Lipstick

Two friends of mine had the opportunity to train with Taika Oyata-sensei (whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting). They were the only two people in the room who were not from Oyata's group. Everyone else was wearing the characteristic gi of Oyata's Ryu-te school, which consists of a jacket similar to a standard karate jacket, tucked into a a pair of matching nobakama (similar to the ones I mentioned in a previous post, though a bit less traditional). Oyata-sensei walked up to my friends to greet them. He pointed at their black belts, then motioned across his lips, and said, "Lipstick! That's liiip-stiick." What a great sentiment, because it's true. Our belts are for dress-up.

I have noticed that we have made a great business out of rank in the martial arts. What rank someone is becomes of vital importance. "Are you a black belt?" Is always the first question. Our belts are around our waists to make sure everyone knows where we fit in the pecking order, to make sure everyone knows our rank. And dan exams nowadays are nothing more than rights of passage. When a student is allowed to test, the instructor has already decided to promote them. If they make it through the hazing, excuse me, I mean testing process, they will receive the promotion. And if they do not make it through the hazing, I mean testing process, they will still receive the promotion.

When I was 17, it was announced at my dojo that Matayoshi Nakayama-sensei would be visiting from Japan in the fall. Included in his visit would be a dan exam. At that time, I had been a brown belt for about 2 1/2 years. The prospect of testing for black belt (black belt testing occurred only once or twice per year) under the chief instructor of the style was wondrous to me. And so, like other candidates, I worked for 6 months to get ready. I trained a minimum of 10 hours a week in the dojo, working hard on every requirement. As the test date drew near, it became well known at my high school (I was a senior) that I was testing, so all my friends and classmates were wishing me good luck and their best hopes, not to mention the support of my family.

During the test I was nervous but prepared. I performed each of the elements with the confidence of 4 1/2 years of training, the last 6 months of which were devoted specifically to hard preparation for that test. After the test, dojo-mates told me how well I did, and expressed assurances about the outcome. The outcome was announced at a formal dinner in a Japanese restaurant. We were seated on cushions at low tables, in a large tatami covered room (divide-able with sliding doors which had been removed to accommodate the crowd). After the meal, there were various announcements. Nakayama-sensei was given gifts, including an ancient iron tsuba (sword guard). And finally, the rankings were announced.

They began with the names of those who were being awarded provisional black belt rankings (with rank tests so few and far between, this was not uncommon). I remember thinking how I hoped my name would not be among that group, and it wasn't. The announcement continued with the names of those being promoted to 1st dan. As each name was called, there was applause and congratulations. Then, as they moved on to the second dan promotions, it hit me, I had failed my black belt test. All those months of intense training, all that effort, all the assurances of my dojo-mates, all the people(!) who would be asking me if I passed, and I had failed.

Monday at school was awful. "Did you pass?" No. "How'd you do?" I failed. Monday night at the dojo wasn't much better. There I was, back in that brown belt (I hate brown belts, the color of sh*t, because being a brown belt is sh*tty), doing the same things all over again. Punches, kicks, basics, kata, sparring. I had failed my test, and I was clearly doomed to be a brown belt forever. What was the point of even continuing this karate thing?

Since that first dan exam, I have taken other dan exams. And that first test was not the only one I failed, though, clearly, I've passed some as well. But, failing that first test turned out to be incredibly valuable for me. By failing, I knew that passing wasn't a "gimme". I was being held to a standard, and I would either meet that standard or not. And failing forced me to ask myself what I was training for. Was my goal in karate just to attain a black belt? Was it just about that piece of cloth, that status? Was I a dan-chaser, or was I a martial artist?

After 40 years in the martial arts, I mostly agree with Oyata-sensei – lipstick. But, I actually like my belt, though I don't really like my rank. With the amount of talent and skill I see in my many colleagues, I usually feel over-ranked. But I do like my belt. It is tattered and worn, and that says something about my training and my values. The belt is a record of my years. However, I am getting older, and a bit wider in the middle, so now, when I knot my belt, it is starting to look a bit like a bow tie. So, I suppose I need to get a new (read longer) belt, and then wear that one out. Or maybe, I'll just go with nobakama like Oyata-sensei. And then, maybe not, because nobakama make my butt look fat.

Thanks for reading.

Now go train.

CT

Taking Your Questions

I've been getting questions. Folks have been shooting me questions through my Facebook Fan Page. But, everyone doesn't get to share in the answers. So, during the month of August, I'm taking your questions, and starting the first week of September, I'll be answering them in video clips on my blog. Please send your questions to my email address, christhomasmartialarts@gmail.com, and then watch the answers.

Thanks in advance for your questions.

Now, go train.

CT

Cool & Interesting

My son and I were talking about folks who like cosplay. Someone who had a booth at a scifi/comic convention invited him to visit. My son told me about the amazing costumes. There were Klingons, and Ironman(s) and characters I had never heard of. And these weren't vendors, these were attendees. "I was dressed in kaki's and a henley, and was completely out of place," he said.

As we talked about the colorful characters at that convention, it did not escape our notice (O, the irony) that we were wearing our karate costumes and spending the weekend in the practice of pain. As my friend Steve Cooper observed, "We're a bunch of sick puppies."

When people talk about the practice of martial arts they speak of many purposes and values. Some talk about the health benefits, and this is abundantly true. Martial movements (especially when done properly) move the body in ways that are great for maintaining health well into old age (just check out Hohan Soken doing kata as a very old man with a lot of energy). Other people talk about the spiritual and personal values of martial arts training. Discipline, self-control, courtesy, perseverance, and more, come with years of practice and training.

Self-defense is always a big reason for training. As a classical martial artist, I believe the movements of the old kata are for practical fighting (which looks almost nothing like the way in which those same movements are used by most modern martial artists). This even crosses over to my practice of old Okinawan weapons. When I do a sai kata, it looks the same as someone else's sai kata. But, when I use the movements of that kata, it looks like I am using an entirely different weapon. Yet, I will never be attacked when I am armed with sai. Nor will I ever be attacked by someone wielding the type of weapon sai was designed to deal with (except in the dojo, of course). So why would I practice sai-jitsu.

For that matter, why do I practice martial arts at all? Why do I spend so much time training in preparation for an attack which probably will never occur? The answer is simple. I think martial arts are really interesting and really cool. The first time I took a lesson, at age 12, and I was told, "Stand like this, bend your knee like this," I was hooked, fascinated by the complexity and intricacy, by the body of knowledge to learn, the specialized vocabulary, the unique methods. And for all the values I have received from my years of training, I train today because, 40 years later, I still find it really interesting.

So, I am like those die-hard fans at the scifi/comic conventions – the ones whose costumes don't look like costumes at all, the ones who have really invested time and energy into what they are doing, the ones who actually can speak Klingon, the ones who think it is really interesting and cool. I train, I speak the language, I wear the cool costume. In fact, when I practice weapons, I don't use the cheap crap sold by Ce•••ry. Noooo. I have the really good quality weapons. And I even wear a special costume for weapons work, a special blue hakama in the working style called nobakama, because, I think weapons training (kobujitsu) is really interesting and cool, and I want to look cool when I'm doing it.

Thanks for reading.

No, go train!

CT

The Taller You Would Build the Tower

Sensei George Dillman demonstrating an impressive knock out.

I was in Indianapolis, at an annual 3 day training with my sensei George Dillman (okay, I was only there 2 days, because someone had to work Sunday morning). The weekend is organized and sponsored by Will Higginbotham, one of my colleagues in DKI. Another of my colleagues, Matt Brown, was teaching some advanced work on manipulating internal energy (qi). One of the up-and-coming instructors, Shane Lear, was teaching material he has learned in China, which also focused on energy work. I got a chance to teach and experiment with the use of primary and secondary elemental stances (an extension of elemental stance theory worked out by Dustin Seale and myself). And sensei Dillman showed some quality technique and methodology (along with a stunning and unexpected leg knockout). All in all, the training was at a very high level, appropriate to the number of long-time and high-ranking students attending (as my daughter put it, "There was a lot of red in the room" referring, of course, to the red on the belts of the seniors).

Today (Sunday) was a work day for me, with church services and a burial. But, here and there I found myself with a few moments to play around and do what I call "restroom karate". I should explain that. The name refers to my habit of doing a few techniques anytime I find myself alone in a lavatory – right after I wash my hands, when I can still check my technique in the mirror. So, "restroom karate" is when you steal a few seconds of training here and there throughout the day. So, today, as I stole time here and there for a few seconds of training, I noticed that, following all that advanced work in Indianapolis, I was training basic stances and basic movements.

This might seem odd to others, who might assume that I would be practicing qi-gung and working on advanced material. But it doesn't seem odd to me for a very simple reason – the taller you would build the tower, the stronger you must build the foundation. When martial artists become excited about advanced material and turn their art and training into nothing but advanced stuff, they can appear impressive (even astonishing) and knowledgeable, but without a proportionately strong grounding in fundamentals of movement and posture and stance and alignment, their towering knowledge cannot survive the disturbances of combat.

So, it seems to me, that the more advanced material I learn, study and practice, the more I have to return again and again to fundamentals. In fact, I have come to believe that a master is just someone who fell in love with the basics.

Thanks for reading,

Now go train!

CT