hard on my heels, I developed actual bone spurs for a period of time.

But most of the time I found offence worked for me. I imagined having to leap across a chasm. Later I imaged a tiger behind me. You go that much faster using the adrenalin the body produced. This was not anger or fear but rather this was charging yourself up and discharging as fast as you can. You learn to do this without conscious thought.

After a couple of hours of contact fighting, I felt completely jazzed up from the tremendous feeling that for a period of time I had gone all out. It was exhilarating. Up to a point.

I came in hard to into another older, more experienced fighter. I may have been overly confident, but I knew that I was rather fatigued. He easily saw me coming in, just not as fast had I been a bit fresher. He sidestepped my launch and gave me a nice roundhouse punch to the side of the head. Even through the helmet, I felt completely undone. If he decided to finish me off with a second technique, I would have done nothing to stop him.

Now, Mike Tyson has a lot of issues going on, but he had it perfectly right here.

“Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

This seems obvious, but he provides amazing insight to this kind of situation. And to any situation when you go with in something and all hell breaks loose. Whatever you were thinking just disappears and you go on instinct after that. If you have a second chance. More often than not, there is no second chance.

You realize how difficult it can be to actually hit someone that tries to evade you. If you miss, or he sidesteps, then you are likely at his mercy. I learned more by actually doing in those few months than the previous years of just constant training.

My next time at the westerns I won my division. Along with almost imperceptible notch I now have along the bridge of my nose when I was completely clocked between the eyes.

I managed to come in hard underneath to his ab region, and he came in hard overtop to my nose region. Only difference was that I pulled my punch and he didn’t. He dropped me pretty hard and I managed to crawl back to my side of the line. The head referee called it a clash. I called it taking advantage of the situation.

The good doctor came over and asked me if I wanted to continue. I said yes. I have not voluntary stopped anything I had ever started. Perhaps unwisely. The blood flowed pretty profusely during this time.

But he managed to pack my nose with a goodly pile of gauze. I retained my lead and win the match. I was told afterwards that I looked the saddest sight with that blood soaked uniform and a bit of gauze hanging from my nose. But fond memories regardless.

After that I began to wonder what other martial arts might have to teach me.

I spent a year or so learning hapkido. This is the Korean form of Japanese Aikido. My instructor spent several years instructing the Korean police force. The guy seemed ageless. His chest muscles were simply a series of muscular striations. He had no body fat or fear.

They simply taught general self-defense such as wrist locks and arm locks. Very handy if you want to immobilize someone instead of hitting them between the eyes. But they taught that too. I continue to enjoy the fighting and now the hands on grappling.

But I now have spent years working out in windowless basements, or dojos, or gymnasiums.  I start to look for something else to motivate me.

Blink

The Agile Body-2

When I started Karate at the Main Street dojo, our sole mantra was one punch, one kill. The idea being that your technique was to be so pure that you never needed more than one technique to defeat your opponent.

At the Main street dojo, we would always be encouraged to do something a bit crazier to show our dedication. We would often run around the block in our bare feet during middle of winter. Our feet would be quite swollen from the cold and it was quite a shock when our feet warmed up again.

Most often we would going back and forth across the hardwood floor. On occasion I would tear the callus off of the ball of my foot. The blood did make it easier to slide my foot across the floor. But they would generally order me off the floor and get fixed up.

I managed to strain the medial collateral ligaments of both knees. For years I couldn’t sleep on my side with my knees together.

My technique was good, but my competitions were hit and miss. I did manage to win the provincials for my division a number of times. With my left leg and left fist forward, I could easily launch myself several feet into my opponent. This usually overwhelmed them. But I did not do well in the next series of competitions of several provinces, called the Westerns.

I would launch myself at several people always stopping in time. But at this level, they never counted such a technique. I was completely stretched out and there was no indication that I was pulling my punch. You had to be close enough that you would have made contact and could have completely gone through the person had you chosen. Getting closer and closer trying to win a point just meant that I smacked into an opponent. Just lightly.

I continue my training and later that year a few of the old timer black belts got together at the main street dojo. They wanted to pull out the body armor they used to use for full contact fighting.

This was a completely new venture for me. The helmets have full face screens. The chest protectors were hard plastic. Softer material covered the shins. For hands we used the traditional bag gloves. Everyone brought their own cup, thank you very much.

For my next entry, I’ll cover off  how some of that experience went.

Still standing, so it went well enough.

Shock

 

The Joyous Flow of trying to sidekick someone

Flow describes the state of being blissfully immersed in a task to the exclusion of everything else, including one’s self. Csikszentmihalyi, a Hungarian psychologist introduced this concept back in the 70s.

I have felt this type of bliss just a few times. Decades ago, I competed in my very first karate tournament. I had just gotten my green belt, and I appeared to be the only one at that level. All the others had blue and heaven forbid, brown belts. They were like demi-gods back then. The black belts had their own special time and location.

My nervousness approaches extreme levels. We engaged in some preliminary sparing at our own club, but I had never been in a real tournament when people were planning to give their all.  The rules were fairly simple. The first to two points wins. Don’t hit anyone hard.

I found my assigned ring and they called all the names. I answered to mine with the standard OSS! Which can be used for yes, no or present. The word OSS symbolizes the attitude of suppressing your emotions and to preserve through all of the training. Similar to the army slogan. Karate Strong!

We do the traditional bows to each other and to the judges and line up outside of the ring. The ring comprises of tape on the floor of the gym that the competition is being held. Makes getting in and out way easier.

We all wear the white sparing gloves. They do protect the knuckles somewhat, but since you are not supposed to actually hit anyone, they don’t serve any other purpose. They work most of the time. The one time they didn’t resulted in one of my knuckles residing in my palm ever since then.

I don’t recall anything from my first four fights except that I managed to win them somehow. The fifth and final fights sticks in my mind. My opponent was a brown belt, and tall and athletic looking. I tried not to get somewhat too off-balance from the fact that he had more skills, musculature, and experience. Meanwhile, I felt exhausted, pained and severely bruised. I had banged my toes against harder objects like knees and elbows all afternoon.

We both bow to enter the ring, and come up to our own line. We then bow to the referee, and to the judge and then to each other. The referee says Hajime, I feel an additional spike of adrenalin as the fight starts.

Csikszentmihalyi suggests that there are five basic aspects of flow.

Firstly, intense and focused concentration on what one is doing in the present moment. In the middle of a competition, the last thing on your mind is that project due tomorrow. You are totally focused on what you opponent is doing, and you let your own body take care of itself. You can’t think and hit at the same time. Although Yogi Berra was not thinking about throwing punches when he said that.

Secondly, there should be a merging of action and awareness. My opponent steps in with a kick and I quickly block and respond with a reverse punch. Just a half point for me since the referee perceives that the technique may have been less than perfect or that it may have partially blocked.

Thirdly, there is a loss of reflective self-consciousness. You are no longer engaged in a competition, you essentially become the competition. Constant repetition allows you to react without thinking. I sense an opening and respond with a quick roundhouse kick. Another half point for myself.

Fourthly, a sense that one can control one’s actions. I normally have the traditional anxiety interacting with people, but the moment I enter the ring this all falls away. The rules are certain and the objective is laid out. This is totally different from social situations where you don’t know the rules and you don’t know what the objective might be. My opponent wins the next half point.

Fifthly, there is a sense that time has passed faster than normal. Time becomes thicker and denser. The bouts are generally two minutes. My opponent wins the next half point again. We are now tied where one more well executed technique would win the match and the division.  I glance over at the clock. Thirty seconds remain.

Lastly, the experience of the activity becomes intrinsically rewarding such that the overall goal just becomes an excuse for being there in the first. So if winning falls away, and the focus becomes exercising the best technique you can, then you have entered the flow. The match starts once again. With my left side forward, I start to compress myself smaller. Like a spring. Every m  scle become galvanized. I imagine the tiger behind me as I try to jump a chasm. I bring my right knee up and launch myself directly at my opponent with a right straight punch. This catches him completely off guard and he rotates around to try to evade me. This becomes a mistake as now I can punch his unprotected side.

The referee throws himself between the two of us and calls the fight. I am awarded an ippon, a full point and the match.

I don’t recall the awards ceremony, or the little trophy they give you afterwards or even being happy about winning. The goal completely disappeared. But that one technique became burnished in my mind like another tattoo. I am sure that the surge of neurochemicals such as endorphins, dopamine and serotine were responsible for my feeling good about it and for a short time after.

The recollection does come in handy on occasion when I am doing some bench presses and I want to squeeze out one more rep. Putting your all into something becomes easier with a visualization and an extra little shot of adrenalin.

Part of the flow includes a balance of skill level and challenge level. You can be easily overwhelmed by a foot sweep and the balance would be gone. The challenge can’t be so far above you that you are too anxious about even being able to succeed.

My own challenge appeared to be above me, but not so far above that it seemed impossible. Once again, the struggle becomes more important than the destination.