I grew up during as time when the wearing of bicycle helmets wasn’t really a thing. And how could it be? I couldn’t wear a helmet while wearing earphones to my walkman, now could I? This was long before the advent of earbuds but honestly, as long as I was wearing a ball cap to protect my scalp from the sun and I was home before dark, my parents never imposed the wearing of a bike helmet. These days? Depending on the community you live in, the requirement of a bike helmet may be law. But there isn’t a day where I don’t see multiple people cycling in heavy traffic areas without a helmet.
It is what it is. Some people are more apt to follow rules and best practices than others. But the curious thing is, what purpose does a bike helmet serve? If you’re a young child and you happen to topple sideways on your bike, a helmet may save your skull from cracking on the edge of a sidewalk; no question. But whether you’re a child or an adult, you’re helmet won’t save you from any significant incident, such as getting struck by a moving car. This makes one wonder why it’s considered so necessary on most cases. And this post is about all of those little “rules,” not just bicycle helmets.
The reason behind certain rules and regulations isn’t always clear. And more often than not, it can seem unnecessary and perhaps even excessive. Especially if you find yourself on the receiving end of a penalty in relation to any of it. One good example is last week, when I was issued a traffic ticket for performing an “illegal” turn. I won’t get into the specifics of the ticket, other than to say that I definitely performed the alleged action, and the section of legislation does render it unlawful. So I really can’t argue the traffic ticket. But I couldn’t help but feel that I had done nothing wrong or unsafe and that being issued a ticket because of it was rather ridiculous.
The point behind today’s particular rant, is that even though it seemed perfectly safe and acceptable to me, doesn’t mean that it would be to everyone. In most cases, an incident likely occurred that led to that action becoming unlawful. By that logic, it becomes important for people to observe those laws and abide by them. Not only for their own safety, but the safety of others. At the risk of opening my comments section up to a plethora of argumentative points of view, this concept applies to a lot of rules, regulations and laws that are being enacted in response to the current state of the world. Some of them may seem unfair or excessive, but they all have the aim to protect and safeguard the population as a whole.
Most people can’t discern the difference between their “rights” and doing “what’s right.” The two often don’t go hand-in-hand and don’t always apply to one another. And sometimes, we need to abide by certain rules in order for society to continue to function normally. This is the cost of living in a modern society where we live in mass gathering of populated towns and cities. I’m quite certain that if a vehicle clips me while I’m out cycling, my helmet likely won’t do a damn thing to save me. Just like wearing a face mask “may” do nothing for me or the people around me. But I acknowledge two things: the first is that I can still observe my rights as a person while abiding by the rules. The second is that it costs me nothing, which tends to make peoples’ theatrics over most of these issues more than a bit ridiculous. this is why you’ll always see me do both those things, so long as it’s required of me. Food for thought… ☯️
Yes, buckle up folks! It’s gonna be one of THOSE posts. As seems to be the routine every year for the past few years, I’m currently awaiting to board the first of two flights that will take me the long way home to New Brunswick to visit my mother and father. I’ll be gone for a number of days and as is my custom, I’ll be sharing thoughts, experiences and walking my readers through what’s happening on the East Coast’s North Shore on a day-to-day basis. I already have some friends and family set up that I will be visiting during the trip, and there should be some augury of positivity to go with the negative. So hopefully, I don’t get bogged down in a week-long bitchfest about traveling. But as most of you know, if you’ve been reading my posts over the years, I’m not a big damn of flying, being around large crowds and being contained in tight spaces. An airplane covers all three of those things…
It’s already been a bit of a harsh morning, waking at an hour that sees most people still quietly sleeping without concerns of the outside world. I awoke about ten minutes before my 3 a.m. alarm; an unfortunate byproduct of being Type-1 Diabetic and wearing an insulin pump. Last night’s installation of a new CGM sensor required a second calibration at about 2:50 this morning, rendering the last ten miners of sleep you’ve pointless and getting me out of bed all that much earlier. Not like I was exactly sleeping deeply anyway. My family were absolutely on the ball this morning. More so than I was, in fact. My boys were already out the door with shoes on, piling into our car, before I had even finished getting dressed. I drove to get us here, and was comfortably impressed at how easily my city streets are to navigate and how quickly one can reach places when it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. It made me nostalgic for my policing days, when I would patrol municipal streets during the wee hours of the night, no other vehicles or traffic with nothing but the quiet streets to keep me company. But I digress…
This trip is intended to look into a number of concerning items regarding my parents that apparently can’t be dealt with by email or telephone. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of those concerns. I’ll only say that after calling twice and emailing once, over the course of the past two months, and getting no reply, I felt it was time to go out and determine what’s happening myself. Family is great and I do have some family still out there, but they can and should only do so much. After all, they’re MY parents and as the only child, I have a direct responsibility for ensuring the folks who gave me life and raised me are well looked after. As I’ve written on previous trips, going home is a strange experience for me now. Having lived in Saskatchewan for almost 20 years at this point, I always had the comfort of safe Harbour when I returned home. A warm bed in my mother’s home and family greetings that included home cooked meals and attentions paid. Such is not the case any longer.
Now, when I travel back home, I do so alone. The rising cost of airline travel coupled with vehicle rentals, accommodations and incidental costs make it far too expensive to rationalize bringing my entire household with me, even though exposure to the Maritime air and energy would be great for them. When I make my way home, I no longer have a home to go to. This means that the only way to see my mother and father is to modify them within their care home. My mother has dementia and no longer understands she still has a living son. My father is beginning to show signs of dementia but historically, when I visit him, he’s sleeping with little to no chance of waking him. It makes for a difficult dynamic and tends to bring equal amount of emotional pain to whatever small vestiges of nostalgia I may be experiencing. So much has changed during my absence from in home Province. My home town is still recognizable; I can wander some of the places I used to live as a kid, wander or mountain and drink in the beautiful views of the open bay against the Appalachian mountains.
But in the end, I’m still very much alone. I should have the opportunity to visit with Sensei, along with a couple of close friends who are still there. Otherwise, it will be a packed few days of sorting through my parents’ affairs and ensuring everything is in line. While it will be a visit slotted within the duties of a son, there shirts nonetheless be some time for the beauty and calm that only the North Shore can provide. I have a long day of airports and waiting ahead of me. Such is the way of it, any time I travel home. Here’s hoping the trip goes smoothly and I have nothing “exciting” to write about. That would, ultimately, be the best thing that could happen over this trip. But stay tuned; I’ll keep y’all posted. ☯️
Yes, buckle up folks! It’s gonna be one of THOSE posts. As seems to be the routine every year for the past few years, I’m currently awaiting to board the first of two flights that will take me the long way home to New Brunswick to visit my mother and father. I’ll be gone for a number of days and as is my custom, I’ll be sharing thoughts, experiences and walking my readers through what’s happening on the East Coast’s North Shore on a day-to-day basis. I already have some friends and family set up that I will be visiting during the trip, and there should be some augury of positivity to go with the negative. So hopefully, I don’t get bogged down in a week-long bitchfest about traveling. But as most of you know, if you’ve been reading my posts over the years, I’m not a big damn of flying, being around large crowds and being contained in tight spaces. An airplane covers all three of those things…
It’s already been a bit of a harsh morning, waking at an hour that sees most people still quietly sleeping without concerns of the outside world. I awoke about ten minutes before my 3 a.m. alarm; an unfortunate byproduct of being Type-1 Diabetic and wearing an insulin pump. Last night’s installation of a new CGM sensor required a second calibration at about 2:50 this morning, rendering the last ten miners of sleep you’ve pointless and getting me out of bed all that much earlier. Not like I was exactly sleeping deeply anyway. My family were absolutely on the ball this morning. More so than I was, in fact. My boys were already out the door with shoes on, piling into our car, before I had even finished getting dressed. I drove to get us here, and was comfortably impressed at how easily my city streets are to navigate and how quickly one can reach places when it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. It made me nostalgic for my policing days, when I would patrol municipal streets during the wee hours of the night, no other vehicles or traffic with nothing but the quiet streets to keep me company. But I digress…
This trip is intended to look into a number of concerning items regarding my parents that apparently can’t be dealt with by email or telephone. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of those concerns. I’ll only say that after calling twice and emailing once, over the course of the past two months, and getting no reply, I felt it was time to go out and determine what’s happening myself. Family is great and I do have some family still out there, but they can and should only do so much. After all, they’re MY parents and as the only child, I have a direct responsibility for ensuring the folks who gave me life and raised me are well looked after. As I’ve written on previous trips, going home is a strange experience for me now. Having lived in Saskatchewan for almost 20 years at this point, I always had the comfort of safe Harbour when I returned home. A warm bed in my mother’s home and family greetings that included home cooked meals and attentions paid. Such is not the case any longer.
Now, when I travel back home, I do so alone. The rising cost of airline travel coupled with vehicle rentals, accommodations and incidental costs make it far too expensive to rationalize bringing my entire household with me, even though exposure to the Maritime air and energy would be great for them. When I make my way home, I no longer have a home to go to. This means that the only way to see my mother and father is to modify them within their care home. My mother has dementia and no longer understands she still has a living son. My father is beginning to show signs of dementia but historically, when I visit him, he’s sleeping with little to no chance of waking him. It makes for a difficult dynamic and tends to bring equal amount of emotional pain to whatever small vestiges of nostalgia I may be experiencing. So much has changed during my absence from in home Province. My home town is still recognizable; I can wander some of the places I used to live as a kid, wander or mountain and drink in the beautiful views of the open bay against the Appalachian mountains.
But in the end, I’m still very much alone. I should have the opportunity to visit with Sensei, along with a couple of close friends who are still there. Otherwise, it will be a packed few days of sorting through my parents’ affairs and ensuring everything is in line. While it will be a visit slotted within the duties of a son, there shirts nonetheless be some time for the beauty and calm that only the North Shore can provide. I have a long day of airports and waiting ahead of me. Such is the way of it, any time I travel home. Here’s hoping the trip goes smoothly and I have nothing “exciting” to write about. That would, ultimately, be the best thing that could happen over this trip. But stay tuned; I’ll keep y’all posted. ☯️
Yes, buckle up folks! It’s gonna be one of THOSE posts. As seems to be the routine every year for the past few years, I’m currently awaiting to board the first of two flights that will take me the long way home to New Brunswick to visit my mother and father. I’ll be gone for a number of days and as is my custom, I’ll be sharing thoughts, experiences and walking my readers through what’s happening on the East Coast’s North Shore on a day-to-day basis. I already have some friends and family set up that I will be visiting during the trip, and there should be some augury of positivity to go with the negative. So hopefully, I don’t get bogged down in a week-long bitchfest about traveling. But as most of you know, if you’ve been reading my posts over the years, I’m not a big damn of flying, being around large crowds and being contained in tight spaces. An airplane covers all three of those things…
It’s already been a bit of a harsh morning, waking at an hour that sees most people still quietly sleeping without concerns of the outside world. I awoke about ten minutes before my 3 a.m. alarm; an unfortunate byproduct of being Type-1 Diabetic and wearing an insulin pump. Last night’s installation of a new CGM sensor required a second calibration at about 2:50 this morning, rendering the last ten miners of sleep you’ve pointless and getting me out of bed all that much earlier. Not like I was exactly sleeping deeply anyway. My family were absolutely on the ball this morning. More so than I was, in fact. My boys were already out the door with shoes on, piling into our car, before I had even finished getting dressed. I drove to get us here, and was comfortably impressed at how easily my city streets are to navigate and how quickly one can reach places when it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. It made me nostalgic for my policing days, when I would patrol municipal streets during the wee hours of the night, no other vehicles or traffic with nothing but the quiet streets to keep me company. But I digress…
This trip is intended to look into a number of concerning items regarding my parents that apparently can’t be dealt with by email or telephone. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of those concerns. I’ll only say that after calling twice and emailing once, over the course of the past two months, and getting no reply, I felt it was time to go out and determine what’s happening myself. Family is great and I do have some family still out there, but they can and should only do so much. After all, they’re MY parents and as the only child, I have a direct responsibility for ensuring the folks who gave me life and raised me are well looked after. As I’ve written on previous trips, going home is a strange experience for me now. Having lived in Saskatchewan for almost 20 years at this point, I always had the comfort of safe Harbour when I returned home. A warm bed in my mother’s home and family greetings that included home cooked meals and attentions paid. Such is not the case any longer.
Now, when I travel back home, I do so alone. The rising cost of airline travel coupled with vehicle rentals, accommodations and incidental costs make it far too expensive to rationalize bringing my entire household with me, even though exposure to the Maritime air and energy would be great for them. When I make my way home, I no longer have a home to go to. This means that the only way to see my mother and father is to modify them within their care home. My mother has dementia and no longer understands she still has a living son. My father is beginning to show signs of dementia but historically, when I visit him, he’s sleeping with little to no chance of waking him. It makes for a difficult dynamic and tends to bring equal amount of emotional pain to whatever small vestiges of nostalgia I may be experiencing. So much has changed during my absence from in home Province. My home town is still recognizable; I can wander some of the places I used to live as a kid, wander or mountain and drink in the beautiful views of the open bay against the Appalachian mountains.
But in the end, I’m still very much alone. I should have the opportunity to visit with Sensei, along with a couple of close friends who are still there. Otherwise, it will be a packed few days of sorting through my parents’ affairs and ensuring everything is in line. While it will be a visit slotted within the duties of a son, there shirts nonetheless be some time for the beauty and calm that only the North Shore can provide. I have a long day of airports and waiting ahead of me. Such is the way of it, any time I travel home. Here’s hoping the trip goes smoothly and I have nothing “exciting” to write about. That would, ultimately, be the best thing that could happen over this trip. But stay tuned; I’ll keep y’all posted. ☯️
I’ve certainly never professed to being my own version of Mike Tyson, but decades of knuckle push-ups, striking exercises and frequent use of a makiwara have made it so I can pack a pretty decent punch. Not “break through concrete” kind of punch, but definitely a “fracture your bones or knock your shit out” kind of punch. Your body strength with strikes has always been a bit more of a forte for me than kicking. While I enjoy, employ and appreciate a good kick, I usually prefer punching. This fits well into my style’s generalized philosophy that if the opponent is outside arm’s reach, why would you strike? But that’s a whole different concept for another day. Today, we’re talking about my punches and the subsequent issue it caused me a little over a month ago. Quite a few years ago now, I invested in a standalone steel-framed stand and an 80-pound punching bag. I set all of it up on my garage, since our archaic garage isn’t big enough to house a modern vehicle and we mostly use it for storage. The garage has quickly become my refuge, allowing me space to enjoy the nice weather without being exposed to summer heat, puff on a nice cigar without disturbing my family and gives me an environment to burn through my inner rage on the bag without shaking the house’s foundations.
A little over a month ago, the weather started moving to a nicer temperature, which allowed me to move on a few different fitness steps. I cleaned up my bicycle, greased the chain and prepped my carry bag for what will hopefully be some reasonable mileage throughout the summer. But I also took the time to tidy the garage floor, clear away all the winter storage and clean the dust off of the punching bag. I started having my usual bag workouts out there a couple of times a week, which usually involves 30 minutes of 1-minute-punching-30-seconds-rest, followed by another 30 minutes but on the bike. It makes for a solid sweat, exhausts me nicely and allows me to burn off a lot of stress and pent up anger from the world outside. However, recently while working out on the bag, I may have allowed my zeal to take control and after a few focused strikes that really struck home (pun FULLY intended), the chain links holding the bag up onto the steel frame snapped, sending the bag tumbling to the floor.
My poor bag sitting on the floor… I know, I know, I heard it as soon as I said it…
Ignoring for a moment the fact that I don’t secure my frame to the ground, which would likely be helpful as it would keep it from sliding along the floor as you see in the photo, I was reasonably lucky that the bag simply fell straight down from the frame, the frame didn’t tip over or knock anything over and most importantly, nothing fell on me or injured me. As a side note, the bike got put back into place where you see it AFTER I stopped the workout because the bag fell. Now, I faced an interesting conundrum. Where to find a replacement for a double looped swivel link to replace the one that broke. Unfortunately, as I would come to learn, such a singular, specialized piece wasn’t so easy to find. I started with some local sporting goods stores where punching bags are sold. I don’t like leaving myself open to comments being interpreted as litigious, so I won’t name the stores, but I was somewhat surprised that none of these retail locations, which sell punching bags and related equipment, sold any replacement or spare parts of any of the hardware. Alright. Fair enough.
The broken link…
I had the option, of course, of purchasing an entirely new punching bag, which would include the swivel link I needed. But my current bag is still in good condition and will likely last another few years. My next step was to hit up some hardware stores. After all, what could be more basic than getting chain hardware from a hardware store, right? I stopped at two locations, one of which is a large, national chain that has orange as its primary color (wink, wink). I found similar chain links, but they had significantly low weight tolerance. We’re talking less than what the bag itself weighed. Factor in striking the bag repeatedly and sometimes having it swing in every which direction would mean this thing would barely last one workout. IF I was lucky… I don’t live in a MAJOR metropolitan center, but we are in a city of about 270,000 people. So, one would be inclined to think that there should be SOME availability of hardware like this. But nope, nope, triple nope… Couldn’t find it anywhere.
Finally, I resorted to my least favorite means of retail shopping: online. I’m not trying hard to age myself here, but I always prefer to do my shopping at an actual retail location. That way, I can see, touch and check exactly what I intend to purchase and I know exactly where to go if something needs to be returned, replaced or repaired. This is not always the case when one purchases online. But, it is 2026 and sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right? I found a swivel link on Amazon for $20. This thing is twice as thick as the previous one that came with the bag and has a weight capacity of (allegedly) 1,200 pounds. Perfect. Good price, good specs. That’ll do in a pinch. Add to cart and a week later, I got it in. I even had the foresight to order an extra one on the unlikely chance I managed to pop this one. With a little help, I managed to get the bag set back up and even followed it up with a family workout, using the bag, punch pad and makiwara as stations.
A punching bag is not only a good way to get some passive cardio in and burn off stress and frustration. I’ve long believed it’s a necessary training step for any martial artist who trains extensively alone. After all, you can only swing the brush through empty air for so long before you need to start touching paint to canvass. In the same vein, you can only do form and shadow boxing for so long before you need to strike an actual surface to start developing. And since I don’t currently train in any dojo, my sparring partners are few and far between. This makes the punching bag and striking pad all the more important. Plus, nothing makes you feel quite better than burning off steam on a bag after a long, hard day’s work. Totally meditative. I’m glad I got the bag repaired and cancel in action. It does humble one when considering the fact that given enough time and enough strikes, even steel gives way to flesh. Food for thought… ☯️
It’s a scenario that may be familiar to many… The alarm clock blares and shakes you out of what was likely a very deep sleep. You slap it silent with a deep tinge of annoyance. You stretch, roll and try to bring life into your still sleeping body. You throw your legs off the bed and sit there for a moment, wondering if you’ve lost your mind or whether you should just roll back under the covers for warmth and further slumber. As you finally will your body to move, you take the first tentative steps into the new day. The usual morning ablutions ensue, along with using the washroom and grabbing an energy drink to kick off your morning. The few sips of caffeine do nothing to clear the fog from your mind. You change into some fitness gear, still questioning whether you’re making the right choice or not. As you make your way to the workout area, you recognize that the rest of the household is still peacefully adrift in dreamland, a place you long to be at that moment. You stretch. You warm up. You break into some weight repetitions followed by your kata and some shadow sparring. You end it all with a quick, 30-minute run on the stationary bike. You finished in a hot, sweaty huff, no linger feelings the last vestiges of cold your body experienced by shedding your blankets for the world outside.
For some of you, this is pretty routine. It’s something you’ve trained yourself to do every morning and may have been doing so fairly consistently. For me, the concept of waking at an early hour to work out is difficult at best. For the most part, finding the time and opportunity to work out AFTER work is just as challenging. Once the work day is complete, I often face a plethora of different challenges that include but are not limited to, exhaustion from the work day, delays from stopping for groceries/errands, supper is ready when I walk into the door and the lethargy and full stomach that accompanies eating said supper. Pair this off with having a couple of young children in the house who are vying for daddy’s attention once he’s through the door, and my evenings tend to fill up pretty damn quickly. I often push against routine and make a point of hammering out an hour’s worth or exercise, but the consistently needed to maintain benefits (and karate skills) just isn’t there as it used to be. This presents challenges to someone who needs to work hard towards maintaining one’s health.
Working out first thing in the morning would seem to be the obvious option, although finding it obvious and willing one’s body to get up and comply are two entirely different things, hence the scenario described in the opening paragraph. While I’ve tried, on occasion, to get my crusty ass out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to exercise, various factors will come into play against that concept. Most nights, at least the ones where I’m not constantly shaken awake by PTSD nightmares, sees me having fluctuating blood sugars, frequent visits to the washroom to urinate, restless leg issues and the various pains and discomforts that come with almost four decades of full contact karate and operational policing. All of these things have a tendency to not only inhibit and prevent a proper night’s sleep. It usually leaves me in a state where, once the alarm rings, I find myself unable to will my body to respond or find the motivation to actually get up and get moving. In fact, the prospect of having an additional hour’s sleep, given all of the above, usually wins out.
With respect to this issue, I’m reminded of something Sensei told me about a year ago, while we were catching up. He commented on the fact that he wakes every morning, goes through his usual routine and then hits the road on his bicycle, working in a significant number of kilometers before returning home and facing his work day. Sensei has often asked himself if it was worth it to keep pushing in such a manner, and whether it wouldn’t just be better to sit back and relax during his morning. But then, he asks himself if he enjoys the freedom of movement, the continued mobility and the health he has maintained. The answer is always a resounding yes. He then asks himself if he wants to continue to maintain those standards to continue reaping those benefits. Another resounding yes faces him in the mirror. And for that reason, Sensei continues to push himself forward and workout first thing in the morning, regardless of fatigue, weather or how deeply the bed beckons him back to slumber.
Now granted, Sensei doesn’t have to contend with Type-1 Diabetes or many of the health-related obstacles I described earlier. But that’s the catch-22; BECAUSE of these health concerns, it would be in my best interest to wake, rise and sweat. Also because of those health concerns, I’m usually exhausted and without energy to engage in them. It makes for a conundrum as to how to address this properly. A bit of a chicken or the egg scenario. That being said, and I’ve written about this before, a lot of it is like becoming the little engine that could. Once you manage to get yourself up and moving and start doing it, the following morning seems just a LITTLE less torturous. This is because you’ve lost the element of unknown that comes with trying to get yourself started. Once you’ve overcome that first step and have actually hammered out a workout, the next morning may still suck. You may still want to just roll over and go back to sleep, but at least you’ve started. Once you’ve begun doing this regularly, your body will adjust and you’ll begin to feel that it isn’t such a big deal, getting out of bed while your family sleeps, breaking out a healthy sweat and then showering and getting ready for your overall day.
While using this early time in the morning to workout may seem tedious, there are several benefits to doing it this way that can be very beneficial for one’s health. In an online article posted by HealthLine.com entitled, “13 Benefits of Working Out In The Morning,” the positives of working out during the early hours can include facing fewer distractions while exercising, getting your workout in before the day’s heat kicks in, increased alertness and setting a positive tone for the rest of the day, better mood, focus and overall energy. There’s also some indication that earlier workout can help support weight loss and help with appetite control. Taylor morning workouts can also help with blood pressure AND blood sugar control, which is obviously an important factor for me. The article also suggest that it might help improve your sleep, citing, “After the morning workout, the participants spent more time in deep sleep and experienced fewer nighttime awakenings. It also took them less time to fall asleep.” Obviously, I would recommend reading the full article by clicking the link above, in order to get the fulsome information.
There are plenty of benefits to exercising early in the morning and many advantages, such as better time management, besides all the health perks. After all, you’d get all of those if you just exercised consistently, regardless of the time of day. But if you use this time where it may be quieter, less distractions, kids aren’t vying for your attention AND it gets you going and energized for the rest of the day, it’s a win-win. Pair that with the possibility that it will help with your overall sleep quality at night, that’s an easy recipe for better health. The challenge, at least for me, is getting past that first instance and actually getting my tired old ass out of bed long enough to get that first workout in. But once I can get myself started, being like the little engine that could or a rolling dynamo, it just might be the edge I need to have more energy, shed a few more pounds and have some will to do more with my evenings than binge-watch Netflix and fall asleep early. Who know? I may even end up encouraging some of my family members to rise with me and start early. All part of the journey towards better health and better Diabetes control. Food for thought… ☯️
We often hear sayings like, “They sure broke the mold with this one…” It usually refers to someone who operates or behaves outside the norm or the typical social paradigm. But what’s interesting is that this can skid apply quite often to martial arts students. One of the most interesting things about training in a karate dojo is watching the progression and growth of the other students around you. Most people never take advantage of this, solely focused on developing and training themselves. But much like observing the world around you, watching how other train and progress can provide important insight, not only on how to train better but to recognize the very important aspect that everyone learns, develops and absorbs knowledge in different ways. This becomes especially important if one is to ever become the teacher. Not many do, but the practice of observing others can also be important when it comes to sparring or practicing one’s skills on the mat.
It’s also important to remember the old saying about never judging a book by its cover. This can often be learned the hard way. I have a couple of examples. I used to train with a younger man, a boy when he started, really. He was headstrong, full of the ol’ proverbial piss & vinegar. Plenty of attitude and personality, he started out being a bit of a thorn in everyone’s side. During his first couple of months of training, I remember thinking he wouldn’t progress far. While it’s normal for a student to lack discipline when first coming to the dojo, this kid exemplified everything one should NOT do while in the dojo. Farting in class, flirting with the female students and making sarcastic comments at the worst of times, I had assumed he would wash out within his first year. When he didn’t, I was absolutely certain he would wash out during the second year. However, someone started to happen during that time. He got stronger. He got faster. He began learning the skills he was being taught and putting them positively into practice.
As his training continued, he grew to become the dojo’s most senior student (second only to his instructor and myself, on the occasions I visited their dojo), beginning to teach others and even take over class when the sensei was absent. Everything that emerged was indicative that this student would grow and flourish and rank up quickly. There were discussions on the possibility that he would become an instructor and potentially have a dojo of his own someday. This is often the pipe dream of most senseis, since the idea is that eventually the student would go on to teach in a dojo of their own. But that isn’t what happened in this instance. Instead, things came to a head when the students attitude and personality took him one step too far in the wrong direction. On an unfortunate night when the students attitude was training at our main dojo, he was part of a circuit training we were doing where one of the stations involved sparring with Sensei (my instructor, not his from his own dojo).
During an unfortunate session where he was sparring with Sensei, he started to get a little cheeky and sarcastic, choosing to cross boundaries with a man who could literally wipe the floor with anyone within the dojo. Sensei kept warning him to mind his tongue and focus on the sparring. The students response was to try and take a cheap shot and make a snarky comment in the same instance. Sensei had had enough. He delivered a very precise front kick to the gut, which sent the students attitude reeling back and tumbled to the floor. He left the dojo, citing he couldn’t breathe. His own instructor, they had attended class with everyone that night, commented later that he had the breath knocked out of him and didn’t plan on coming back. What was sad to see, was that this student had a lot of promise, had progressed quite well and was on the fast-track to testing for his next belt grading. Unfortunately, instead of recognizing the lesson and the important aspect involving dojo etiquette, he chose to let his pride get to him and walked away.
The student continued to train off and on for about another year after that but soon let go of karate completely. He came to regret it, years later, as we’ve discussed the past and our training. He often wishes he had stuck with it. The parties involved, to this day, still argue who may have been at fault and who should have been the bigger person. Regardless, karate isn’t a knitting circle. There’s etiquette and protocol involved and one needs to learn these aspects as part of their training. Not always easy for someone with a “colorful” personality. There have been times throughout the years that I’ve offered to train with him. But he’s declined. Now, the student who showed promise has become an inactive lump. This is an example of how the student who shows promise ends up going down an incorrect path and leaves the art. Now, for an example that demonstrates a bit of the opposite.
Another student, whom I had the pleasure of training with and watching grow, was not what one would call a shining star. A bit on the quiet side, carrying a bit of added weight, he was the personification of the kind of student you see at the beginning of a feel-good martial arts movie; where the quiet, harassed youth becomes proficient and brings it back against his antagonists. But over his first year, it was hard to imagine there would ever be anything around his waist but white. Sloppy and inefficient, he showed aspects that the student from the other story did not. He showed up, he was disciplined, he learned the dojo etiquette and had great respect for the skills being taught to him. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with discipline, commitment and clear desire to learn. Even through some of the harshest drills I had put him through and some of the roughest sparring he dealt with, he just kept coming back. Unfortunately, I had achieved black belt and moved on to my policing career and left the area before I could have a fulsome view o said progress.
It wouldn’t be until a couple of years later, while visiting family and friends back home, that I would join a larger class and did a double take as a I realized that the student was wearing a green belt! Given my previous perceptions, I was pleasantly surprised, as much so as I was once I trained that night and saw his determination, increase in skills and discipline within the dojo. I was impressed with his growth and his ability to deliver the techniques that not so long prior, I had felt he may never master. It was humbling and impressive, all wrapped up in the student still being somewhat soft spoken and quiet. A perfect combination. Another three or four years down the road and I was further taken aback when I visited and saw a brown belt wrapped around his waist. To say I was proud and impressed is the least I could comment. The distinct irony with these two stories, is that the proficient student from the first story who quit, helped teach and coach the shy, timid student that didn’t seem to have the drive. And yet, the first one walked away while the second one stuck it out and progressed.
The lesson here, is simply what I noted at the start of the second paragraph. One should never judge a book by its cover. The same can be said of people. Did I imagine the first student would grow and progress to become a black belt and subsequently an instructor? Absolutely. Did that happen? No, an unfortunate byproduct of many different spawned, challenges, etc. Did I assume the second student would progress? I’m ashamed to say that I judged quite harshly in the beginning and assumed he would become one of the many hundred who joined, trained for a time then moved on. But he proved me wrong and climbed the grading system. It’s unclear to me where he’s at today or whether he still trains. But he reached a point where he could conceivably keep training on his own. This is particularly important, since Sensei has closed his dojo. But as I mentioned before, one of the most interesting things about the dojo environment is that you can simply never tell. Every person is different, with their own paths ahead. Not everyone is meant to be karateka. And some whom you believe may not be suited will often surprise you. That’s why it is so important, as part of your dojo training, to observe. Watch. Learn from others. This is just one small piece of the million-piece puzzle that is karate. Good for thought… ☯️
As one gets older and life carries on, one may begin to contemplate life, how it’s lived and how perspective changes over time. As a child, I wasn’t exactly what one might call energetic. Being afflicted with Type-1 Diabetes, which back then was referred to as “Juvenile Diabetes,” I was often lethargic and lacking in energy, mostly a byproduct of rampantly uncontrolled blood sugars. I’ve written about this before; I don’t begrudge my parents any damage that may have been done when I was a child. After all, I WAS a child and had minimal understanding of what had happened to me and it was the early 80’s in a small, rural Northern New Brunswick town with limited medical resources. I’m lucky I survived into adulthood. But that’s a story for another day. The point is, despite the lethargy and lack of energy, I was like most children and usually insisted on running, climbing and jumping on absolutely everything in my path. This was a sore point for my mother, with whom I spent extended time when my father was at work.
It irked her because of her concerns that I could injure myself. Unbeknownst to her, one of her most annoying (at the time) habits was irking me as well; her walking speed. Now, at the time, I simply couldn’t comprehend why my mother would always walk so damn slowly. It drove me nuts and I often tried to urge her along. This carried on well into my teens and into adulthood when I finally left home. In retrospect, I recognize that she was actually several years younger than I am now when I started to notice this trend, meaning that it couldn’t be attributed to old age. As I got older and started to raise this with her more as a conversation than a comment, her only response was, “I don’t have a reason to hurry or rush. So, why would I? This is the speed I walk. If you don’t like it, then don’t walk with me.” At the time, it seemed dismissive and ignorant. The perspective of a young teenager on the cusp of adulthood. But as I’ve grown to my current stage of this life, I recognize it as something more important.
Since I grew into adulthood and took control of my own health and wellbeing, I’ve been what many might refer to as a dynamo of energy. Every job, every karateh class and every workout I’ve ever done has been carried out with maximum effort, maximum speed and no time wasted. This habit carried on into my personal life, where chores, errands and getting things done involved hammering through them with no room or time to delay or move slowly. Certainly, my career in law enforcement has benefited from this perspective, since time and urgency can be very important elements of a police officer’s daily life. But in the past few years and since retiring from law enforcement, my views and perspectives have changed. And some of it happened without my even noticing it. It was quiet, sneaky and insidious, even. A perspective on daily life and one’s own mental health that I had never really come to appreciate or recognize before.
Some of this realization came from earlier this week when I travelled to a neighboring city for a work function. The hotel it was being held at was completely booked and I found myself staying at a different venue. For to parking availability, I found myself having to walk from the venue to my hotel. While this is no big deal, I found myself with some free time during the afternoon and decided to “dry run” the walk so that I could effectively time how long it would take me to get from one point to the other. This was so that I would risk being late for the event. I left point “A” and walked towards point “B” with the chronometer on my phone running to keep time. As I walked, I realized it was more of a casual saunter. I wasn’t rushing, I wasn’t hurrying, and I wasn’t just trying to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I was taking my time. I was walking casually. All in all, the walk took less than ten minutes at a leisurely pace, so I was in good shape. But this realization awoke… well, realization…
So much of modern life is rooted in rushing around, or what’s otherwise known as the “rat race.” This is a terrible way to live, considering this rat race is often one of the main contributors of stress, mental health issues and even physical ailments like high blood pressure and cardiac issues. While hurrying and carrying a sense of urgency can be important in some instances, finding the means to move casually and without rushing can help alleviate many of the things I named in this paragraph. It doesn’t mean I’ve grown slow, or age is catching up to me. I’ve simply begun to realize that setting the tone for oneself early on in the day can determine how one’s day will go over all. Slow and steady can allow oneself to remain calm, relaxed, maintain lower blood pressure and reduce stress. This is something I realized about two years ago when my morning routine was drastically changed.
About two years ago, I changed up how my morning routines have run. Prior to this change, I would wake to an early alarm, hit the ground running and could shit, shave and shower and be out the door tub under fifteen minutes. Looking back, I was actually proud of my ability to “launch” this effectively, first thing in the morning and more importantly, often without caffeine in my system yet. But I began to correct this process when I began to realize two very important details. One, this method of starting my day meant that I was stressed and harassed before even setting foot in my office. And two, I didn’t NEED to rush. I was in a position where I could actually take some time, first thing in the morning, to allow my mind to start absorbing the day and make my way to work calmly. The result has been getting to work much more relaxed and prepared to tackle the tasks of the day, as opposed to being a pent up ball of rage without even having started work yet
The point is, there is suffered in life. And with that suffering comes stress. At some point, we all come to realize that doing whatever we can with the tools we have available to reduce that stress goes a long way towards reducing our respective suffering. When it comes to my everyday life, I’ve come to realize that when I don’t need to rush, I SHOULDN’T rush. Will it be life changing? Probably not. Will it potentially revive some stress and help make me somewhat happier? Without a doubt. And in the end, that can make a great world of difference. Ask yourself, what is your slow walk? What can you do or what can you change, that will help you to reduce the stress in your life. And less stress means a happier, healthier life. And ultimately, that’s all one can truly hope for. Food for thought… ☯️
One of the questions I get asked most frequently when karate comes into the conversation is, “Does that stuff really work, though? Like, push come to shove and in a real fight, does karate really provide you any benefit or advantage?” The easy answer is yes, yes it does. The explanation behind it is a little more in-depth and significant and may not be able to be covered in one post. But there are some integral differences between what you may have seen on screen (movies & television), what you may have seen in the dojo and what actually happens in the street. And that’s what I’m going to try to cover in today’s post. Not so much the question of whether it works or not. Rather, the differences between environments and why they matter. AND why you should focus on continued training to bridge those environments. But before I branch off on too many tangents, let’s get on with it, shall we?
Let’s start with the portrayals of fights on the big or small screen. Now, I’ve written entire posts about this in the past, and there’s nothing that irks me more than when someone asks me if I’m as good as any given action star that they may have seen in the latest flick. And don’t get me wrong; I LOVE a good action movie and despite knowing the ins and outs of empty hand combat, I enjoy the fights and the action scenes as much as the next person. However… What’s important to bear in mind is that the people you see portrayed on the screen, engaged in beating the living shit out of each other, are actors, not fighters. And that twenty minute fight sequence you just wet yourself over was likely filmed over weeks, not minutes. In reality, such a fight would rarely, if ever, happen. The reason for this is quite simple; the human body can’t take it. The average real fight that takes place on the street will usually last somewhere between two to ten minutes. That’s it. By that point, one of two things will happen. Either one of the combatants will take a solid punch to the head or some other soft area, which will end the fight. OR, they’ll end up on the ground, grappling and struggling with each and both combatants will lose steam.
One can hardly blame the film industry for this approach. After all, it would be a big middle finger to the audience if, after sitting through a two-hour long film and waiting for the climactic fight at the end, the protagonist and their opponent fight for two movies and either get knocked out or gas out and give up. It would rather spoil the movie, right? It sure would, but the unfortunate after effect if that people believe that shit. Most folks genuinely believe that a trained fighter can hammer through and fight full tilt against an opponent, often a superior one in the movies, for thirty to forty minutes and actually come out successful. There are some exceptions, where organized fights like boxing will last an hour. But this is usually in digestible two to three minute rounds with breaks in between. And even then, fighters train EXTENSIVELY to last for this periods. I think it was Mickey in the Rocky movies who explained it best. I believe he said, “for a 45-minute fight, he has to train for 45,000 minutes.” This is just to build up the stamina and endurance to last for those multiple rounds. And you get the benefit of sitting, resting, sipping water and being tended to. None of those advantages will exist in the street.
Next, let’s discuss the dojo. Now, here’s where I get a little more particular, because I’ve spent the majority of my life (more than 75% at this point) training in various dojos and formal training halls. A dojo has structure, discipline and tradition. From the moment you step into the dojo, it all hits you. You must remove your shoes and bow as you enter. You may not step on or off the mats without your Sensei’s permission. Stand in a straight line at attention. No food or drink in the dojo. Obey all instructions and do as I say, not as I do, are common elements in most traditional dojos. When casual passerby’s are watching a class train in the dojo, they’ll often see drills, katas and structure where it would be reasonable to ASSUME that none of it would apply in a real fight. Guess what? They’re right… I should probably explain that a little bit better. For the most part and for the majority of what you may see in the dojo on any given night, all of those formalized movements and exercises are intended to develop structure, framework and muscle memory.
Generally speaking, the majority of this training is meant to build the foundation on which one’s martial arts prowess will flourish. what that means is, you likely wouldn’t use a particular stance you see in a kata during a real fight. But all of those steps and stances develop your legs and techniques to allow the proper flow of what you WOULD end up doing in order to defend yourself. While some of it may look strange and possibly useless when watching it, every step, every movement and every technique taught in the dojo is just one more piece of the overall puzzle needed to develop one’s martial arts skills. There are some aspects of the stamina training I referenced higher up. If you don’t believe me, you may want to watch when a dojo has their students perched on their knuckles for 30 minutes or in a horse stance for just as long. OR when we’d spend almost an hour simply repeating the same technique, over and over, in order to ensure it was embedded into our muscle memory.
It’s safe to say that the dojo takes a significantly indirect approach towards ensuring the practitioner can develop and if necessary, use their skills to defend themselves or others. It’s not always neat or clean, and it almost certainly takes years, but the result is being functionally capable of offering some sort big defense against an opponent, when necessary. For myself specifically, I have never competed. Sensei didn’t believe in contrition or training for points. But I can tell you that in real life and on several occasions, both on the job and in my personal life, karate was leaned on to defend myself and others. I have a singular benefit of saying that I have never been overwhelmed by an opponent and I have my extensive training to thank for that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had the crap kicked out of me, I’ve had sprains and fractured ribs, even. Karate doesn’t make you indestructible, nor does it shield you from injury completely. The reality is simply this; if you fight, you’ll likely get hurt. How hurt you get will depend on how hard you train.
So, does martial arts work? Absolutely. Can one become proficient and carry it with them for the rest of their lives to defend themselves? Oh, fuck yeah! But how effective it’ll be will depend on how hard you train, how much you invest of yourself in it and how well you maintain yourself. This will mark the difference between walking away relatively injury-free, or suffering severe injuries. And that raises a good point. It may sound a little cliche, but a traditionally trained martial artist usually won’t WANT to fight. While some opponents will often view this as a sign of weakness or unwillingness to fight, most karateka simply acknowledge that unless there is no other choice, bringing significant injury to someone else, even if they’re an opponent, isn’t worth it. And if possible, it’s always better to walk away. Like any other weapon, just because you’re packin’ doesn’t mean you’ll pull it at every opportunity. Karate is no different. Food for thought… ☯️
Film and mainstream television can be great at making you feel like you relate to what you see on the screen. For the most part, finding a way to make characters or situations relatable to the folks watching can be an effective way to increase/ensure viewership and can often spell the success of a series or film. None of this is quite as prominent as with the superhero mythos. Generally speaking, watching Superman or the Flash swoop in and save those who can’t save themselves or thwarting the bad guys gives people something to cling to, an ideology to aspire to, and can lead to changes within the viewers life. For myself, I’m a firm believer in simply enjoying the ride; not necessarily relating to any particular aspect but accepting that a film is just a film and enjoying it for what it is. But I can’t deny that there are often aspects of myself that I see in some of these films. And light knows my wife will often point out how some characters we see are reflective of my own beliefs or personality. That’s where “The Incredibles” comes in…
The Incredibles is an animated, Disney Pixar film that was released in 2004. I remember that at the time, I was a bit reluctant to give this film any time. Especially since Spider-man 2 also came out that year, which is something a little more my speed. But once I watched it, it resonated with me in a way that an animated movie normally wouldn’t. In summary, The Incredibles follows the life of Bob Parr, a man with superhero-level strength who fights crime as part of his daily life under the name “Mr. Incredible.” When society begins to turn against the “Supers,” Bob and his family are forced into hiding and living a quiet, “suburban” life. Bob is unhappy with this, realizing that he’s living a life he never planned on, doing something he doesn’t want to do. This resonated with me, considering that I was in a quasi-similar situation, where I used to fight crime and save lives. Eventually, when certain specific parties turned against me and my career was jeopardized, I stepped away and went into proverbial hiding; choosing a different job and career path that took me away from what I had previously felt I was born to do.
Eventually, Bob is contacted by unknown parties to solicit his help in defeating and capturing an experimental robot before it gets out to the public. Behind the scenes, the robots are being designed by an evil genius hellbent on revenge against Mr. Incredibles for being shunned by him when he was a kid looking to become a sidekick. The result is Mr. Incredible is brought back into action, along with his wife Helen Parr (Elastigirl) and their children, who antelopes powers as well. While campy and entertaining, the film provides a darker look at a man’s attempt to be strong enough to protect his family and acknowledging that no level of strength will make him strong enough to deal with their loss. I may be speaking strictly for myself but that’s something that most fathers and husbands that I now would feel and experience. In the end, Bob comes to realize that he’s stronger with his family than on his own and they team up to ultimately win the day and take out the bad guys, like any good superhero movie should.
I wanted to link a few stock photos for reference, for those of you reading who may not have seen the movie. But it stands to reason that there wouldn’t be any free, stock images for this film. The film stars Craig T. Nelson as the voice of Bob Parr, which is interesting because until that point, I had only seen him in the sitcom “Coach,” or as the dad in “Troop Beverly Hills” (Don’t judge, it was a good film). The film spoke to me in a number of areas. Fatherhood and settling down with a family, not getting to pursue your chosen career and how to consolidate one’s family life with work life, being the most prominent aspects. I usually find an aspect that I can connect to. For example, I’m streaming the American medical drama “House.” I find that Dr. House’s approach and general sarcasm often matches how I interact with people. I’ll notice little things like this in most shows I watch but in this case, The Incredibles touched on enough different points I could relate to, that it prompted this post.
This is the kind of singular I have when I’m sitting quietly and left to my own devices. Y’all get a review post about a film that came out twenty-two years ago, Man, time flies. The film also resulted in a sequel, with a third apparently on the way. But the original is definitely worth a watch and given all the different aspects the film covers. And it’s fun. That’s kind of an important part. I’m still of the belief that a film is just a film and should usually be enjoyed for what it is; something created for entertainment purposes. But once in a while, some aspects or scenarios will touch your subconscious, and bring focus to aspects of your own life that you may have slowly forgotten. This is how one connects to film, how one relates, and how people end up watching in the first place. As you may have guessed, there’s no deep, philosophical point to today’s post. It’s just food for thought in an otherwise hungry society. Do with it what you will (and watch the movie)! ☯️
I’ve never been much of a sports guy, which has surprised most folks through the years by even more so when it comes up that I study the martial arts. “So, you ARE into sports…” No… No, I’m really not. But the distinction between martial arts and sports is a discussion for a different day. At this point in my life, I’m slowly starting to forget a time when I didn’t study karate and use it in my daily life in some way, shape or form. Karate, along with its consistent training and lessons, has sustained my health, made my Type-1 Diabetes more manageable and allowed me to defend myself and others, both in my personal and professional life, more times than I can measure. But the irony, especially when my studies come up in conversation, is that there’s really only one aspect that people always seem to focus on; my belt. For the most part, the same question is posed by everyone I cross paths with, even if it’s just conversation. “Oh, so, are you a black belt?”
A karate black belt is a quasi-magical thing for non-practitioners. For the most part, they believe that a black belt is the pinnacle of mastery, the top level, the “be-all-and-end-all” of karate. In truth, a black belt is really only just the beginning. The many, many years of training that preceded achieving black belt level was really just the beginning. And don’t kid yourself; it should take many, many years. And testing for your shodan is traditionally, a student’s way to formally ask their Sensei to teach them karate. But when people hear or know you have one, they assume you’re deadly, you’re a master at your respective style and that no one should rock your proverbial boat, for fear of gettin’ an ass whoopin’. I mean, the latter could have some element of truth, I suppose, if one has little or poor control over their temper. But again, this is a separate issue.
But most of that is smoke and mirrors. For the most part, and even if you train traditionally and hard, there will gaps. An important lesson to life, in order to remain humble AND because it could potentially save your life is a self-defense scenario, is that there’s will always be someone with more skill, more speed, more strength… The key is to be the best YOU can be, and continue to build upon yourself and improve. Your progress is no one else’s but your own, and holding a standard based on to color of your belt may hinder you more than help. For myself, promoting to black belt was one of the best days of my life. But it would prove to be just the first step in the next phase of my martial arts training. Many aspects of my training quickly turned to the philosophical, examined the why, almost as much as the how. I began looking at why we do techniques the way we do and learning how to impart that development on others, as opposed to simply mirroring what’s been done by Sensei for all the years that preceded my black belt.
Becoming a black belt is about more than status, prestige and the various “oohs” and “ahhs” you may get from folks. It’s about genuinely learning the art, researching the background, the material and the specifics behind how things were developed and why they continue to be used in the manner they are. The history of one’s style and how it came about, is at least as important as your ability to throw a punch or block a kick (although by black belt, you won’t last long if you can’t do those particular things). And in truth, I’ve seen and trained with many people who wore a black belt who could barely keep up or hold their own. And that’s kind of the key takeaway and the point of this post. It’s rarely about the rank. It’s almost always unilaterally about the drive and skill you develop. Unless you’re in a damn McDojo and you’re looking at someone who’s trained for two or three years and already has shodan around their waist.
People love the concept of a black belt and usually see it as the achievement to strive for. This is true of non-practitioners and practitioners alike. But the reality is much more difficult to accept. The belt around your waist says nothing of what your actual skill level is. Do you know what does? YOUR ACTUAL SKILL LEVEL!!! You, and only you, know how your training is going, what level you’re at and what improvements you need. And no doubt your Sensei. They should likely know what level you’re at, too. But when someone expresses fascination at your black belt, or asks how good you are, it’s important not to feed the perception. Typically, when I’ve been told comments like “Wow, you must be pretty good, huh?” Or, “You’ve been training that long? You must definitely be a black belt…” My usual response will simply be that I am what I am, and I am only as good or skilled as I will allow myself to be.
And that’s the big secret behind karate. It’s not about the specific style or what rank you hold. It’s about how hard you work, how much of your blood, sweat and tears you put into it, and how hard you’re willing to push yourself in order to keep moving forward. One’s martial arts journey is a never-ending one. As long as your lungs still draw breath, the learning isn’t over. So, don’t gush over someone being a black belt. For all you know, their belt may mean nothing, they may lack the skill that movies and mainstream media have suggested that rank carries, or they may have bought the belt at the thirst store and have no training at all. Smoke and mirrors. If you want to know whether a practitioner, regardless of rank, has any reasonable skill, talk to them. Ask them about their teaming, their background, their techniques. The knowledge and confidence with which they discuss it will tell you far more than a colored piece of cotton across one’s mid-section. Am I proud to be a black belt? In some ways. But mostly, I’m humbled that I was able to push myself and make it to this point through. My own efforts. My karate is my karate, and will never change. The color of the belt means little. And at the end of the day, the belt is really just there to hold your gi in place. Good for thought…☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 