Category: Uncategorized

I came to work just a little early on a Friday morning and did some small tasks to get my brain warmed up. Before I’d really started my day we were told to go into lockdown. Two hours later the SWAT team came to evacuate us. No evidence of a gunman was found but the police weren’t taking any chances. As I filed passed one of the SWAT team members I shuddered at the sight of his submachine gun. I do not want to be that close to such a weapon ever again. I fixated on that submachine gun during the adrenaline crash I experienced that evening.

The next day a sensei (karate instructor) told me about a martial artist who worked in airport security. This other martial artist was threatened while on the job. He begged, “Please, sir, don’t do this.” When the aggressor escalated the situation the martial artist defended himself and sent the aggressor to the hospital. He had given the attacker a chance to disengage but the attacker didn’t take it.

While listening to this story I suddenly realized why I didn’t like the SWAT team’s submachine guns. Having the power of near-instant death that is launched from a considerable distance away from your enemy means you can very easily choose not to give the enemy a chance to walk away. In many situations this is a very good thing. But in each of the situations I’ve actually been in if I’d had such a weapon and if I’d discharged it I’d be sitting in prison right now. To me, the submachine gun represents a level of power that I hope I never need. So it’s not so much the cold metal thing itself that bothered me – it’s more that I was disturbed by the fact that I’d been in a serious situation where having such weapons handy was necessary.

I prefer having a spectrum of engagement over needing the power of instantly killing from a distance. Here are five levels that I see along the spectrum:

1) I don’t know about you but I usually can avoid being in a bad situation in the first place. Not always, but usually. For instance it’s very easy for me to choose not to be at a bar in a sketchy part of town at two in the morning.

2) If possible walk or run away

3) Try to talk. “Yeah, having no money isn’t much fun, right?” “Who hurt you? Someone must have hurt you for you to be so full of anger – was it your mother?” Or, if tactically necessary, say something bizarre in order to cause momentary confusion – for instance, “Hey, do you smell ice cream?”

4) Defend and run

5) Maim and run

6) Kill

At levels 2 through 5 the aggressor has the choice to disengage. Call me soft, call me a hippie, call me whatever you like – I don’t think there’s any shame in giving someone a chance to stop walking the wrong path. Of course there’s no time for that in a war or in a mass shooting. But if you’re only at levels 2 or 3 with someone there’s no justification for lethal force.

Here’s a very human paradox I found within myself in the days after the lockdown incident. I definitely have some reservations about killing someone with an instant spray of bullets but I have no problem with disabling or even killing an attacker at close quarters. Most of the bunkai (application of movements from forms) I’ve been taught involves being very up close and personal with your attacker. Close enough to hear and feel exactly how you’re breaking someone’s body. Surely that’s more gruesome than dealing death from a distance? On one level – yes, absolutely it is a horrible, ghastly thing. So why am I not squeamish about close-quarter fighting? It’s more than just my training. If an attacker is that close to me  the attacker has crossed a clear and definite boundary. It’s realistic for me to conclude that my life is in danger. Of course I can also choose to step into my attacker’s space – but I will do so only if that is my best option for saving my life or the life of another.

As the grand-daughter of a World War II veteran I do understand there is a time and a place where weapons like submachine guns are appropriate. But I have no desire to own such a weapon nor do I think they’re “cool.” My grandfather talked to me about what it means to take a human life. At first I didn’t understand my revulsion at seeing such a powerful weapon at close quarters – especially when I’m trained in an art that, let’s face it, is designed for levels of violence from mild to lethal at distances from the reach of one’s leg to grappling. I had a lot to think about and analyze after I saw that SWAT team member’s submachine gun. What it boils down to is I don’t like how easy it is to take shortcuts when one is in possession of a submachine gun – to go from harmless to lethal in a split second without stopping to analyze whether or not such force is merited. Again, there’s a time and a place for dealing instant death. But my preference is to be able to stop conflict at any point along my spectrum of engagement.

P. S. – A book that has helped me to understand Level 3 (talking) on my spectrum of engagement is _Conflict Communication: A New Paradigm in Conscious Communication_ by Rory Miller

I’m picking up where I left off a couple of weeks ago by showcasing the places in which I train. Last post was about places where I train with others. This post is about where I train when I am alone. There is a little bit of overlap.

1) Practice time at the rec center

The facility that hosts my “home” dojo (school) is gracious enough to set aside a time and space on Saturdays for us karateka to come in and practice. Sometimes a sensei (instructor) will come in to lead, especially if there is something special coming up like Nationals or if we have candidates testing for Shodan (first degree black belt). Sometimes a sensei will simply take turns working one on one with whoever is there. Quite often, whoever is there simply works on whatever he or she desires, so one karateka might be throwing punches at a bag while another practices kata (forms).

But sometimes I’m alone.

I’ve been going to Saturday practices even before this dojo became my “home” dojo. I love having enough space to perform kata without scootching around after only a move or two. With the nifty pulley system I can hang a heavy punching bag. There are free-weights for arm work and floor mats for ab work. If I’m alone, I can set up “stations” for myself and have a nice little circuit workout.

The room has windows along two walls, so it’s a bit of a “fishbowl.” People walking down two halls can see what I’m doing. That’s OK. I want them to have a look at what karate looks like when there are no cameras, no scripts, no fly-wires, no sound effects, and no editing or computer enhancement. I want people to see that if I can do karate, they can too.

I love it when little girls linger to watch me. I want them to see how powerful women can be. I want them to know that women don’t have to be helpless victims, that it’s OK for women to learn how to defend themselves. I want them to join the beginner’s class and experience karate for themselves.

2) Home

I cleaned out my craft room when the rec center that hosted my old “home” dojo stopped letting people use studios whenever there were no classes. I wasn’t doing much crafting before I started Karate anyway. One niche of the room still holds a desk and some drawers and includes a closet, so I still have a tiny space for crafts. But most of the small room is empty save for low shelves that hold my hand weights, my timekeeping devices, my notes, and the books I read after working out. My tournament medals and the certificate for my current credentials hang on the wall, as does a copy of our Dojo Kun (school motto) nicely done in Japanese calligraphy. I have a radio to listen to when I’m stretching.

In that partly-empty room I have just enough space to do a section of kata, but not enough for a full kata. Weather permitting I go outside to my driveway or my garage for kata practice. If it’s 55 degrees F (13 C) and dry (I don’t want to slip on concrete) I’m good to go even in shorts and tank top. My detached garage has no electricity, therefore no climate control. I tend to kiai (yell) softly so as not to disturb the neighbors.

During warmer weather I might walk to my favorite outdoor practice spots, especially during my child’s summer break when I don’t have to be at a bus stop twice a day.

3) Abandoned school

Not far from my house is a school building that is not currently in use. Construction started in September, then cold weather set in, so lately I haven’t been able to go to my favorite spot at one end of the building. There is a more or less level concrete area, and yes I wear shoes. I spent many hours there practicing for my san-kyu (“low brown” belt) test. The area is fenced off now, and who knows if that concrete area will still be there when construction is finished. The jogging track is still open, but the large concrete blocks on which I did inclined push-ups and tricep dips are gone.

As it so happens, I went to school there for just a couple of months. Sometimes I wonder what my nine-year-old self would think if she could see herself thirty eight years later practicing kata in a quiet corner of the school yard. When I’m on the jogging track I remember learning to ride a bike there. I struggled with that process but I eventually figured out how to ride that bike. It’s a lot like my karate journey.

4) Forest

There is nothing like being alone in the forest. It scares some people, and for good reason. I do keep a watchful eye on my surroundings. I listen for human sounds. Birds sometimes complain about my presence – the trick is to listen to the more distant birds who can’t see me. If they complain, someone might be near. I choose my spots carefully and don’t draw attention to myself with a kiai. Uneven ground, tree roots, grass, and fist-sized rocks are things I must work around. This adds an extra dimension to my kata, and movements sometimes must be adapted accordingly. I figure if I have a penchant for visiting lonely forests I should learn to fight in such terrain.

5) Beach

I love to go to a beach that is pretty isolated. Fortunately, there are houses at each end that I could run to if I had to. Beachfront property owners are often grumpy about trespassers, so they’ll already be calling the police by the time I reach the door. Again, if I have a penchant for visiting lonely beaches I should learn to fight in such terrain.

Beaches around here are slightly sloped and consist of patches of sand and shingle. Shingle is a little dangerous for kata practice, but I have done it very, very carefully a time or two. I like to find a patch of sand smoothed by the tide. I can definitely see the embusen (floor pattern) of my kata. More than that, I like to see what happens if I start the kata with the “uphill” to my left, to my right, to my front, or to my back. Slope changes my stances and my transitions.

Sand is excellent for learning jumps found in kata. I’ve learned one jump for one kata on a beach, and in the future I’ll be learning another. I know where to go.

As you can see, most of the places where I practice Karate alone are outdoors. They are places I already enjoyed visiting before I started training. I often practice in shoes and clothes that I wear every day. It’s different from doing karate in a gi on mats or a hardwood floor. Stances must be adjusted, I have to be aware of what’s underfoot, and sometimes proper body dynamics are absolutely essential to overcoming the friction of shoes on whatever surface I’m on. By studying how to fight in these environments, I’m now enjoying them more because I can let go of the anxiety that sometimes comes from being a woman in an isolated spot. I’m enjoying the freedom.

 

I’ve never been to Japan. I’ve never even so much as trained on tatami mats.  This is the type of dojo that is “traditional.”  But I have trained in a lot of other dojo and each training space has added to my Karate education even if I’ve only spent an hour or two.  Each has contributed to a wealth of memories that I have.  Here’s a rundown of where I’ve trained with others. I’ll post about where I do solo practice in a couple of weeks.

1) A former elementary school classroom

I actually started out in a parks & rec Tang Soo Do program for six weeks in 1983. My parents shoved a catalog at me and told me to find something to do.  Read more here.  The very small school building (built sometime in the 1950s) wasn’t designed for exercise classes but it was adequate.  Mirrors were installed to facilitate dance and karate in one room. The building has since been taken over by a theater group. Last time I was there a couple of years ago I looked into the room where I first learned how to make a fist. The room looked the same.  Memories flooded my mind – I draw on those same memories when I’m teaching new beginners.  I want them to feel empowered and eager to learn more, just like I did.

2) Strip mall dojo

I wasn’t thrilled about doing Karate only twice a week and taking three-week breaks between quarters. My Dad looked into other dojo(s), including the Boeing Employees Karate Association. If he’d chosen BEKA for me I could have been training alongside some of the karateka who are now my sensei. But my Dad felt that a dojo close to our home was a better fit for me, especially because it was run by a lady sensei.

I have to admit that I got spoiled having classes available 3 times per day M-F and a Saturday class. But one huge mistake I made was relying too much on class time for my own development. I now seek balance between my own practice time and time spent in the dojo.

The space was more or less adapted to Karate. A punching bag hung in one corner, and other equipment was stored out in the open. The floor was hardwood and roughly the size of a tournament square (but that would be a tight fit).  The dressing rooms were barely adequate, and there was a small office for the sensei. The lobby was tiny, and that was where I taught “first lesson is free” people and brought beginners up to speed so they could join the beginners class.

Today the entire building is a multilingual school for small children. I peeked in the window and the hardwood floor is still there.

3) Major university

OK, it was only for one class, but it still counts as one of the settings in which I’ve done Karate. I needed PE credit. Fencing was full, so I signed up for World Literature and Karate for the semester. Karate was in a small gym with plenty of space. The sensei knew right away I’d had training. I remember we did kihon kata the first day, which is highly unusual for most dojo(s). I wish I could remember what style was taught.

The next day, I went to my first World Literature class and had an unpleasant surprise. The instructor announced that he’d be teaching English Literature instead. I wasn’t too happy with that. A spot in the Fencing class opened up so I dropped Karate for Fencing and took some other class instead of English Literature.

4) Recreation centers

Sharing space with other exercise groups makes for a whole new dynamic. The sensei and/or the sensei’s organization has to work closely with the rec center’s management. Equipment needs to be stored in locked closets. There are often time constraints because other classes are held before and after Karate, which might be offered only two or three times per week. When I finally joined my daughter at the rec center I learned how to practice on my own. I also learned to supplement my learning by attending seminars, visiting sister dojo(s), going to Gasshuku (camp), Godo Renshu (unity training), and competing in tournaments. Now I take it in stride that Karate is offered only 2-3 times per week.  In fact, if there’s an imbalance between time spent working on my own and time spent in a formal class I feel anxious and restless.

5) Community College

The building where the Karate class meets was built sometime in the 1960’s and sits downhill from most of the other buildings on campus. The building houses locker rooms, a couple of small offices, a team conference room, and a multipurpose room that is used for many exercise classes. The floor of the college’s multipurpose room is hard, slippery rubber so we must set out tournament mats before class and take them up again after class. The square room easily accommodates a ten-meter by ten-meter matted square with plenty of room to spare. We have locked storage and spacious locker rooms with showers. I happen to be employed on campus in the building next door, so after work I have only a short walk between buildings.

Two quarters of Karate are offered for Physical Education credit. My daughter dropped a class and was looking for PE credit, so she signed up for Karate. I kept finding excuses to watch her. She took the two quarters offered then went on to the rec center program. Three sensei and my daughter kept on nudging me to get back on the mats, so I eventually did. I later came to the college dojo to supplement my training at the rec center. Much to my surprise, in February 2016 circumstances put me in the role of senior student. Now that I’m at san-kyu (“low brown” belt) my credentials finally match my role as assistant to the dojo sensei.

Almost every time I lead the opening ceremony at the college dojo, I marvel at how far I’ve come.  I sometimes “see” myself as I was four years ago, sitting on the sidelines eating my heart out.

6) A major employer’s club

Boeing used to have a recreational facility that housed its employee clubs and included a gym, weight room, and an aerobics room. This was where the Boeing Employees Karate Association used to meet from 1987 until last summer. The room was a long rectangle with mirrors along one of the long sides. Best of all was the wood aerobics floor – it was delightfully springy. Alas, what with one thing and another the facility was bulldozed last summer.

Now the dojo meets in a racquetball court at Boeing’s indoor tennis facility. The court is very small and a kiai is deafening what with all the hard surfaces. So we pretend to kiai.  No mirrors, obviously. However, it is a place to meet and that’s what counts.

I’ve been visiting BEKA throughout the last three and a half years and I sometimes think about how close I came to being a part of that dojo some 35 years ago.

7) Hombu Dojo

Our Karate organization’s Hombu Dojo (headquarters) is in Oregon just west of Portland. It’s in a strip mall and has ample space for working out, loads of mirrors, a small spectator area, a nice office, two dressing rooms, and a storage loft. Mats are almost always on the floor except when they are needed elsewhere, such as for the local tournament. It takes me four hours to drive there (three hours of actual driving, one hour for breaks). I’m spending more time there because this dojo hosts brown belt training. I consider the Hombu Dojo to be my home away from home.

8) Yoshida Estate

One of my favorite events of the year is Gasshuku, held at Yoshida Gardenview Estate. Doing Karate outside on a huge green lawn – oh yes, it’s wonderful! The beautiful grounds are nestled in a bend of the Sandy River. Tall trees sigh in the breeze. I’ve heard eagles piping. An artificial waterfall soothes me to sleep at night when I’m snugly tucked into my sleeping bag in my tent counting sore muscles as I fall asleep.

If the weather is inclement, there is an indoor space we can use for workouts. The floor is built over a pit that used to be a swimming pool, so the echoes are pretty loud if someone accidentally stomps their foot. Some of us joke about monster spiders below the floor.

9) Tournaments – college gyms & aerospace museum

Tournaments are often in community college gymnasiums. One gym is pretty much like another. The college where I work and play hosts the state qualifier every year. The first time I was inside the gym was in 1974.  I was all of four years old and had attended preschool at the college. My Mom had earned an AA degree and I watched her graduation ceremony. I distinctly remember her walking by in her cap and gown. The next time I was in that gym was for my high school graduation. I had no idea that 25 years later I’d be watching my daughter in her first tournament, and the year after that I’d be competing myself.

Speaking of having no clue – a few months after I quit Karate in 1987 I saw the “Spruce Goose” aircraft for the first time. If someone told me then that years later I’d be competing in a tournament under the tail of that aircraft I’d have laughed.  An aerospace museum is definitely an interesting venue for a Karate tournament!

10) A garage

Yes, I have trained in a garage.  The 3-car garage has mats, mirrors, and weight machines.  The parking space in front of the house and garage offers more training space.  Uphill sprints can be done on the shared driveway and jogging on the quiet street is pleasant.  Some of the lessons which have had tremendous impact on my Karate have been learned there.

11) Other organizations’ dojo(s)

Sometimes dojo(s) of other organizations host seminars that are open to all karateka.  It’s interesting being a visitor.  Sometimes the space was obviously designed for Karate and sometimes there’s a distinct feeling that the dojo adapted a space as best it could. There might be posh locker rooms and showers or there might be a changing room little bigger than a closet. There might be protocols for opening doors to changing rooms. One might see a chart hanging on a bathroom wall with the names of karateka assigned to specific chores on specific days. Offices might be nonexistent, Spartan, or filled with memorabilia.

The spaces we train in are marvelously diverse. They reflect the diversity of the world of Karate itself. I feel fortunate to have experienced so much. I hope someday to visit online acquaintances at their dojo(s). Maybe someday I’ll train at a dojo in Japan on tatami mats. But even if I never get to experience that, I know there’s plenty of interesting places that will, in their own unique way, help shape my Karate journey even if I only spend a couple of hours there.

I will continue this theme in a couple of weeks by writing about where I practice when I am alone.

Most of the time I blog about the good things that are happening. I’m growing and learning from all the fun things I get to do. I sometimes touch on the negative, but my tendency is to draw the positives from it. Maybe I’ve given the impression on this blog that my karate journey is entirely comprised of roses and song. It’s not. Stuff does happen from time to time. Yes – surprise! Human beings, including myself, are imperfect. If we have a customer mindset we walk away when there’s something that needs to be worked through.

Customers feel they deserve the best for their money. If a restaurant serves a bad meal, we don’t return. If the landlord decides to bulldoze his strip mall, we find other places to shop. This isn’t bad, it’s just the way it is. But many people are so used to everything being customer-oriented that they find it hard to understand why someone would stick with a dojo through the “speed bumps” (presuming the dojo is a good one). A lot of people don’t understand that Karate is (or should be) relational.

Americans have almost no concept of senpai/kohai relationships  and unfortunately Americans have a tendency to treat teachers with less honor than they deserve. I don’t for a minute think that the relational dynamics among American karateka are exactly like the relational dynamics among Japanese karateka, but a good American dojo will at least echo the Japanese norms. Teaching one’s kohai and being taught by one’s senpai not only is good for growing in the art, it also creates camaraderie and fosters loyalty. The focus shifts from individual to group.

Assuming a good dojo, it’s not about the value you’re getting for your money. Your focus should be on the group as a whole.  It’s about you doing your part to:

1) Make sure the dojo can meet its fiscal obligations (rent, staff and instructor salaries, utility bills, etc.)

2) Promote harmony by treating everyone with respect

3) Transmit the art of Karate to the “next generation” to ensure the continuation of the art

4) Develop future leaders

It doesn’t matter if a sticky situation originates from inside the dojo or from without – if you’re focused on these four responsibilities you’ll find ways to survive and yes, thrive even when things aren’t optimal. Of course one can grow from wonderful, positive things that happen. Heck, my blog is full of sunny, happy, everything-is-hunky-dory examples of that. But can you grow from challenging situations that make you feel anxious or frustrated? Yes. Absolutely. Adverse circumstances are the fires in which we are forged. But one has to decide to go along for the ride.

When the decision is made to stick with the dojo during tough times, it opens one’s mind to engage in positive pursuits such as

1) Coming up with creative solutions

2) Encouraging others

3) Building bridges

4) Asking questions and actively listening to the answers

5) Understanding all perspectives and rendering sound judgment

6) Tempering one’s own knee-jerk responses

7) Not exceeding one’s authority

Doing these seven things during hard times is hard. Sometimes the resistance will be so strong that you might not make any headway. Things might break down past all repair in spite of everyone’s best efforts. But you at least will know that you acted with integrity. And you might discover that the next time something comes up you’re that much better equipped to deal with it because of what you’ve been through.

I’m going to borrow some inspiration from an internet acquaintance, Clifton Bullard, who posted about pearls on his Facebook page yesterday.  Think about pearls.  A grain of sand gets inside an oyster’s shell, and the grain of sand irritates the soft, pink flesh of the oyster.  We all know what the oyster does about that situation – it coats that grain of sand in layer after layer of aragonite and calcite, making a lustrous smooth sphere that most people value as gems.  Making a metaphoric pearl out of an irritating situation isn’t easy, but it’s worth it.

Disclaimer: I’m not targeting this to any one particular group or individual. OK, that’s a lie. I’m pointing my finger at myself. I’m human, and I’m not perfect – never will be. Someday I may need my own words to be “in my face” so that I can persevere in making the right choices. If this writing benefits even just one other person, I will be happy.

I’d dreamed of going to brown belt training for a little under two years. Being with a cohort of “advanced” students every other month was something I really looked forward to. Now it’s no longer a daydream but a reality. I earned san-kyu (low brown) in August during Gasshuku (camp). Gasshuku counts as brown belt training, as does Godo Renshu (unity training) held two months later. At last, the first Saturday of December, after nearly two years of anticipation I made the three hour drive to our Hombu Dojo (our Karate organization’s headquarters/school) and participated in my first brown belt training.

I could give a narrative of the entire class but I won’t. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprises for any of my kohai (anyone lower-ranked than oneself). I was out of my comfort zone but I already knew that the end result would be growth so that didn’t bother me. I found out that I’m now better at something that used to vex me no end – yeah, I still struggle but not nearly as badly. And of course I got feedback – “homework,” if you will.

There are three degrees of brown. The first is san-kyu, the rank I am now (low brown). The next is ni-kyu (middle brown), and the last one before black is i-kyu (high brown). So if I’m a brand-new san-kyu I’m one of the lowest ranked karateka at brown belt training. It’s almost like being a white belt (brand new beginner) again both in etiquette and in the difficulty of the material presented relative to my present abilities. The sensei urged me to ask questions, and I soon found that, like a white belt, I indeed had questions.

“Please show me this again.”

“What is the name of that kata?”

“Do my arms go like this?”

“Oops – how do I make that turn?”

Do any of those questions sound familiar to any of you who have had more than, oh, say four lessons in any given martial art? Do these questions sound familiar to any of you who teach a martial art?

The beginner’s mindset keeps us from stagnating or (worse) becoming arrogant. I love Wikipedia’s definition:

Shoshin (初心) is a word from Zen Buddhism which means “beginner’s mind.” It refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject, even when studying at an advanced level, just as a beginner in that subject would.

If I’d come to brown belt training with whatever the opposite of shoshin is, I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. I certainly would have been miserable during the last hour, which we spent doing something that has been an especially challenging thing for me all of my Karate career. The sensei wanted to learn who I am, what I am made of, and what I need to work on. I was, after all, a brand-new student to him. I not only survived, I not only learned, but I also had a smile on my face at the end. Not a relieved smile but a smile of happiness with what I’d gained from the time.

Brown belt training was everything I anticipated. I am looking forward to more in the future. There is a lot for me to learn and three more difficult tests to take before I tie on a black belt. I intend to enjoy these years, and I’m glad to have this training available to me.