Saturday nights at the honbu dojo have recently been made nights for individual training. Classes usually start at the regular time but we’re pretty much left to our own devices – an opportunity to work on corrections and play with things we learnt during the week, maybe even do a little partnered free sparring, bunkai, or kakie waza.

Sometimes on these nights when I’m striking away on the makawara or working on kata, the sounds seem to come together in an almost musical way. The rhythmic pounding of someone’s hand against a rock, the whirring of a skipping rope, the sharp exhalations of someone doing chiishi, or the thud of combinations against the heavy bag. I can’t help but smile to myself as we all huff, puff and sweat in the silence. It reminds me of a scene from Zatoichi. I’ve included the clip below.



I think it’s interesting that Sensei has decided to change things up in this way. One could say this kind of indepenent training more closely resembles the traditional Okinawan approach. But, whatever Sensei’s motives, I’ve come to really like our independent Saturday night sessions. They’ve been a good test of our ability to remember the junbi undo, kihon and hojo undo routines as well as a real lesson in focused training and self-motivation. But enough talking, it's time for some training.

When I first visited the honbu dojo I was quite surprised at the almost shabby state of Sensei’s floor – a real patchwork quilt of potholes and duc tape. Bruised, cracked and bandaged, I remember thinking that it reminded me of an aged and beaten opponent. And, with all its war wounds I’d sometimes wonder what stories it might have to tell.

I’ve heard about visitors to the honbu dojo who have intentionally tried to put a foot through Sensei’s floor. I don’t know if I can believe such stories, but accidents do happen, and the dojo floor has seen its fair share of them.

To look at it, it’s certainly not what you’d expect from a world famous dojo. But thinking about it, it couldn’t be a more fitting home for traditional karate – humility and simplicity.

Armed with little more than hammers and chisels, the students of the honbu dojo today tried to resusitate the old wooden floor before Sensei returns from his travels abroad. And, I have to say; carpentry is harder work than it looks. The job’s not done yet but it’s getting their slowly and I think everyone is looking forward to the feeling of smooth timber under our feet.

Part of me does wonder though if Sensei won’t miss his little boobie traps – tape that constantly trips and tests us challenging our suriashi. In class the famous words “don’t lift your heels” seems to be regularly followed by the sound of stumbling. And, while Sensei knowingly glides around the floor like on ice, for the rest of us, there’s nothing like gummy patches of tape to challenge one’s ability to stick, without getting stuck.

On Tuesday April 28th An’ichi Miyagi Sensei passed away.

The funeral was held on Thursday afternoon and was a beautiful service. In the funeral hall, a glowing photograph of An’ichi Miyagi Sensei stood in front of a large wooden replica of a Buddhist temple. In front of the temple a sea of white and yellow flowers spiraled and flowed from Sensei’s portrait. To the left and right, the walls were adorned with large bouquets of flowers sent from around the world and condolence messages painted in kanji on tall wooden plaques.

We humbly paid our respects and met briefly with Higaonna Sensei afterwards. He was in good spirits smiling as usual and reminded us to continue to do our best in training – perhaps the best way to honour the memory of his teacher.

In the final paragraphs of Higaonna Sensei’s book, he talks about his teacher:

“I owe a great debt to many people of the development of my karate skills but I am most grateful to An’ichi Miyagi. Not only did he teach me the true techniques of Goju-Ryu karate, but he passed down to me an entire history and tradition that otherwise may have been lost forever.

He also instilled in me strong moral standards and a desire to acquire knowledge. He taught me that one should always seek humility and that the stronger one becomes the more humble one should be. He likened this to a stalk of rice, which bends lower as it grows taller. Human beings are to do likewise, he said.

An’ichi Miyagi leads a simple life as his teacher did. In both his life and his training, he remains loyal to the teachings of Chojun Miyagi” (Higaonna Sensei, 2001, p. 155).

I remember Sensei telling us once that in traditional karate it is important to always remain humble – that we must always strive to improve our martial art and ourselves in this way. Some martial arts masters he said, train until they die and then return as ghosts to continue their training. If such stories are true, I suspect that An’ichi Miyagi Sensei would be among these great karateka.

Lately before training I've taken to spending 10-15 minutes watching YouTube videos of Sensei’s kata. Maybe a little obsessive of me I know, but in my defense my mini movie nights started mainly as a way of switching my brain from work/study mode into the 'zone' for training.

I remember coming across some interesting research a while back about the brain and motor learning. In short, the researchers found that by simply watching someone perform an action with the intention of mimicking them, we can activate neural pathways in the brain actually responsible for performing the behavior. Who would have thought you could actually improve your kata – or any technique for that matter – just by sitting at your desk?

I know there's no substitute for actual practice but it's good to know that on nights where you really can't make it, you may be able to trick that brain of yours into training without training. I think my kata at least, has changed slightly since I’ve been doing this – a small shift in timing and focus if nothing else.

To save myself the hassle of searching for the video clips each night I decided to put them all together. So, for those interested in joining me in my martial movie nights, here they are:

Gekisai Dai Ichi (撃砕第一)


Gekisai Dai Ni (撃砕第二)


Saifa (砕破)


Seiyunchin (制引戦)


Shisochin (四向戦)


Sanseru (三十六手)


Sepai (十八手)


Kururunfa (久留頓破)


Sesan (十三手)


Suparimpei (壱百零八)


Sanchin (三戦)


Tensho (転掌)

Firstly, wow. Thanks to everyone who took the time to write me an email or comment on my last post. I had no idea there were so many of you out there and have been genuinely stunned by the amount of positive feedback I’ve received. Some comments were so thoughtful and generous. I really don't know what to say. Part of me wants to print them out and stick them on my fridge :)

If anything, the whole experience has got me thinking a little about the power of praise – something until now I've certainly taken for granted.

If you think about it, praise really has to be one of the most fundamental human desires. The desire for status, wealth, fame and success all seem to have this common denominator – the goal of achieving recognition and respect from others.

I've heard some people say that we’re currently living in an overpraised generation where too much of the wrong kind of praise may actually be a bad thing. I recently read an interesting piece of research that found when children are praised for their efforts they are more likely to choose harder tests, are more resilient to failure and setbacks, and on later tests, their marks improve. By contrast, children praised for their intelligence or natural ability, chose easier tests when given the option, are distressed by failure and actually show declines in later tests of academic performance. It seems as though praising effort gives people a variable they can control which in turn makes setbacks and criticism more constructive, less frightening things.

In the context of training, it’s safe to say that honest and sincere encouragement goes a long way. For me, there are really few things more motivating than the words "getting better" grunted approvingly from Sensei. And, while praise beyond this is seldom directed at seniors, to the awkward and self-conscious beginner, a good sensei seems to find potential and strength even more readily than he/she finds fault.

It’s amazing to see what such simple words can do. And maybe it shouldn't just be up to seniors and teachers to praise their students. I remember how in awe of my seniors I was when I started training (and still am) – though I never dared tell them so. And yet, they probably battle with their inner critics as much as the rest of us.

I wonder why praise is such a hard thing to give when it's something we all like to receive? We certainly do have to be careful with how and whom we choose to praise. Have you been affected by praise? I'd love to hear your stories.

Update: I just came across an excellent article on American Traditional on the topic of praising one's superiors (or rather not). It's worth a read.

On the whole, I’ve received a lot of really positive feedback about Memoirs of a Grasshopper. But last night I received a particularly damning anonymous comment. The knowledge there is even one person out there who feels this way is enough to cause me to stop and question what I’m doing. In the spirit of openness – which is part of the reason I started this blog – I’d like to respond and hear other people’s views.

Here it is:

“Krista, I have read several of your blogs and cannot believe that you have the audacity to analyze and comment on your superiors as if they are your "friends". They are your teachers and mentors. You are there to learn from them; not pal around with them and write like you interviewed them for a 2 hour documentary that was broadcast on prime time tv. You write in your blogs like you are the only woman to have ever performed karate/martial arts or accomplish the things that are so ordinary. Granted, the things that you've done are good, but nothing that has been done before or that will be done after you. In the world of martial arts and karate, there is a such a thing as humility and trying to improve oneself. Write to loved ones about about your experiences, but "Memoirs of a Grasshopper" blogs is an insult to the true idea and meaning of the karate/martial arts mindset.” Anonymous.

Firstly, I have to agree there is nothing special about what I’m doing. I’ve been here less than a year, am barely a nidan, and obviously very junior in the honbu dojo. I am certainly not the first female to be doing this either. In fact, the current apartment I’m living in used to be occupied by a young woman who was a very strong and senior member of the Honbu dojo and one who’s far more accomplished than myself. When I leave, I have no doubt there will be many more after me too.

Memoirs of a Grasshopper has, for me, been first and foremost a personal journal and way of reflecting on my own experiences. The things I’m doing are certainly not out of the ordinary. However, I believe that each person has something unique to offer from his or her own perspective. Writing has opened my eyes to martial arts in way I never knew and has really enriched my time here studying Goju-Ryu.

While my situation isn’t special, I do believe it’s a lucky one – and one that many people don’t get the opportunity to experience. I’ve loved being able to share this with others while also learning from those more experienced than myself. I currently follow a number of martial arts blogs and believe this sharing is part of the wonder if the Internet. Perhaps the commenter assumes that by publishing online, the material is prefaced by some ‘claim of importance’ or ‘specialness’. People can blog about anything (and do!) – it’s part of what makes it so great.

Perhaps my greatest concern with the above comment is the suggestion that in making my posts public I have been in some way disrespectful of my superiors. I have nothing but absolute reverence and admiration for my seniors both in the honbu dojo, and within wider Goju Ryu and martial arts circles. Maybe it’s wrong of me to feel this way, but since moving to Naha I’ve come to consider many members of the Honbu dojo close friends. We often joke around outside of training and I feel lucky to know such amazing people who inspire me to always do my best.

Higaonna Sensei and others have encouraged me to write but I’ve always asked approval before using their names, comments, illustrations etc. That said, if the frank and open way I have described them or our trainings has given offence, I sincerely apologise. The very last thing I ever wanted was to trivialise how important these people are to me and how much I value their teachings.

So I’d now like to hear other people’s take on this. If any of my posts have been disrespectful or if indeed my entire blog is an insult to the ideals of traditional karate – something I do feel passionately about – I will happily remove all offending material, even the entire site. I would miss the opportunity Memoirs has given me to share my thoughts and connect with others, but I write first and foremost for myself, and can continue to do so offline...

Well, I passed my grading. The honbu crew also did the dojo proud and I felt privileged to be able to grade with them. And, as you can see, while I didn’t get away completely unscathed, if I hadn’t come home with a few bruises or a bit of blood I’d have probably been disappointed – little masochistic of me I know.

I won’t go into details but I can say that I did learn a couple of things from the nights effort...
1. In martial arts, the genetics of big noses has really done me no favours, and
2. Keep those hands up especially if you find yourself sparring a 4th-Dan.

I suppose beyond that, the pain-numbing power of adrenalin has once again come through and surprised me in the end. Seems like the morning after every grading I wake to embark on a little treasure hunt of discovery - small sprains, cuts and lumps that I could swear weren’t there the night before. If anything it makes you realize that in a real life scenario even if you land one of your strongest punches square in the face of your opponent, this may not be enough to slow them down - which is why it’s important to never stop and to always have a backup plan. Then again, on the flip side, it’s also nice to know that in the thick of it, even if you’re on the receiving end of one of those punches you can end up surprising yourself too.

Ok. So we all talk to ourselves. Some of you might be thinking, “talk to myself? I don’t talk to myself. Do I talk to myself?” It’s ok. We all do it.

As a martial artist I often find myself sparring with my inner critic. Sometimes we have a little light randori – she helps me identify my weaknesses and occasionally I surprise her with a few techniques. Other nights however, I get an absolute battering. I come away bloody, bruised and generally unenthused about returning to training.

With the grading only a few days away, these full contact kumite nights are becoming more common. And, while I know she thinks this kind of sparring is helpful, there’s only so much pummeling a girl can take.

By all means, a little self-criticism is healthy. It helps us improve and keeps our ego in check. But be warned. A good sparring partner corrects and encourages. They’re not negative, judgmental or mean.

Members of the dojo come and go but your internal training partner is one you’re stuck with for life. You may as well try and befriend them. They have the potential to be your best teacher or your most malicious opponent. And, on days when it’s just the two of you, this training buddy may just make or break your sessions.

I think sometimes the best athletes have relatively less internal commentary going on in their heads. Rather than questioning and critiquing every action, their inner coach just says “go” and encourages or observes quietly. If you look to martial artists like Higaonna-Sensei, it’s pretty clear that he and his inner instructor are a compatible pair. Perhaps this is what he’s saying when he tells us:

“Trust in yourself. I can. I cannot… no. Always, I can, I can”.

Simple advice. Like many of Sensei’s pearls this one really rings true for me - something I'm going to try and remember next time I catch myself getting a beating.

What do you make of your inner doppelganger? Are they a friend? Or a foe?

* Click here for Español.

I have to admit; on occasion in sparring I’ve been guilty of throwing my limbs in the general direction of my partner’s head or torso in hope that I’ll hit something that hurts. Sometimes I even end up aiming for the less vulnerable areas so I can afford to hit them harder. While we do have to look after our partners in kumete, this kind of ‘lazy’ sparring can develop bad habits. I don’t care how strong you are, if your punch lands square in your opponent’s pec or bicep, you’ll really need to start thinking about what to do next.

With the grading approaching I’ve found myself having to re-learn the Japanese pressure points (kyushu) that’d I’d once memorized for my shodan exam. It’s amazing how quickly one forgets these things. In any case, it’s reminded me of the importance of having a clear intent with our targets and to occasionally explore spots you might not always think about striking.

One of the things I love about traditional karate is training to attack these more vulnerable areas – the spots usually off limits in competitive martial arts. Groin strikes, chokes and eye gouging, biting, ripping at ears and pulling hair (sigh) – all that good stuff – these are the things self-defense is made of.

In training Sensei frequently encourages us to poke and prod ourselves and our partners to develop a feel for those hard to find places. Something tells me he could find them all blindfolded, but I’ve learned not to ask twice about the exact location of pressure points unless you’re after some first hand experience to ‘burn’ those spots into memory.

In my last post I talked about the ills of belt systems.

But, here's the thing...

Sensei recently asked me to sit for a grading and I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t get a little excited.

In truth, I'd love some more time. But, I do feel incredibly privileged to have been asked to grade under Sensei. It’s an amazing opportunity and one I know I just can't turn down.

So, while it’s easy to sit here and claim that grades aren’t important, it’s obvious that there’s still something in it.

Perhaps it’s not so much the dan-grade but the grading process that makes it special. For me, gradings have always been something very different to competition or competitive sport. In my teens I raced nationally in triathlon and cross-country running but these events never really compared to the physical and mental ordeal of our gradings. And, while puking and being pummeled isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun time, there really is ‘something’ in being booted right out of your comfort zone and pushed to your absolute limits.

I remember having the odd experience once amid countless repetitions of push-ups at the end of a grading where for a brief moment, the pain disappeared, my head cleared, and everything became effortless. Unfortunately it didn’t last long. But, I felt that for a brief moment at least, I had clarity. Maybe it was just the endorphins. But then, it’s always possible I caught a small glimpse of what some might call ‘satori’ – a ‘little awakening’, one of those brief moments of enlightenment you occasionally hear talked about in training.

Whatever it was, I’ve always felt that the physical, emotional and spiritual trial of gradings has forced me to grow as a person (if only in growing my pain threshold). And through them, I’ve come to learn a little about myself that I didn’t know. In the end, pass or fail, the mere fact I survived and gave it everything is I think what makes it special.

Recently I heard a friend say, “it’s up to you how hard you push yourself”. Very true. I suppose the next stage is to learn how to give everything in normal training. Gradings are great challenges but maybe the greater challenge is fighting the urge to tune out and go through the motions. Imagine how much we’d improve if we treated all trainings like gradings.

I still remember the first night I turned up at training in a crisp new karate gi. The thick canvas felt so bunchy and uncomfortable and my stiff new white belt stuck out at odd angles like a badly behaved bowtie. It was as if my new outfit was insistent on making me look as stupid and awkward in training as I felt.

I remember watching my seniors that night completely inspired by the way they moved and I thought to myself, ‘one day if I can get to black belt maybe I can look like that too…’. At the time, it really did seem a bit of a pipe dream, and the aged and frayed state of everyone’s belts was just a reminder of how far I had to go…

It’s funny looking back on things now. Belts and grades have since come to mean a lot less to me. These days there seems to be such an obsession with qualifications and ranks. With McDojos popping up everywhere, it seems like every man and his dog has a black belt. Now the latest craze seems to be accumulating black belts in as many styles as possible – qualifications worn like little badges of honour on martial arts CVs. The irony here is that black belt is really just the beginning. A sign that you've mastered the basics and you're ready to start your real training.
Back in the days of Chojun Miyagi’s garden dojo no one wore belts. In fact, everyone just trained in their underwear. Apparently coloured belts weren’t introduced into martial arts until judo adopted them and Chojun Miyagi was always against them. Higaonna-Sensei told us he was graded to sandan (3rd dan) at his first grading in December 1960, but even then he rarely wore his belt.

Higaonna-Sensei made his views clear in interview he gave with Dragon Times:

“I agree that for students they are a way of measuring progress but at a high price. They cause discontent, squabbles, and lead to excessive pride in self, which is the opposite of what martial arts training, should develop in a student. Every one has different standards so, inevitably there are differences between the level of students from different dojos even when they have the same grade, and then the politics start. I believe that there should be black belts and white belts only, and that the focus should be on training, not on accumulating rank." (Morio Higaonna Sensei, Dragon-Times, Issue 10).

Maybe we’d all benefit from going back to the basics. Should we lose the belts and train in our knickers like in the good ol’ days?

These days, traditional karate doesn’t often make it into the movies. I suppose our simplistic style of fighting doesn’t compare that favourably to our more 'impressive looking' Kung Fu cousins. Add to that the whole principal of ‘ending a fight immediately’ and I guess you haven’t got much material for long action-packed fight scenes.

A little while ago I did see a flick however that managed to make realistic traditional karate work on screen. The film’s called Kuro Obi (Black Belt).

Like all good martial arts movies, the plot’s a little melodramatic in parts but the fight scenes are pretty great. Simple. Realistic. And, I think pretty true of traditional karate. It really comes as no surprise that two of the main characters Akihito Yagi (who plays Giryu) and Tatsuya Naka (who plays Taikan) and are 5th and 6th dan karate instructors. As an interesting side note, Sensei Yagi (pictured above) is President of the International Meibukan Gojyu Ryu Karate Association and actually teaches at a dojo in Naha’s Kume district (barely 10 minutes away by bike). The martial arts world really is a small place.

In any case, I've included a few clips from one of the earlier fight scenes below and short video with some behind-the-scenes footage. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a peak – especially for anyone interested in traditional karate, what it looks like, and how it differs from other more cinematic styles of fighting. After all, there’s nothing like a good martial arts movie to get you fired up for some training.


Fight Scene Part 1


Fight Scene Part 2


And some behind the scenes...

Following on from my last post, I wanted to talk a little more about moving from the hips (koshi) or perhaps more appropriately, moving from ones tanden. The importance of the tanden seems a favorite subject of Yamashiro-Sensei’s, and while the 7th dan instructor claims not to speak much English, he certainly has a way with the words he knows…

A few nights ago Brent and I stayed late to practice sanchin kata after training and we were lucky enough to have Yamashiro-Sensei pop into the dojo. He sat and watched us for a while before coming over and correcting our posture and body alignment. One thing he said really stayed with me:

“Tanden wa (king), ashi (legs/feet) wa soldiers. King tells soldiers – Go!"

What I like most about this analogy is that it captures the subtle difference between initiating movement from the tanden and over exaggerated ‘leading with the hips’ – maybe a bit like a King charging out ahead of his army. In this sense, the tanden shouldn’t so much move before the body, as with it, while giving the orders.

By pulling slightly on my belt, Yamashiro Sensei showed me how to initiate movements without the obvious weight shift involved in stepping. This enabled me to slide forward more easily without telegraphing my movements by keeping my head and upper body aligned and still.

Replicating the movement without Sensei’s help is another matter – it’s much harder pulling yourself around by your own belt! But, so far the imagery has proved useful in training and hopefully with enough practice King Koshi will get better at commanding the troops.

* Click here for Español.

What is this mysterious ‘tanden’ we so frequently hear about in martial arts?



In many traditional Japanese arts – shakuhachi (Japanese flute), shodo (calligraphy), kyudo (archery), kendo (swordsmanship) and even chado (tea ceremony) – students are taught to act from the tanden. This area also serves as a focus point in Taoist and Buddhist philosophy and Zen meditation and is believed to help center one’s mind and aid in controlling thoughts and emotions.

In martial arts, internal power is believed to originate from the tanden and is often expressed in a kiai, which must be synchronized with physical techniques and kimei (a moment of full body tension) to deliver maximum power. Sensei frequently refers to the importance of the tanden in this way:

“External power ashi kara (comes from the feet); internal power tanden kara (comes from the tanden). Kimei and kiai must together!”

Whether you’re a believer of chi and internal energy or not, most martial arts practitioners acknowledge the importance of tanden as the body’s centre of gravity and the role it plays in initiating movement. Martial arts historian and practitioner, Charles Goodin recently described his experience with generating power from the tanden or koshi (hips) and it’s role in preventing the telegraphing of movement:

“When power comes from the koshi (the core of the body), it is much harder to anticipate a movement... When you pull back your right arm, the odds are that you are going to throw a right punch (or some other right handed technique). When you "squeeze" or "twist" your koshi, a movement could come from anywhere” (Goodin, 2009).

Whether it’s using dropping or winding power, or pulsing from the feet, it's worth concentrating on pivoting and moving from the tanden. I think overall this focus may help to generate power while giving stillness, silencing the body, and improving overall efficiency of movement.

* Click here for Español.

Hanging up in the front of Sensei’s dojo is a famous series of eight poems – the Kempo Hakku (Eight Laws of the Fist). The poem comes from article 13 of the bubishi – an historical text recording martial knowledge and techniques from South China (mainly Fukien) and Okinawa.

Apparently, the Kempo Hakku was a favourite of Kanryo Higaonna and Chojun Miyagi Sensei and the third line actually served as the inspiration for the name Goju-Ryu. In training, Higaonna Sensei frequently points at different kanji characters when explaining principals and techniques. I finally managed to track down the Japanese and English translation. Has a nice ring about it when you read the Japanese...

From top to bottom, right to left it reads:

1. Jinshin wa tenchi ni onaji.
The mind is one with heaven and earth.

2. Ketsumyaku wa nichigetsu ni nitari.
The circulatory rhythm of the body is similar to the cycle of the sun and the moon.

3. Ho wa goju no donto su.
The way of inhaling and exhaling is hardness and softness.

4. Mi wa toki ni shitagai hen ni ozu.
Act in accordance with time and change.

5. Te wa ku ni ai sunawachi hairu.
Techniques will occur in the absence of conscious thought.

6. Shintai wa hakarite riho su.
The feet must advance and retreat, separate and meet.

7. Me wa shiho wo miru wa yosu.
The eyes must not miss even the slightest change.

8. Mimi wa yoku happo wo kiku.
The ears listen well in all eight directions.

In the past when learning ‘bunkai’ applications (self-defense techniques from kata), I've often caught myself thinking “that’s a little convoluted isn’t it... surely it wouldn’t work in a real life scenario…”. However, in training at the Honbu dojo I've since learnt not to be too hasty in tossing aside bunkai. Every technique from the kata really does have an effective application (or many as the case may be). It’s often just a matter of executing a technique correctly with appropriate timing, power and speed.

Rather than being 'helpful' partners, in the Honbu dojo, applications are practiced more realistically – your partner won't move or be taken down easily and you want to make sure you're blocking properly because they really will hit you otherwise! When I first started training this way I was almost a little affronted by how uncooperative everyone seemed to be. Part of me felt like saying... "no.. but you're meant to move this way...". The irony of this is Bunkai are self-defense techniques and honestly, who's going to be less 'cooperative' than the person trying to attack you.

It’s funny how we often think we’re being nice when we make it easy for our partners to carry out their applications - aiming punches and kicks to the sides of the body and falling to the ground with ease. While all this might make our partners ‘look good’, in actual fact we’re preventing them from learning how to do the applications effectively. Instead, we’re teaching bad habits and helping them pattern in techniques that only work with other ‘helpful’ and ‘cooperative’ partners.

Such half-baked techniques would probably be quite dangerous if someone tried to use them for self-defense. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a difference between making it virtually impossible for your partner to deliver a technique (especially when you know what’s coming) and delivering strong, straight, realistic strikes with intent. In any case, if you find yourself doing applications in training, go ahead a really try and hit your partner. They'll get the message. And at the very least, they’ll probably try and hit you back, which is just what you need for some realistic bunkai training!

Hands, fingers, elbows, shoulders, knees… what do they all have in common? The ability to inflict pain regardless of the strength and size of your opponent. Even the smallest joint in on your pinky finger if bent the right way will have the beefiest and bravest yelping in pain. This was sensei’s message tonight when he had us huddle around him as he showed us how to grab and twist fingers, hands, toes and feet - all to Brent’s delight as Sensei’s little demonstration puppet.

A few simply rules to remember - if your opponent’s palm is face up you must grab their wrist with your palm down and vice versa; don’t forget the role of the pinky finger both in grabbing and as a way of inflicting pain – this little digit can do a lot of damage; chiishi and nigiri-game are both training implements for strengthening fingers and hands – when gripping and twisting the training tools Sensei suggests it’s good to imagine that you’ve got hold of someone’s fingers.

Most of us would consider our thoughts to be pretty private things – a lucky thing too given the way our minds can wander… But, believe me when I say, if you’re thinking about ‘what you’ll have for dinner’ or ‘how much longer you have to stand in shiko-dachi’ while counting punches, Sensei will see it.

One of the first things that struck me about training with the students of the Honbu dojo is their concentration and focus. Each technique is delivered with full speed, power and utmost concentration and you can see that sensei’s famous words “each technique concentrate” have rubbed off on each of the senior grades. Rather than falling into habitual and rhythmic ‘counting’ patterns, in kihon (basics) and pair work, each technique is delivered as if it’s the first and only one. There’s also an emphasis on ‘not rushing’ techniques, and a slight pause or ‘focus point’ between each that’s just enough to keep those twitch fibers tingling and your partner on their toes.

“This is the mind of complete action. It is the moment in kyudo (Zen archery) after releasing the arrow... In shodo, it is finishing the brush stroke and the hand and brush moving smoothly off the paper… Zanshin means complete follow through, leaving no trace. It means each thing, completely, as it is… a mind of continual readiness, like a mirror ready to reflect whatever is shown to it…” (Zen monk, The Venerable Anzan Hoshin Roshi, 1988).

Zanshin refers to a state of ‘presentness’ and sensitivity to your surroundings in the absence of conscious thought. In holding the ‘yoi’ position for a moment at the end of a kata you’re practicing zanshin – continued alertness and readiness even though the physical part of a technique is complete. In martial arts, people talk about zanshin training awareness and the cultivation of that ‘sixth-sense’ – the ability to anticipate an attack before it arrives.

I think in our eagerness to complete a task we can often rush through kata or techniques, neglecting the finer details and finishing touches. Zanshin requires that we don’t become distracted by thoughts of the final product or what’s coming next. ‘Without this kind of ‘focus’ I think it’s very hard to improve in training. Routinely ‘going through the motions’ only serves to further ingrain what you’re already doing. And, this isn’t always a good thing as the one thing harder than learning new techniques is ‘unlearning’ bad ones.

* Click here for Español.

A little while ago an American TV crew came to the Honbu Dojo to do some filming for a reality TV show. Like all good reality TV shows it's a little ‘dramatised’ and at times I catch myself cringing. But, it’s still good watching Sensei in action, and for those who don’t know him, gives you a bit of an insight into what it’s like training here.

Some of you might think I'm already a little too obsessed with training... but, I have a confession...

The lovely photo on the right is what I might have seen this year if I hadn't spent New Years in the dojo. This may sound a little 'extreme' even for me. My friends definitely thought I was crazy. But, it was a once in a life-time opportunity and I think New Year is over-rated anyway.

Back in the days of the Yoyogi-dojo, a hard midnight training session was the traditional way to 'goshi' (bring in/cross into) the new year. While Toshi-goshi keiko (年越し) hasn’t been held since, Sensei decided that we’d revive the tradition for 2008.

There was a certain 'energy' about the place at training. While it was only meant to be a short session (11-12.30pm) I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that we were still training at 2am. In the end, Sensei gave us such a work out we hadn’t given much thought to the New Year and it wasn’t until about 12.30 that we realised we’d trained right through the countdown.

Afterwards Sensei brought out a bunch of mandarins (customary new years food) and we all sat around and chatted for another hour or so before finally making our exit. Can't say it beats partying until the wee hours, but it was definitely a New Years I won't forget ;)

It was Sensei's 70th birthday last night (on Christmas Day no less). It’s truly amazing how 'genki' he is for a 70-year-old! I’ve never seen someone so fast, strong, and flexible – it seems almost an impossibility for someone his age! Even now when I watch him move, demonstrating applications and takedowns it’s as if part of my brain is telling me that I’m being fooled. It’s an optical illusion! Thick, stocky seventy-year-old men simply cannot move that way.

I think the honbu dojo was a little intimidated by the upcoming event but I took the liberty of trying to make him a chocolate brownie cake (see above). But, with my rather limited baking experience, and without an oven I was left trying to produce a cake using our toaster/grill - a real challenge! All things considered, I think it worked out OK in the end. I covered up the charcoal patches with chocolate icing and even managed to ice it with a Happy Birthday Sensei message on top. Despite being a little ‘crunchy’ in bits, it can't have tasted too bad since it got polished off pretty quickly after training. We turned off all the lights and sang Sensei happy birthday and he made a wish before using those big lungs of his to blow out all the candles in one breath. He seemed to like the cake too explaining to me that he doesn't really like white (sponge) cakes that much but thought my chocolate cake was “very good”. Note to self – Sensei is a chocolate lover at heart.

Since arriving in Naha, the honbu-dojo ‘gang’ has really taken me under their wing. This isn’t always easy with newcomers. Dojo ‘newbies’ have the potential to really disrupt things – breaking dojo etiquette, bringing training ‘back to the basics’ and generally wrecking the vibe. This is especially the case among people who have been training together for a long time. As a junior black belt, and the only female, this was surely even more true for me. In this respect, I feel very lucky to have been so warmly adopted as part of the honbu dojo and have come to really admire and respect my senior ‘sempai’ who train here.

Kumamoto-Sensei
Kumamoto-Sensei is Sensei’s chief instructor in the honbu dojo. He’s also a bit like the parent to us all, ‘looking after the kids’ when Sensei’s away. When I first met him he struck me as the ‘quite and reserved’ type, but, I’ve since come to know him better over some hot awamori (traditional Okinawan spirits) and gyoza some nights after training. And as a side note, unlike the men on the mainland, this Okinawan knows how to hold his liquor.

Alessandro-Sensei
Alessandro-Sensei is a chirpy, warm-hearted Italian with a good sense of humor and flirtatious nature. He's fluent in Japanese, Italian and English, and like many others in the honbu dojo, his language skills really make me aware of my ignorance as a solely English speaking Westerner. While Alessandro-Sensei claims to be “no good” at English his disarming nature and charismatic expressions make him easy to talk to and never seems to detract from his ability to share a good joke.

One afternoon I ran into him in the car park of a supermarket down the street. While his wife was doing the shopping he was sitting in his car conditioning his hands on a 'portable' rock (keitai ishi) – a stone that he keeps under the front seat! I suppose it goes a long way to explaining why his hands have started to look so much like Sensei's and when I made this comment to him I couldn’t help but notice him ‘glow’ a little at the thought.

I think the thing that amazes me most about the guy is his constant energy. He trains every day, teaching kids classes at three different dojos and then trains with us again in the evenings. Even after training for 5 or 6 hours straight he just doesn’t seem to slow down. Whether it’s beating himself with wooden conditioning sticks or doing 100s of push-ups at a time with his legs wedged up on the weights bench – everything is done full speed and power. On occasion when he takes the senior classes we often find ourselves doing an endless array of odd and interesting exercises of his own creation - from new ways to condition our bodies (and partner’s), to human Kongo-Ken and floor-polishing push-up techniques.

Brent
A fellow Aussie from Newcastle, Brent has been training at the Honbu dojo pretty seriously since 2005. As one of the higher-ranking senior grades, his years inside the dojo show in his strong and heavy techniques and at times, his slightly 'too effective' bunkai applications. Brent tends to keep to himself and his stern and serious nature could otherwise be interpreted as ‘standoffish’ by those who don’t know him. In truth his dedication, focus and passion for training is nothing short of inspiring for me. In my time training here, I’m yet to see him train at less than 100%. His long working hours teaching English and late nights at the dojo show in the occasional dark circles under his eyes and furrowed brow, yet tiredness never seems to slow him down. And, on nights when I’m feeling tired or run down, he serves as a reminder of why I’m here – a reminder to “go hard or go home!”

These days, Brent and I often get paired up together for applications or forearm conditioning (ude-tanren) and in truth, I sometimes feel a small part of me groan for I know I’m in for a work out and I’m going home with some bruises. With arms like baseball bats and hard, heavy punching and kicking techniques, training with Brent always makes me feel like a white-belt again. Yet, I have a lot of respect and admiration for the guy and learn a lot from our sessions together. While some nights I might wish I had a ‘softer’ partner, I know that training with Brent will accelerate my learning and if I can keep it up (and if he doesn’t kill me first) I’ll be all the stronger for it.

Vincent
Vincent was one of the first to befriend me at the honbu dojo. Despite claims that his English is poor, I feel that Vincent seems to understand me more than most… or maybe it’s just that one of his favorite word “exactly” makes me feel this way. In any case, his warmth and sense of humor add to his disarming nature making him an easy guy to joke with and confide in.

Most nights at training I can hear Vincent’s stomach gurgling from across the room. I’m still not sure if it’s trying to tell him it’s hungry, or reprimanding him for liver abuse - an unfortunate side-affect of being a ‘slender blond’ working at a “snack” (host/hostess bar) each night after training. Despite being routinely hung-over, Vincent never seems to miss a day of training. His dedication shows in his big handwriting which dominates the pages of the dojo journal – a daily record of all our names.

I think among Westerners there's a bit of stereo-type regarding martial arts masters. In movies at least, they always seem to be stern, serious and maybe even slightly sadistic old men. Jaded, harsh and unforgiving.

Sensei is a hard man to capture in words, but he's definitely none of the above. He's kind of taken on a larger-than-life character for me and many others. If I were to describe him, I'd have to say he definitely has a certain ‘energy’ about him – calmness? simplicity? humility? zen? It's also hard describing the feeling of having him ‘demonstrate’ a technique – such frightening power and speed, yet always with such gentleness and control. You know you're in safe hands (so to speak).

Perhaps more than these things, when I think of Sensei, I see his cheery grin – a warm and childish smile that's contagious. When he steps into the dojo each night he takes the time to share this smile with each of us – like a father looking proudly at each of his children.

In appearance, the short and stocky 70-year-old, sports a thick torso and hobbits feet (with toes like fingers) well beyond Japanese sizing. His gentle hands and forearms have grown thick and calloused over the years. The photo above really doesn’t capture the current gnarled state of Sensei’s hands, which now resemble the very rock he strikes daily in the dojo.

Paradoxically, while Sensei’s hands have come to look more and more like his rock, the rock itself has grown smooth and oiled from years of use – qualities of each seeming to rub off on the other. Above the rock also sits a ‘Sensei-level’ patch of concrete (once white) that’s grown dark and smooth and almost invites you test out your back-fist (or at least your pain threshold). These quirky parts of the Honbu dojo seem to be as much a part of Sensei as his hands and feet. They're the simple objects that have shared more time with him than any of his students or close friends.

* Click here for Español.

The Honbu dojo is quite small with only a handful of black belts regularly training and a few (brave) kyu grades on occasion. It’s something that surprised me at first given the dojo’s famed reputation. Another thing that caught me off guard when I first arrived is how truly international the student base is – there are students from America, Switzerland, Italy, Australia, New Zealand, Israel and surprisingly few from Okinawa or mainland Japan. Add to this the almost weekly influx of visitors from around the word – England, Guatemala, France, Germany, Holland, Spain... With the constant supply of people from different styles and countries this melting pot of a dojo makes for some interesting training sessions and it’s fair share of language confusion.

Training runs from 8-10pm every night but usually kicks off a little late and runs even later. On normal training nights, the few of us without work commitments (or possessive partners) often stay late to work on corrections, practice sparring or applications, or do a few more reps with the metal clogs (tetsu geta) or gripping jars (nigiri-game). On nights when Sensei’s feeling particularly ‘genki’ - it’s not uncommon for us to find ourselves training through until 11.30/12pm and sometimes staying even later while he tells us stories about Kanryo Higaonna and Chojun Miyagi’s era. In any case, my life training at the Honbu dojo seems to have become a little nocturnal and even when I get home before midnight, I find myself needing at least another hour or so to slow my brain down to speed capable of sleep.

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