The Ethical Teacher

For the last few months, I've been actively engaged in solo training.  For most martial artists, if they train long enough, there will be a period of time where responsibilities or proximity to home schools prohibit regular in-class training.  It's definitely tough.  Of the martial artists I know who have moved away from their home schools, a large percentage end of leaving their training.  It's so easy to do so.  A week without class becomes a month, a year, and then longer.  Solo training has been my biggest test of discipline so far in the martial arts, and it has yielded some interesting thoughts with regards to our responsibilities in the arts, particularly with regards to teaching.

This is my first post in a *long* time.  My main reason for this has a lot to do with solo training.  When you talk about martial arts (or any interest) often enough, germinal thoughts become a lot easier to put into words.  I'd definitely like to write more, but for now, an occasional post will have to do.

My most interesting thoughts recently have been about ethics.  In training, we talk a lot about our individual ethical responsibilities as practitioners with regards to respect and the safety of those around us.  One idea I haven't spent a lot of time talking about is our responsibility as teachers of the arts and the effect those responsibilities have on others.

The following are a few free-form thoughts on the subject.  They are by no means definitive, and for me, they give us a starting point for future conversations on the subject!

Our first responsibility, and perhaps the most obvious one, is related to the safety of those we train with and teach.  The interesting thing about this is that it extends beyond the dojo walls.  Martial artists that are well-trained spiritually, mentally, and physically are instruments of safety and security in the world.  Injuries happen, but the way we handle them translates into how emergent situations are handled by students as well.  Are the injuries taken seriously?  Is there a plan for reporting and handling the situations?  In the schools where I have trained, the answer is yes, and that example not only gives me confidence in a safe environment, but also that my experience and the experiences of my classmates is worth enough to my instructors to take the extra steps to provide that kind of environment.

Our next responsibility is to be the example.  Again, this is an obvious choice, but it has serious implications when taken as an ethical model.  We can wax philosophical about respect, teamwork, the proportional use of force, and many other considerations for as long as we want, but if we are not actively working towards that example, students are not going to take our philosophy seriously.

Here are a few ways we can be a positive example in our teaching:

The ethical teacher is visible, attending as many classes as possible.  It may be necessary for periodic absences, especially in times of major work or personal responsibilities, but when all is tallied, the leaders need to be present.  I think students are reassured when they can count on seeing high ranks in attendance.

The ethical teacher is technical, performing to the best of his/her ability.  There are always going to be physical limitations, but it instills great confidence in students to see technical proficiency in instructors.  I've heard Sensei Hofmeister say time and again, "I'm not the best fighter, but I know how to make you a better fighter."  It's easy to believe a statement like that when instructors demonstrate excellent technique day-in and day-out, and it's easy to trust that teacher to help you improve.

The ethical teacher is inquisitive.  There are many facets to the martial arts, and not everything is going to interest everyone.  But, an excellent teacher recognizes those interests in students and improves his/her understanding in order to provide better individual instruction.  One of my favorite pulpy novel series, The Dresden Files, has many references to teaching after Harry takes on an apprentice about eight books into the series.  Later passages refers to his use of magic that used to be far out of his comfort zone because he learned more to provide his apprentice with a more personalized training regimen.

The ethical teacher in consistent.  Respect, rules, and requirements have to be observed with regularity in order to become part of a school's culture.  Once those habits start to set in, it can be gently enforced from every level of the student body.  That way, everyone know what is expected, and students can experience a truly comfortable training environment.

The ethical teacher is indomitable.  At the end of a particularly tough drill, the instructor is there, sweating with even the most physically fit students.  This is the kind of example that inspired me as a white belt.  Operation Shodan Fit would never have happened if I hadn't experienced hard workouts with my instructors in full participation from the beginning.

As promised, this list is far from exhaustive, but it does start the discussion nicely.  What do you think an ethical teacher needs?

OSU!

Musings: My Top 5 Games

So, originally, this blog was meant to be mostly about little things I thought of that were interesting.  Much later, it became my martial arts blog, which it still is--and I've got some interesting things cooking once I'm done with the final edits to my doctoral document.  But, it's been a while since I've entertained a real "musing" in this blog.  So, when I saw Sam Cook's top 5 games today, I thought--that looks like too much fun, and decided to post my own.  Here they are:


5.  Heavy Rain, PS3


This is the one game on this list that is fairly new.  I was out of console games for roughly 10 years when I decided to buy a PS3 and try out some of the newer console games, and this game was recommended to me as an interesting experiment in storytelling.  From the beginning, I was blown away.  Now, this game has some definite flaws:  occasionally, the game mechanics were extremely frustrating, and the voice acting was at times hilariously bad--plus, no two characters could agree on the pronunciation of the word "origami."  Flaws aside, I was lost in the emotions of this world until the game was finished.  And, I'm not a completionist, but this is one of the few games I've played to 100%.


4.  Legend of Zelda:  A Link to the Past, SNES


This is the one game on this list I never actually owned.  Back in the heyday of Blockbuster Video, game rentals were easy to come by in great variety, and this is one I rented several times.  Each time, I'd play it until I finished, trying to find a few more secret objects each time.  To me, figuring out the puzzles between the light and dark overworlds were absolute magic, and the level of detail that went into the differences between those worlds hinted at much greater possibilities for gaming.


3.  Metal Gear Solid, Playstation


MGS hooked me on stealth.  Now, whenever there is a title that has stealth possibilities in gameplay (e.g. Far Cry 3, Dishonored), I usually will try to bring about the most destruction as possible without being noticed at all by the enemy.  I had enjoyed the NES Metal Gear games when I was a bit younger, although I know now that they were simply weaker ports of the Japanese games.  I've spent most of my gaming days into RPGs, Turn-based Strategy, and Real-time Strategy, so it took a very special game to get me into the Action-adventure genre.  The sneaking challenge of this game combined with difficult boss fights and amazing puzzles have brought me back to this style of game again and again.


2. Civilization II, PC


Countless hours have been whiled-away playing this game, going for every different strategic angle I could think of.  I played the original Civ as well, but Civ2 is really where they got it right to me.  I've enjoyed the later titles in the series, but nothing beats this one to me.  It's deceptively deep mechanics got me hooked on all kinds of complicated strategy games, like the Total War series, and since I'm very deliberate in my gameplay, it didn't give me quite the agitated experience that WarCraft or StarCraft games did(still favorites, but not quite top 5 material).  I remember not being able to sleep at about 14 years old, so I got up, booted up Civ 2 and played a Roman campaign from about 1am to about 9am, finishing the game with a fairly high score and feeling very, very tired.


1.  Final Fantasy VI (FF3, SNES)


Discussions of this game on Facebook as of late is what inspired me to write this top 5.  Even when I was well-out of console gaming, I would still come back to this game once every 2 years or so.  The overarching story, rich themes, beautiful world, and amazing party mixes have given me hundreds of hours of fun in this world.  I've enjoyed playing later FF games, but this one (with FFIV as another high point) really sticks to me as the finest JRPG I have ever played.  The musician in me also joys in the excellent score!


So, there you have it, 5 favorite games and a brief return to the musings that got this blog started.  I'll be back soon with many more thoughts on the martial arts!

Practice Makes Progress

                In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell repeatedly mentions the “10,000 hour rule” in his analysis of the factors related to high levels of success.  The rule basically states that 10,000 hours of practice are required to acquire real expertise and success in any skill.  He writes that typically, it takes about ten years to reach that 10,000 hour mark.  I found this idea interesting in its potential application with martial arts.

                This brings me to my title:  practice makes progress.  I’m not too happy with the cliché aphorism, “practice makes perfect.”  That’s nonsense.  Practice really and truly doesn’t make perfect.  Putting aside the notion that perfection doesn’t exist, we see practice as the development of long-term habits.  So, practice doesn’t make perfect—instead, practice makes permanent.  This is particularly true in music, where I’ll spend hours with students trying to undo a bad habit that has been cemented in hours and hours of practice.  So, if it’s perfection a practitioner is looking for, the practice itself has to be perfect.

                But, even when there are mistakes, practice joined with a good-faith effort always does one thing:  it moves the person’s skill level forward, if only slightly.  There is always progess.

                When I started getting serious with my martial arts training, I was simultaneously training in Yoshukai, Kyuki-do, and Hapkido.  I averaged about 12-14 hours of class a week.  It’s no surprise that I found myself improving at a much faster pace than when I had been attending 3-5 hours a week (which, to many, is still a lot of hours training).  Although this moved me in the direction I wanted, it wasn’t until I started practicing quite a lot on my own before I really started to notice the improvements that I wanted to see.  12-14 hours of class has become more like 6-8, but for every hour I spend in class, I spend roughly two hours in training on my own.

                The discipline required for a 2-to-1 practice/class hours training ratio is pretty stunning.  There are days that I just don’t want to do it.  But, I’ve always found with martial arts, showing up is the discipline, and the training tends to take care of itself after that.  I’ve found myself at least once a month dragging my feet to head towards class, but after about 15 minutes of good, hard work, I’d forgotten what had me dragging in the first place.  The adrenaline of practice and all those positive endorphins take over, and the results are amazing.

                Talk of results brings me to the idea of mastery.  In my time back in the martial arts, I’ve met quite a few lifetime practitioners.  They’re all different, with different interests, skill sets, and philosophies, but they’re all very much the same.  After twenty-plus years in the martial arts, certain basic ideas become a part of these veterans’ pulses.  When I watch a veteran martial artist work, I’m almost always watching for basic technique.  Don’t get me wrong; there are a lot of beautiful, complex techniques out there.  But, I’d rather see a fantastic front kick from a veteran than see a competent tornado kick from someone around my rank.  It’s simply in a different league.  The technique is an extension of their natural processes, and without all of those years in practice, it would just be a kick.  In the hands of a veteran practitioner, it becomes art.

                I often think about the use of the word “art” in reference to the martial arts.  It’s a loaded term, to be sure.  To some, the martial arts are simply another extension of sports.  And, to be honest, that’s fine with me—there are a lot of people out there, and the martial arts will often benefit those who are just looking to compete and win with the ethos of respect and the inner well-being just because they are training.  Being present counts for a lot in the martial arts.  That front kick won’t get any better if you’re not there, kicking.  Anyways, back to the “art” in martial arts.  For a lot of practitioners, there is a sublime beauty in the physical, mental, and spiritual discipline involved in training.  I’m still comparatively new to training, but I find that challenge in every solo practice session.  Can I polish this form to the point where I cannot think of another thing to work on?  Can I apply everything I heard at the last class to this kick, punch, or block?  Obviously, the answer needs to be “yes.”

                Another great aspect of practice is by taking a lot of time polishing material, new levels of competency open themselves up all the time.  I have a few forms that are favorites, and each of them teaches me something new about the arts when I spend the time to practice them well.  Seisan is like that for me—there is a lot of interesting stuff going on.  But, “practicing well” is the important caveat here.  If I just phone in Seisan, it’s not going to teach me anything.  In fact, it will probably turn on me and make me look like a goof if I just “phone it in.”

                So, there ends a few reflects on practice.  It’s definitely worth thinking about in all that we do.  How much time do we spend practicing the things we want to be great at?  How effective is our practice?  How can we make our practice more effective?  By asking these questions, we tap into the true joy of what we do.  More practice…more joy.

Quantity Vs. Quality

I draw a lot of instantaneous inspiration from quotes in The Karate Kid.  I know in a lot of ways it's cheesy 80s fluff, but I also think that the script served as a vehicle for a lot of Robert Mark Kamen's philosophy on the martial arts.  One such scene has Daniel sitting with Mr. Miyagi eating his birthday cake, and Daniel remarks that he's worried he doesn't know enough karate for the tournament.  Mr. Miyagi agrees with him, but follows with "trust the quality of what you know, not the quantity."

That struck me as an excellent reminder for all of us.  The martial artists that have affected me the most in my time training have waxed philosophical again and again on the idea of developing excellent basics.  They have said, "Good basic technique makes good karate."  And I agree wholeheartedly.  It also occurred to me that I've seen white belts practicing good karate, and I've seen black belts practice karate that is not so good.  I've also seen that practicing good karate is a daily decision--on any given day, we can let the world bog us down.  If we do, chances are we will be training without balance, and our karate probably won't be so good.

Five years ago, I finished my master's degree in music.  It was a weird time in my life because the conferring of that degree, Master of Music, felt like an odd oxymoron.  At that point in my life, I had only realized how much I truly didn't know about music.  And it continues today--the more I learn, the more I learn what I still have left to learn, which is a lot.

As I'm sure is patently obvious by now, I'm an over-the-top, never-coming-back martial arts geek.  I just can't get enough of the stories, techniques, clinics, forms, and the list goes on and on.  Also, one of the things that I have enjoyed about advancing in rank is the new stuff I get to learn.  It's never-ending that way.  I've found the more I focus on learning in martial arts, the more the arts will teach me.

But, then we come back to the quality of what I'm learning.

I have realized that I will never achieve the perfect front kick.  Never--perfection is impossible (see my post on "Yoshu" to read more about this).  But, instead of seeing that pursuit as fruitless, I've learned that even from a white belt kick, I am learning more about how my body works, how to build my strength, and how the basic elements of that kick can be applied to more complex techniques.  The same holds true for basic punches, blocks, beginning forms, stances, and all of the stuff we learn right away.

It seems to me that mastery comes from accepting that there is always something to learn.

We all have different interests and desires when it comes to our training in the martial arts.  We also have different ideas on how our standards should be built and evaluated.  But, I think we can all agree on the necessity on strong fundamentals.  If we follow the pursuit of fundamental technique, I believe those "mystic secrets" that still live in the world's view of the arts will become simple expressions of practical basics.

I love learning about the martial arts.  There is absolutely nothing I've learned that has diminished my enjoyment of training.  I've also found that I can spend my whole life learning about the arts, and I may one day get my hands on 1% of what there is to know.  I think that would be time well spent.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a hankering to give my center punch a tune-up.

OSU!

(Note:  I'm applying the quality vs. quantity expression to my posts as of late.  I know they're few and too far between, but I have some good ideas brewing right now.  Be on the lookout for much more training thoughts and musings on philosophy once the academic year ends!)

Tournament

It's been a big day of karate!

Today was the WYKKO's National Championship in Atlanta, our traditional tournament.  Basically, this is a closed tournament where all of the organizers, judges, and competitors were from World Yoshukai Karate, which amounts to a pretty excellent experience.

So, you may wonder, why have a closed tournament?  Well, the WYKKO has four big tournaments a year:  the WYKKO National Championship in Atlanta, Superfights in Oxford, The Sunshine Classic in Panama City, and the Southeast Regional in Dothan.  So, we have one closed tournament, one full-contact tournament, and two open tournaments a year.  Open tournaments are a lot of fun and a great bonding experience for practitioners of different styles, but the major benefit of a closed tournament is the competitors know that they are being judged on a WYKKO scale.  The judges know the kata the competitors will draw from, the fighting will be organized and scored in impeccable Yoshukai style, and for one day of competition, we're looking at and experiencing all things World Yoshukai.  It's a pretty amazing time.

 

So, for me, this was a new experience because I was still a kyu grade at the last traditional tournament.  Since I have a recital this Wednesday, I did not compete to protect the vocal instrument, but I still learned a ton from judging competition all day.  I got to sit for 3 kata and weapons divisions apiece, two point sparring divisions, and four semi-knockdown divisions.  And prior to this, I had very little experience judging.  To be perfectly honest, I still have very little experience, but I have a world of a lot more than I had a few hours ago.

 

One of the especially nice factors this year was a short small-group clinic Shihan Torruella gave us right before we started judging.  It was brief but full of practical, no-nonsense information.  A big thing that I'm learning about judging is that with organized, trained judging, not only does the tournament flow better, but the competitors can feel good about competing in a clean, professionally-run event.  This was particularly important when it came down to the fighting divisions.  Disorganized point-fighting takes FOREVER, and is really not that much fun to watch or sometimes participate in.  Organized, professionally-run point fighting is fast-paced, exciting, and keeps the competitors on their toes.

 

But with the shop talk aside, what a tournament comes down to is the overall spirit of those competing.  Athens Yoshukai had a great showing today, and although we were in smaller numbers this year, the group was just as eager to help with setup and breakdown as always.  We got some solid feedback, and best of all, we got to spend the day with our fellow WYKKO martial artists. 

 

Now, we get to look forward to our weekend of training with Master Culbreth, and then from there, on to Summer Camp!  OSU!

Testing

There are a great many benefits to martial arts training, and perhaps the most difficult aspect of communicating the love of martial arts to a non-practitioner is that most of those dividends are not easily demonstrable or quantifiable.

So, we have grade and rank testing.  In those situations, we can measure the partially unmeasurable.  It’s not perfect, but it is traditional in the best possible way.  It’s also a very specific aspect of the overall training paradigm in the traditional martial arts—a public demonstration of techniques, fitness, and toughness in a situation infused with just enough pressure to make it worthwhile.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure to call a kyu test (those of you studying Korean arts, insert “keup,” “kup,” or “gup” for kyu.), or a color-belt test.  Yesterday’s test was particularly interesting in that it was entirely populated by white belts testing to 8^th kyu yellow belt, our first solid-colored belt (some of the dojo in the organization also use a 9^th kyu yellow-stripe belt before the solid yellow.  Minor differences in segmentation of the first groupings of techniques, but the end result is the same).  The main reason I think this is particularly tough is simply because there aren’t higher-ranking kyu grades on the floor with them.  Uncertainty, I have found, is one of the major anxieties associated with martial arts training.  In this case, the first test anxiety lives in thoughts like, “I don’t know what to do,”  “I don’t know if I know my material well-enough,” “what if I don’t pass,” among many others.  These fears, like most “real world” fears, if we’re being absolutely honest, are typically built-up in the mind.  At Athens Yoshukai (and AKF Athens as well!), students aren’t invited to test unless they are prepared to give a successful showing.  It’s repeated so often it almost sounds like another organizational maxim, but it’s true.  Sometimes tests don’t necessarily coincide with our best “karate days,” but when we show our best spirit in technique day after day in class, it doesn’t take a fortune-teller to know how a test is likely to pan out.

One of my favorite aspects of watching white belts in their first kyu grade test happens about 10 minutes into the test.  After a few techniques have been completed, the almost across-the-board uncertainty is replaced with this disciplined focus.  In other words, they put their “war face” on.  I love seeing people’s war face.  It’s just fantastic.  Even though they may not notice it happening, the long-term martial artist is making his presence known.  We’re all different, and we bring different native strengths to the table.  There are plenty of people who won’t necessarily be the strongest, fastest, or most flexible person in the room.  And that’s fine—our bodies give us certain long-range natural boundaries.  But, we can be stronger, faster, and more flexible.  Those are the gifts focused, dedicated training gives to us.  But, going back to the war face, on any given day, any one of us can be the toughest in the room.  That’s right—I believe toughness is a decision.  And more often than not, the first kyu test is one of the earliest places that a beginning martial artist decides to be tough.  And, if they let it, it will turbo charge their training as they move through the color-belt ranks.

So, back to yesterday’s test:  The interesting duality of grade testing is that although there are common elements to the performance of pretty much any test, each test period is as unique as the group that makes it up.  Most likely, that exact combination of people won’t test under the same circumstances again.  There might be others added to the mix, or it might be a smaller test.  However you slice it, the personnel involved will change.  Yesterday’s test was interesting in that we got to see glimpses of some deeper understanding of basic techniques, which doesn’t always happen with white belts.  Some of the kicks had unusually precise targeting, and there was some occasional snap to punches and blocks that was exciting to see starting to develop at the beginning level.

I was also quite impressed with breaking, which is another aspect of testing that is often riddled with anxiety.  To be honest, I don’t always find the precise, first-shot break to be the most impressive display with breaking.  It is impressive, yes, and it is the best-case scenario.  What I’m most impressed with is the will required to CRUSH it after a couple of missed attempts.  That’s toughness, and I saw that happen a couple of times yesterday.  It always makes me smile.

So, another test has come and gone, and the training cycle continues with new material, new forms, and new expectations for earlier material—if you’re willing to commit, it’s the show that never ends!  The gamer in me sees martial arts testing as one of the few ways we actually get to “level up” in real life, and that’s just plain fun.

The Inner Game of Karate

                In his book The Inner Game of Tennis, Timothy Gallwey describes two separate aspects of every human endeavor, the external and the internal.  In the external arena a game or a task is played on an outer scale with outer obstacles and outer goals.  It makes sense, right?  The ball is coming at you, so now you swing your arm and hit it back.  Easy-peasy.  The external game is, on its face, easy.  But, where we as people get into trouble is the inner-game…the game we play within ourselves.  In this game we are battling against our own insecurities, mental blocks, lapses in focus, deficiencies in mental preparedness.  The inner game is very, very hard.  And, in order to be great at anything, we must be masters of the inner game.  Stated another way—we must be masters of ourselves.

                Within the last four days, I’ve sat on two Yoshukai testing boards, one for black belt rank and one for kyu grade.  These two tests were absolute examples of the necessity of mastering the inner game.  Both had higher and lower points, but the comments were almost always about the state of preparedness of the students…the inner game.

                As martial artists, it is extremely easy to focus on the external game.  Are we chambering that front kick?  Do our strikes with our weapons have the proper focus?  Do we physically know the structure of a form?  These are things that we drill hour-in and hour-out in class (and hopefully, outside of class), and the external game of karate is very rich indeed.

                The internal game, on the other hand, is not generally at the surface of our practice, yet it is present in everything we do.  What is keeping us making the same mistakes time and again?  Why do we fear a certain aspect of our training?  What prevents us from reaching the full fruition of our goals?

                Gallwey describes it in a simple algebraic expression:

P = p – i

                Where P (Performance) equals p (potential) minus I (interference).  When I first read this, the simplicity of this concept hit me like a liver shot.  We must be constantly analyzing and eliminating our sources of interference.  In this way, our pursuit of any task becomes a microcosm of our pursuit of our best self.  That sounds important…let me repeat it in a slightly paraphrased way.  The more we work on our inner self; the better eqipped we will be to achieve our external goals.

                So, it’s time to ask yourself, what’s in the way?  Sometimes, looking at these factors is difficult, but a “gut check” is necessary for an honest assessment of our own progress.  If you want to be great at something, that desire alone is an indicator that within you lies the potential to reach your goals.  After you’ve put that goal forth in a tangible way, then begin the playing the inner game.  Remove the interference, one bit at a time.  Understand this:  you’ll never get rid of every last bit of interference.  We’re human, after all.  But, you can make that interference absolutely insignificant.

                Back to karate!  Here’s some of what this means to us:  When the time comes to confront your goals—that is, to test yourself, make sure you’re prepared.  That test can be a number of things—your first attempt at your ranking kata without looking around to see what’s coming next, your first attempt at Japanese kumite, your next literal martial arts test…you get the idea.  There is a great amount of trust that you must place in yourself—that you will keep focus and work to prepare yourself adequately.  But don’t forget, your instructors play this inner game with you.  They want to see you achieve your goals.  But also remember this, your instructor is playing his/her own inner game, too.  Nobody’s perfect, and we’re always growing together.  So, if your instructor tells you you’re not ready, trust that assessment.  Mainly because a test experience should be an opportunity to annihilate the final obstacles to that next goal.  It is in your best interest to make sure you’re mentally prepared.

                Which brings us back to what I said at last night’s test…if testing shodan is one of your goals—and if it is, that’s fantastic—you can make the inner decision to begin your training today.  Exciting, isn’t it?

OSU!