Freestyle

Hover around a group of students who are fast approaching their brown or black belt tests, and you’ll find that one topic routinely dominates the conversation: freestyle. And to be sure, there is something about sitting down, exhausted from the technique portion of your test, facing off against 3, 4 or 5 skilled ukes, each of whom presumably is there for one purpose: to take you down, that makes you think:

Am I crazy?

The truth is, however, that while freestyle might be intimidating, and it might be difficult, it is not impossible. As the students in my own dojo have had to deal with more and more freestyles, I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can about freestyle as a test requirement and how to best prepare for it. So far, what I’ve learned falls into three categories: the scenario, the objective, and the strategy.

The Scenario

I think many people have a misconception regarding what freestyle is all about. I know I certainly did. When I was first coming up the ranks, I was under the impression that freestyle was, essentially, a full on fight between you and up to 5 other opponents. This is not really the case, for one simple reason: it has rules. I think this is worth repearting: real fights do not have rules; freestyle does have rules. Granted, there aren’t a lot of rules, mind you, but some of them are very much worth paying attention to. For example: you can’t run out of the room. I don’t know about you, but if I had the choice between fighting 5 people and NOT fighting 5 people, I’d pick the latter choice any day. (And yes, every time I bring up this fact, someone asks me what I would do if someone I cared about was in danger from those five people. And to them I always say: “Well, then I don’t have the choice anymore, do I?” It’s a little like saying that, given the choice between apples and oranges, you’d choose the apple, only to have someone then ask you “Yes, but what if I took the apple away?” But I digress.)

The Objective

So we have now established that freestyle is a controlled environment in which 5 people are attempting to…do what? What are the uke’s objectives? We need to know what this is if we’re going to understand what our objective, as the nage, is supposed to be. Understanding the objectives of your opponent (when you can) is extremely important. I remember watching one of those fight shows on cable–the ones where someone studies a martial art for a few days and then tries to use it in a sparring match. In this particular episode, the participant was asked to walk through a park. At one point, one of his training partners came out and asked for some change, as if he were a panhandler. His response? To smack the guy’s hand away and start swinging. While it’s true that he knew that he was dealing with a training partner, the point was clear: the objective of his opponent was a couple of bucks, not some urban version of Mortal Kombat.

I do not have the definitive answer as to what is the uke’s objective during freestyle, but I can give you mine: when I get on the mat for freestyle, I have one goal: to reduce your ability to move to zero. I’m not interesting in hitting you–that’s temporary. I’m interested in locking you down so that you’re absolutely helpless. In black belt exams, this is usually accomplished with three, maybe four people. Since you have  to deal with five, that means there’s at least one person who can feel free to swing away once the rest of us have you immobilized. But my goal is not to run at you blindly swinging my fists–that’s a recipe for hitting my teammates as much as anything. And, from what I’ve seen, immobilization seems to be the goal of most ukes who participant in freestyles.

Okay, so we have the uke’s objective mapped out. What about the nage? This is simple: the nage’s objective is to stay mobile. To not just keep moving, but to remain in control of each movement. This objective cannot be reached if you attempt to “fight” every person who comes your way. It’s also impossible if you attempt to run away. To stay mobile, you have to constantly be aware of where everyone is, what they’re doing (or, in some cases, what you predict they are doing, because you’ve thrown them behind you), and where you are. You have to, in essence, use the techniques and concepts you’ve learned at the dojo.

The Strategy

Now that we have established both the scenario and the objectives of freestyle, we can talk a little about strategy. I’ve had the opportunity to discuss and study freestyle with a variety of Kokikai instructors, and so far a common pattern has emerged:

1. Don’t back up. This is a statement that makes plenty of sense on paper, but, on the mat, becomes much more difficult. You have FIVE people coming after you. Backing up is a common mistake, born from the idea that if you took a few steps backwards, you’d get more time to respond to your uke. This is, of course, incorrect. We have thousands of techniques that we can study on the mat–I cannot think of a single one where backing up more than a step is a viable option. And, as we’ve discovered in our training, backing up doesn’t do anything except give you less room. You can test this for yourself: have a friend stand a few feet in front of you. Then, have them walk towards you–as they do, you start walking backwards. What changes between you? Nothing–except that you’re moving backwards, which puts you at a great disadvantage. When we do this exercise slowly, the flaw in backing up is obvious–but it’s very difficult (and very human) to forget this fact at high speeds, with lots of people coming after you.
2. Pick a target and aim for them. When dealing with multiple opponents in freestyle, I have found it easier to pick an uke and go after them (taking the throw to them, as it were). I may not reach them–someone else might get in the way. But the fact that I am trying to go after someone keeps me on the offensive, which is helpful at least from a mental state, but also very helpful from a strategic standpoint. Think of it this way: you have five people as your ukes. You pick one, and go towards them. That person will obviously see this, but now they are responding to you, as opposed to taking the initiative. That person now has far fewer choices in how they’re going to deal with you. Going after a target has an additional advantage: it keeps you from standing still, which in turn keeps that guy you chucked over your shoulder 10 seconds ago from grabbing you from behind.
3. Touch and move. Often, the biggest mistake that a nage makes in freestyle (and one that we’re all guilty of) is trying to throw every single person who we come in contact with. Remember the objective? It’s to stay mobile–not to throw everyone. When we try to throw, we slow ourselves down. When a throw doesn’t work as expected, we get locked into trying to make it work. This costs us countless seconds that allow all the other ukes to pile onto you. At this past Fall Camp, I saw an excellent demonstration of this “touch and move” strategy. A woman was testing for her first brown belt. She had three ukes coming after her. This particular individual is pretty small in stature–had she opted to try and throw everyone she came in contact with, she would have found herself caught in very little time. Instead, she kept moving, and lightly shifted her uke’s off -balance before quickly moving on to somoene else. This is not to say she didn’t show technique–she just didn’t try to force a throw onto an uke. The result was a very impressive freestyle.
4. Do the intelligently unexpected. The important word here is “intelligently.” I have seen (and have tried) numerous ways of doing the unexpected during freestyle, only to get caught or have the whole thing backfire. Perhaps the most common one of these is the “thread-the-needle” movement. This is the term I use to describe when the nage attempts to slip between two ukes instead of moving around them. When it works, it’s brilliant. But when it doesn’t? Well, I’ve seen people try to do that right off the bat as their freestyle started. They wound up caught by all of the ukes and nearly lifted off the ground. This move is also the one in which I fractured my wrist–but that’s another story. The point is, do the unexpected–change directions, keep your ukes guessing. But don’t do so blindly–pay attention to what’s going on and remember that what looks good on paper may not work out so well on the mat.

There is nothing like freestyle to really show you what you’re capable of! But an accurate assessment of the situation, objectives, and strategies of the event can go a long way from having a freestyle go from merely an ordeal, to a true demonstration of your knowledge and understanding of aikido.

A little bit more

Every so often, I get the opportunity to go sailing with my mom and stepdad out in Bellingham, Washington. I’m not a terribly good sailor, for the most part–my ability to acquire new terminology seems hopeless stuck on the “aikido” and “programming concepts” setting, because try as I might I cannot switch it over to “sailing jargon.” Still, I like to think that I can at least follow orders in a reasonable manner, so I like to think that I’m of some use when we sail.

One of the common phrases that my stepdad calls out when I’m on the boat is “A little bit more!” Pulling the boat into the dock? “A little bit more!” Tightening the lines for the sails? “A little bit more!” I’ve even done experiments: sometimes, when asked to do something, I’ll only go through the motions. Sure enough, the answer is: “A little bit more!” No matter what the task, no matter what I do, the answer is always to do a little bit more than what I’ve already done.

My stepdad, it seems, has been in discussions with Sensei.

Whenever you see Sensei, one of his most common expressions can be paraphrased to: “The difference between my technique and your technique is very, very small.” I’ve often wondered about this. I mean, I’ve been thrown by Sensei many times. He remains, to this day, the only person who has ever left me seeing stars without causing any lasting damage. The differences between my technique and his do not seem to be small in any way, shape, or form. But, as I think about what Sensei is saying, and I juxtopose it over what my stepdad often says, I’m starting to get a different picture. Perhaps the point that Sensei is trying to make has more to do with encouraging us to continually refine our techniques, and that these refinements can have extraordinary impact beyond what we might initially expect. This interpretation certainly fits in with Sensei’s methodologies–he’s constantly modifying techniques, and I’ve seen and experienced firsthand how a small change can cause a dramatic shift in uke’s posture and balance.

Another way of looking at Sensei’s comments has to do with infinity. I remember, in one math class, my teacher talking about infinity. One of the ideas that struck me was that the concept of infinity is not bound to size. For example, you could start counting at 1, and continue forever. 1, 2, 3, 4… You’d get to larger and larger numbers, with no end in sight. That’s one example of infinity. On the other hand, you could start at 0.1, and keep adding zeros to make a number smaller. 0.1, 0.01, 0.001, 0.0001… Again, you could go on forever, with no end in sight. This too, is an example of infinity, but in this case you’re getting infinity smaller, instead of infinitely larger.

I bring up, once again, my meager grasp of mathematics because I sometimes wonder if Sensei is calling us to look less and the “big movements” of aikido: the arms, the legs, the hands, and instead focus on infinitely smaller, infinitely more subtle movements. So when Sensei says the difference is small, he’s not so much talking about the difference in movements; he’s more talking about the difference in focus. He’s focused on the “small” infinite, constantly refining the technique. He’s calling our attention to the minutae, the little details, instead of the broader, more easily-seen movements.

For now, at least, I think I will try to look inwardly at the improvements I need to make.

Kaiten-nage

Throughout your training, no matter what martial art you study, there is going to be a technique, a kata, or a concept that simply drives you nuts. In fact, it’s highly likely that the specifics are going to change from year to year (or even month to month)–maybe you feel like you can’t do shihonage, then later you’re fine with shihonage but annoyed with tsuki kotegaeshi. I’ve gone through this enough times that by now I just accept it as a part of my exploration of aikido: what I learn makes some things seem easier, while making some things seem harder.

There’s one technique, however, that has long since given me pause: kaiten-nage. For those who are unfamiliar with aikido, kaiten-nage is frequently translated as “rotary throw” (which makes me think of rotary clubs, which in turn does not help me with the technique), or “wheel throw.” However you translate it, I have my own term for it: “pain in the rear.” The principle of the technique is as follows: you take the lead arm of your attacker and lead it in a large circle perpendicular to the floor (this is where the “wheel” part comes in). This lead forces your uke to fall forward and down. As the arm starts to swing up behind the uke, you place your hand on their opposite shoulder, preventing them from standing. Their attacking arm has now become a lever that you can use to keep uke off-balance and, eventually, propel them forward into a large roll.

My issue with kaiten-nage is that it always seems to require either (a) a compliant uke, (b) a flexible and relatively small attacker, or (c) both. When I have attempted the throw with a skilled uke, I usually have no problem. But as soon as I have someone who is more muscular, more stiff, or just less experienced, the throw becomes nearly impossible to do. In fact, my dislike for the throw reached such a point that I turned to my students who were about to test and said: “I don’t care what throw you do, so long as it’s not kaiten-nage.” My inability to do the technique was leading to my inability to teach it.

This began to change some months ago, when Sensei came to visit. During a short stay here, he taught a seminar and had me as his uke. He called me to attack and, suddenly, I found myself being thrown with kaiten-nage. But what kaiten-nage was this? Instead of the usual kaiten-nage position, I found myself with my shoulders completely twisted until they, and not my arm, was perpendicular to the ground. Sensei had one hand on my attack arm, keeping it low, and the other on my shoulder, keeping me twisted up. I was completely helpless, until he released me and I could escape into a large roll. The technique felt amazingly simple and impossible to resist.

Being thrown by this technique, however, did not make it easy to understand or to do, and I admit that I still left kaiten-nage in my “things I don’t get” bucket. This past week, however, I have been going through this bucket, figuring that it was time to once again look at the things I find hard to do, because they problem are the things I most need to work on. I started looking at kaiten-nage, and trying to find what, if anything, it had in common with other techniques. I then came up with a hypothesis: kaiten-nage is really very similar to a standard kokyu-nage (timing throw), with one main difference: my arms are reversed. In a standard kokyu-nage, my lead arm is on the attacking arm and my other arm is on uke’s shoulder. In kaiten-nage, it’s the opposite: my lead arm is on the shoulder while my other arm is on the attacking arm. I brought this idea to class last Saturday to see what others thought: so far, there has been one complaint: the technique certainly takes someone off balance, but it becomes very delicate to release uke so they can escape safely.

No doubt there is still much more that I need to study in regards to this technique. But I am writing about it now because I feel I’ve learned a lesson: when you’re stuck with that technique that you just don’t understand, try to find as many similarities between it and the techniques that you feel you do understand. You may be surprised by what you discover.

The things I enjoy most…

There are so many little things that go on at the dojo that, quite simply, make my day. Here are a few of the most recent ones:

Saturday “hang-out” time. My daughter frequently comes with me to the dojo on Saturday mornings for kids classes. Afterwards, she hangs out until all the adult classes are over with. The daughter of a long-time student (and good friend) also comes to this class, and the two of them spend quite a bit of time hanging out. What makes this special to me is that several other kids want to stay too. They don’t see the dojo as just a place to take a class and then go home–they see it as a place to enjoy. Many parents feel the same way, apparently–there are a few who hang out at the dojo long after kids class is over just to give their kids a chance to color, read, or play a game. I’m trying to think of other places where parent’s and kids just hang out after class–I’m having a hard time coming up with any. The fact that both kids and parents see the dojo as a community of which they are a part–that has meaning for me.

The teens find value in their training. One of the things I remember most from my old dojo was how hard it was to keep teens interested in training. They simply have so many other things they want to do (or have to do) that coming to the dojo can be difficult at best. And, while many of the teens do not train as consistently as perhaps they should (although I’m sure they’re training as consistently as they can), it is gratifying to know that they come on their own. For example: one of my students is in a production of Peter Pan. As a result, she’s been very busy, because (for some reason) the folks running the show insist on 5-day a week rehearsals. (Why some of these extra-curricular activities act like they need to be full-time jobs is something I’ll save for another blog post.) This past Saturday, she showed up with her family. One of the first things she said was: “I’ve missed being here!” Again, it made my day.

These are just two examples of some of the things that go on off the mat that make me glad to be a part of the dojo. The fact that our dojo has a reputation for being so supportive of families is a good thing; although, in due fairness, there are some downsides. For example: I recently tested one of my students for 4th kyu (blue belt). His test had been delayed due to vacations and other events. And I could tell that the fact that he was up for testing was making him very nervous. In an effort to get that nervousness out of his system, I tested him on the spot–with very little warning. I’ve had this happen to me in my own training, and I must admit it had a positive effect on me. I just had no time to get too worked up about the test. I felt comfortable with my decision when I saw him test. Although it was clear he was still nervous, he didn’t freeze up, and he kept trying. Even during his freestyle, when his uke landed hard on his ankle and made it hard to walk, he kept going–literally hopping around the mat for a few seconds until I realized what was happening and stopped the test.

How does this reflect a downside of the dojo’s family-oriented atmosphere? I tested this student because the conditions were almost perfect for it. He was ready, we had the ukes to ensure that it was successful, and it was without notice so he couldn’t stress out about it too much. Unfortunately, the one piece that was missing was that his family was not there to see it. This, I later learned, had reprecussions that I had not intended. I deeply regret that, even if I don’t regret testing him when I did–it was a case where, in my opinion, what was best for training did not align perfectly with what was best for the family. At least, in this case, I think all will be well. (I could always just test him again… hm…)

Addendum: Perhaps from now on we will video tape all tests… that way, if someone isn’t around to see it, they can watch the video. (Thanks to one of my students who was subtlely making this suggestions the other day.)

It’s a lot like…cooking?

One of the main criticisms levied at “traditional” martial arts (I put the term in quotes because, from what I can tell, “traditional” typically means anything that is NOT mixed martial arts or brazilian jiu-jitsu) is that many of the techniques that these arts teach are not combat-specific. The implication is that only arts that focus solely on combat are worth studying. In fact, going further, there’s a snarky undertone that implies that those who study traditional arts are deluding themselves by practicing techniques that fall outside the realm of “combat only.”

In Kokikai, as I think I have written before, we openly acknowledge that not all of our techniques fall into the realm of “self-defense.” Some techniques–perhaps most of them–are instead principle studies. The idea is not that the technqiue is street effective, but rather that it provides some fundamental skill that can apply to street situations. Tsuki kotegaeshi, for example, is a classic technique studied in many aikido dojos. But it is a technique that operates off of a straight punch, and one that has a great deal of thrust behind it, which prevents the attacker from quickly re-chambering their fist. This technique probably was used to great effect during the days in which swords and knives were more prevalent, but clearly has less relevance when dealing with the jabs and body blows that are the apparent staple of most modern-day fights. Yet, we continue to practice it–not out of some sort of delusion that the technique on its own is all we need to understand, but because the principles we learn from the technique–balance, timing, wrist manipulation–are essential for self-defense.

The current analogy that has been going through my mind when I think about self-defense techniques versus principle techniques, is one of cooking. (Perhaps I’m just hungry, but I think the comparison holds.) Most of us, with very little effort, can become basic cooks. That is to say, we can take a basic set of ingredients which on their own are indedible or perhaps dangerous to eat, and turn them into something that provides the nourishment our bodies need. It may not taste good, it may not look good, but it feeds us and keeps us going. Those of us who like cooking (or who have very picky five-year-olds), start realizing that there is more to cooking that the basics, so we start to pursue them. We learn more about different ways of cooking, and how to make things more nourishing, more tasteful, and more effective. As a result, not only does our undersanding of food deepen, but our ability to cook “the basics” also improves dramatically. (Alas, the five-year-old may still be unsatisfied, until you finally make them the grilled cheese they originally asked for. But that’s another story.) The knowledge of how to cook more complicated dishes could easily be dismissed as “frivolous.” After all, you don’t need to eat anything but gruel and a couple of vitamins, right? As long as the basic nutritional needs are met, why bother with anything more?

This metaphor applies directly to the study of martial arts. Absolutely, we could study only the basics; reducing the techniques we study to a core set of 10 or 20 techniques. But not only is doing so boring, it narrows our focus and mindset in the same way that a diet consisting of gruel limits our palate. So we study more complicated techniques, in an effort to broaden our horizons and lend variety to our training. The result? Not only are we constantly challenged, but we also increase our understanding of the basics, the essential movements that can help keep us safe when attacked.

The parallel between martial arts and food continues, however, into a negative extreme if you’re not careful. We’ve all met die-hard “foodies” who scorn at a bottles of wine that aren’t from a specific year, or who get so wrapped up in the intricacies of a dish that they forget it’s primary purpose–to feed you. So it is with martial arts. There are schools, students, and instructors who get so wrapped up in working on wild and fantastic techniques that they forget the first purpose of martial training: to protect yourself! This is, perhaps, why Sensei always says that the most important thing is to be able to take balance; everything else is secondary. It’s just like cooking: we can study all the culinary tricks we want, but the most important thing is that we have to be able to eat.

Like Pushing on a Rope

Last night, a new student stepped onto the mat.

Immediately, he was noticed by the rest of the dojo. This was due to facts: first, he is a genuinely nice guy. Great personality, very polite, good sense of humor. Before class started, he kept introducing himself, shaking people’s hands, and so on. The second reason? He’s a very big guy. I mean, this is the kind of guy who you would expect could be playing pro or semi-pro football. And, in fact, he use to play football quite a lot, was an avid wrestler, and studied judo for some time. His primary reason for coming to the dojo was something that I hear I lot: he wanted exercise, and he often heard interesting stuff about aikido, so he wanted to try it out.

The techniques for the class that evening were more principle studies than actual combat techniques. There are a lot of these, but one of my favorites is a technique that goes by the very generic name: yokomenuchi kokyunage (close-in version). This is a simple attack: the uke raises his or her arm and stikes down and along the diagonal–ideally aiming to hit from the temple down to the jaw on the opposite side of the head. In this particular version, the uke is already close enough to the nage that there is no reason to take a step (hence the “close-in” descriptor). The nage’s response is to match the timing of the strike and enter in and off to the side (to avoid any any other strikes). In essence, we respond to a diagonal strike by moving along a diagonal of our own.

The tricky part of this technique is that if you respond by trying to block the uke, or force him or her in any way, it simply doesn’t work. The uke has too much power, too much momentum, for mere force to have a significant impact. But if you’re relaxed, and if you apply your weight calmly and at the right time, you redirect uke’s force downwards, which quite understandably takes them off balance. It’s the timing here that’s really tricky, and that’s what makes this technique worth studying.

At one point, during class, I was helping the new student with the technique. He very much wanted to understand how it worked, so I had him attack me. The first time, my timing was off (he’s pretty quick!) and he pushed me back a bit before I could recover. The second time, I focused more, and he dropped to the ground. At that point, he had the strangest expression on his face and, very politely, asked me if he could try again. He did so, with the same result. When he got up, I asked him what he was thinking. His response:

“I’m not trying to fall down.”

I looked at him and nodded. “I know,” I replied.

“But I am falling down.”

“I know.”

He put his hand to his chin, thinking. “I dont’ understand why.”

I couldn’t help but smile, because I remember thinking those exact same thoughts. So I explained a bit to him, about timing and positioning, and about how hard it was to use physical power when you don’t have the structure to back it up. He nodded, and went back to training.

Later, at the end of class, we were doing kokyu doza, a very common exercise that can really help you try to understand correct movement. Again, I went over to help, and we ended up practicing together. The result was the same as the technique. He kept trying to stop me from moving him, but he couldn’t. Again, I explained about being relaxed, and tried to point out that anything that I was able to do now he would be able to do himself soon. I could tell, though, that he was still thinking it through.

After class, we chatted for a bit, and then he headed out the door. I then turned to another student and began talking about some dojo-improvement projects I want to get done before the winter. Suddenly, the door opened again, and the new students stood, filling the doorway. “Hi!” I said. “Did you forget something?”

“Nope. I just figured it out!”

I looked at him. “Figured it out?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s like I’m pushing on a rope.”

I admit it–I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“When I try to move you–it’s like pushing on a rope. You can try and try, but it just bends and moves around you. That’s what it was like.” The grin on his face was huge. “That’s pretty cool,” he continued. “I just wanted to say what I thought before I forgot it. See you later!”

As he left, I turned to the student to which I had been talking. We both agreed that we remember that exact moment: the moment you knew that there was something different about aikido that you just could not explain, but that you just had to figure out. It’s a moment that usually sticks with you forever, that keeps you on the mat time and again, trying to figure out just how this stuff works. The joy on this new student’s face, that he had found something interesting, something that he wanted to understand, was one of the most rewarding experiences I ever have from teaching aikido.

Making a Hakama, Part III: The Finale

If anyone who reads this blog ever saw Monty Python and the Holy Grail, you’ll remember a scene in which a king is explaining to his son about perservereance. I believe the story went something like:

The first castle I built? It fell into the swamp. So I built a second castle! That also fell into the swamp. So I built a THIRD castle! That one caught fire, burned down, and then fell into the swamp. But the FOURTH one, the FOURTH one stayed up!”

Such is my own feeling when I look back on the experience I had in making my own hakama. The first one? A mess, barely recognizable as fabric. The second? Ah, such progress! But alas, it did not fit. The third one? Well, the third one looks something like this:

The Hakama

(My apologies for the photo. All I had on hand was my iPhone and a very giggly five-year-old.)

As you can see, I finished the hakama. It would have been done much sooner, but we had so many guests and activities going on during the end of July and August that I simply didn’t have time. Finally, however, I took a couple of hours today to finish it up. The results are pretty good. Not Bujin Design quality, I freely admit, but I’m not ashamed to wear it at the dojo, either.

I’m not sure if I’ll make a hakama again, although I certainly hope so. I’d like to get better at it. Much of the time spent making the hakama had to do with undoing my own mistakes! I also think that, were I to make one again, I would opt for something along the same lines as the aiki-koshita created by Bujin Design. It seems to be much simpler to make, and it fits just as well. This is critical because the koshita took probably half of my time.

To everyone who offered encouragement: you have my thanks! To those who are debating trying to make their own hakama–I say go for it! As challenging as it was, I’m very glad to have made this, and I do look forward to making another at some point.  And for those of you who find this terribly amusing (and you know who you are!) all I can say is: please enjoy.

A Father’s Pride

One of the greatest challenges I have faced yet since I started teaching aikido was when my daughter decided that she, too, wanted to train. ‘

As any parent knows, providing a supportive, yet disciplined environment for your child is often a tricky path to follow. You want them to commit to what they’re studying, but you also want to give them the freedom of growing at their own pace, of finding their own enjoyment of the sport. If they decide they don’t want to practice, you have to be careful to ensure that they don’t fall into the habit of quitting simply because of a bad day or because they are being challenged. Yet, you don’t want to force them to participate when they truly aren’t enjoying themselves any longer.

These issues are hard enough for me at times; but when you throw in the fact that I’m an active participant in the activity that my daughter wants to study… well, that’s whole different ball game. In fact, one of the reasons why I typically do not teach kids classes now is because it was very hard for me to be “sensei” and to be “dad” at the same time. My daughter also had the same issues.

Lately though, Hannah has grown a tremendous amount. She has begun to show the same focus in her aikido practice as she has when she takes dance–her other passion. And, Tuesday night, she got to show that focus during our latest round of tests. My wife, bless her heart, not only took pictures of the entire event, but actually figured out how to record Hannah’s test through our digital camera. I don’t know how to embed the video directly, so if you’re interested in seeing it, feel free to visit Jen’s blog here.

One thing I’ve noticed when I watch testing: I’m very, very picky about technique. Probably too much so, in fact. And I am still learning how to adjust my expectations for younger kids. Even watching Hannah’s test, I found myself thinking: “Hm, the technique is not 100% correct.” And then the thought slammed into me: “She’s FIVE. And she’s focused. And she’s absolutely dedicated to doing the very best she can.”

I try to tell her this often, but I’m writing it here on the off chance that, somehow, she reads the entries of this blog sometime later in her life: I am so very proud of her. I am proud that she studied hard for her test, that she took it seriously, and that she was focused. And I’m also proud that, throughout all that, she found time to laugh and enjoy the experience.

Pride may not be a great trait for a martial artist, but I think that, in this case, a little pride isn’t a bad thing…

Kids Camp!

Wow, I am really falling behind on my blog entries.

The month of August has been a busy time at the dojo. It began at the end of August, with Sensei Dennis Embert coming to visit to teach a week-long kids camp. This type of activity has been on my to-do list for some time. Quite often, when I was going up the ranks, there would be countless events that were geared towards adults. Camps, seminars, and other special classes abounded. But too often activities for kids were either completely absent or, at best, tacked on at the end. When we opened the dojo, I hoped to provide just as many special events for kids, so they could know that their place within the dojo is just as appreciated as the adults. Finally, with help from my wife (we are jokingly calling her Jensei, a combination of her name and “Sensei”, out of recognition for the work she does to keep the dojo running) and Dennis Embert Sensei, we were able to schedule this kids camp.

What a success it was! The kids learned aikido, self-defense strategies, timing games, Japanese language, orgami, weapons work–you name it. So many of the parents told me that their kids came home tired and happy. The kids themselves have kept asking when the next camp is going to be, and can it be for two weeks instead of one next time. (Answer: we’ll see.) I had the opportunity to participate on the first day of camp and the last day, and as a result I got to see the difference the entire week made. Kids who were having trouble with their ukemi were rolling around like they were born to do it, and kids that had previously had some issues with being respectful on the mat were, if not model students, then at least better representations of correct behavior at the dojo.

Speaking of which, I learned a ton about how to manage kids through watching and listening to Embert Sensei. Before I get into what I learned, a little background: in Kokikai, we are a lot less traditional than other Japanese arts. For example, we all sit wherever we happen to be in line, instead of by rank. This was true for both the kids and adult classes, until Embert Sensei came along. He instituted a lot more structure to the classes, and made it very clear to each student what was expected of them, and what would happen if they didn’t listen. I thought for sure the kids would rebel or be miserable–but I was completely wrong. The kids greatly enjoyed the structure Embert Sensei brought. He got everyone engaged, everyong participating, and everyone taking what they learned seriously. And they all had a great time too! We’ve taken to implementing many of these ideas into our everyday classes. It’s not that our classes previously were barely-contained sources of chaos–in fact, we were moving towards some of these ideas and concepts already. But Embert Sensei has a lot more experience, and he essentially leapfrogged us farther ahead in our kids curriculum than we would have been able to do on our own. As a result, the kids are learning more, being more respectful, and still having fun.

After the camp was over, Dennis Sensei and his wife, AJ, both taught a weekend-long seminar for adults. This was also extremely beneficial. I got a much deeper understanding of how relaxed movement can be extremely effective against even the most committed attacks. I don’t have this understanding fully processed, but there have been times now where techniques that I previously had trouble with suddenly became effortless. That, I hope, is at least a small indication of progress. I also learned the value of what we call ki exercises (call them posture exercises or whatever). It’s very easy to phone these exercises in; but both Dennis and AJ pointed out how critical they were to self-defense. We have much to work on at the dojo, and that’s a good thing!

Feel free to check out my family’s blog for more some great pictures of the Kids camp. (The link is over to the right.)

PS: Anyone know how to handle the plural of “Sensei?” Especially when the two people in question have the same last name?

PPS: Thanks everyone, for your kind wishes and congratulations regarding our expanding family! I was very touched by the e-mails and comments. I’ll keep you posted on how things are going, I promise. (Short update: very well–the little guy really likes to kick!)

We Interrupt this Aikido Blog…

This has very little to do with aikido, but it’s news I’d like to share regardless:

We have just found out that my wife and are having a baby boy! The little guy is due at the end of December. According to the ultrasound technician, he’s doing great and is actually ahead of schedule in terms of growth, etc. I have no idea what most of the stuff means. They tell me he’s healthy, and that’s all I care about.

For those interested: yes, we even have a name picked out. Max Karl Shevitz, after my great-grandfather (Max) and my father-in-law (Karl). My daughter’s tremendously excited, as are we all. But note to self: remember to get lots of sleep now–come January, it’s going to be in short supply…

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.