Category: Martial Arts

A True Warrior’s Bike Runs On Muscle…

Last year, I managed to log almost 1,100 kilometres, over 850 of which were on the bike. The remainder was walking and some foolish attempts at jogging. I hate jogging. It’s bullshit. Prove me wrong… Seriously though, I absolutely hate running. But I lOVE cycling, and thanks to all the free time I had during the pandemic, I logged quite a lot of time on two wheels. Since the snow has disappeared, I’ve been a little slow on starting up this year, but I’m slowly starting to catch up and I’ve decided on some pretty fun goals.

I had grand ambitions to be out of bed by 6:00 am and hit the road after some brief preparation, but as you can see from the time stamp in the image above, it didn’t quite work out that way. Caffeine was singing its sirens song and I couldn’t resist the pull of my arm chair as I sat and sipped while doing my daily crossword puzzles. By the time 10:00 am struck, I recognized that if I wanted to use this particular day to get some mileage in, I would need to get at it.

I should point out that this was last Monday, which was a statutory holiday in Saskatchewan. This meant that my wife and I both had the day off, facilitating my ability to take off on the bile for a couple of hours to try and get a solid sweat in. I peddled my way down to Wascana Lake, one of my favourite spots for cycling. The reasons are quite simple: there are paved paths that allow for a smooth and measured ride. there’s also a lot of trees and water, lending a small reminder of my home Province of New Brunswick.

However, with the recent lessening of restrictions and conditions in regards to the pandemic, the walking path has become less than ideal. During the pandemic, foot traffic was restricted to one direction AND social distancing was required. Now, not only is there two-way traffic, making it more difficult to navigate, but people are walking and filling the paths with impunity. You wouldn’t believe how easily two people can take up the entire width of a public path and seem oblivious to the words “excuse me.”

As the morning wore on, the temperature began to increase. The day was blessed with a light overcast, a combination of clouds and smoke from recent wild fires in neighbouring Provinces. The result was that I wasn’t TOTALLy exposed to the sun, but the heat was still mounting enough that I was dripping onto my handlebars. Luckily, I brought along a bottle of sugar-free electrolytes and my glucometer, so I was set in terms of hydration and ensuring my blood sugars were level. Insert a PSA here about how extreme heat can affect insulin pumps and CGM…

By the time I got home, my legs and arms were killing me, my shirt was soaked to the point you could almost see through it and I looked like something the cat dragged in. The mileage shown above is what I managed to complete by the time I got there. I took a short period of time, sitting in my garage and sipping the remainder of my electrolytes and some water before hammering a half-dozen jellybeans to regulate my blood sugars.

Remember in the opening paragraph when I mentioned that I was working on some pretty fun goals? I’ve decided to try this app called The Conqueror Challenges. Basically, (and I’m not endorsing this app, I’ve simply installed it for personal use) these are virtual marathons that you can sign up for, pay a fee and it tracks your distance until you’ve reached the goal. You can choose a package where they issue you a completion medal when you’re done or a package where you get the completion medal as well as a t-shirt. They have some pretty cool ones, like climbing Mt. Everest or crossing the English Channel.

Just about anything can be virtual, nowadays. So, why would marathons be any different. I’ve completed a couple of challenges already, so I’ll keep y’all posted when I receive a completion medal. But for someone try to set goals and achieve them without getting involved in something according to someone else’s schedule, this can be it. And that’s pretty much where I find myself; between work and home life, I don’t really have the time to sign up for scheduled marathons or join public events. I’m just waiting on baited knee for karate to open up again. I don’t know, it’s something different and helps to keep me on track. There’s one medal that’s 4,000 kilometres! That’s crazy! I could basically cycle my way home to New Brunswick! That would certainly be a strange and wonderful adventure. ☯️

Let Time Be The Judge…

If you walked into a karate dojo today, it would be pretty fair to say that you wouldn’t be proficient the following week. If you joined ballet or dance today, you wouldn’t be able to stand on point or start competing the following week, either. Important things take time and this is especially important as it relates to one’s health.

People these days are all about the right here, right now. Immediate gratification is often the expectation, and we live in a society where everyone is plugged in and always looking for something that will help them melt fat, slim down or build muscle. But like endeavour, the results won’t appear quickly. And even when do appear, it’s important to keep at it.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of getting home after a long day and flopping down on the couch with a cold drink and binge-watching something on television. It’s easy, right? Humans as a whole will usually prefer to take the path of least resistance, much like the course of a river. But health and fitness REQUIRES that you step off the path of least resistance and persevere on the harsher path.

Recently, I started to dislike the way I looked. This can be attributed to a number of things, including indulging in a less-than-favourable diet, consuming beer and alcohol and allowing my fitness trends to slide off the rails, where I would go full weeks without working out. It’s okay to take the occasional break, but not when it’s to the detriment of your overall health and fitness. And not least of all, is the constant adjustment to my system from exercising consistently to being more sedentary and vice versa…. It plays hell on the blood sugars!

My point is, I took a few very simple steps to start doing something to slim down a bit. I don’t think I need to explain that as I get older, weight becomes harder to shed and Diabetes control becomes more important. But all I’ve done is chit back on my carbohydrate intake and alcohol consumption, increase my intake of fluids and have started working a few small fitness challenges. It’s taken a while, but I’ve managed to shed almost ten pounds over the past couple of months, the results of which I’m starting to see (in small doses).

A pair of pants I purchased four months ago that fit decently are now loose enough that the waist band folds over when I cinch my belt. A golf shirt that six months ago pretty much drew the eye directly to my gut now fits comfortably and I’m wearing it right now, as I type. It’s small difference that come from persevering and not giving up. There will always be days when the couch is calling, but if you push through and get that workout in to maintain your consistency, you’ll eventually start to see the difference. Slow and steady wins the race on this one…☯️

You Ever Try To Kick The Sky?

Martial arts is comparable to your favourite recipe; many will have a similar process in preparing their recipe, but most will have some slightly different ingredients and amounts that make their recipe unique and specifically theirs. The same can be said of martial arts. Different styles will have different ways of accomplishing the same goals and/or executing the same technique. As an example, what my style calls a crescent kick and inside crescent kick is referred to as the opposite in the Kenpo dojo I currently train with.

It can be a bit convoluted and even confusion to the non-practitioner, especially if they’re trying to choose their own style. But what’s important to a practitioner is to refrain from judging or evaluating another style’s methods, even if they may seem odd or useless from ones’s personal style. I’m certainly guilty of this; I’ve written entire posts on why I WOULDN’T train a certain way or use specific techniques. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for THEM.

I follow a certain number of martial arts pages, mostly because they’re fun to follow. But once in a while they lead to small nuggets of wisdom or open my eyes to something I may not have considered before. The reason I bring this up is because of a couple of posts I saw yesterday, where a young woman in a black shirt and yoga pants executed several kicks straight up above her head, and a second post with someone in a karate gi doing the same. I made the mistake of visiting the comments section. Big, big mistake.

Setting aside some of comments related to the first practitioner who was wearing yoga pants (who the fuck cares? You should be able to execute your techniques in any clothing you wear), some inevitably commented how useless the kick was, as there’s no practical application to kicking straight up. While I can admit that I would never, in a real-life scenario or in the dojo, execute this technique, I can also freely admit a fact that most of these armchair commentators won’t; I couldn’t execute that kick to save my life!

Okinawa Karate is a pretty low-technique style. We don’t employ many high kicks, favouring kicks at or below the belt and using punches and arm techniques for anything higher. But there’s no denying that there are a number of measurable benefits behind executing such techniques, even the practical applications are few our far between. Unless you happen to be fighting against a giant or someone twice your height. Which could happen. I guess. If you’re living in a video game world.

Here’s the thing: Doing high kicks may not serve a practical application. But what they do provide is the ability to work on precision, balance, muscle strength and agility. These are important benefits to someone studying the martial arts. In Okinawa karate, we always focused on doing halfway splits to help with flexibility and reach for the kicks we DO perform. But to this day, I still can’t do a full split, whether this means lowering myself to the floor or doing a high kick. In my hay day, I could execute some pretty solid roundhouse kicks against someone’s head, provided they weren’t three feet taller than I was.

What surprises me, is how any time someone posts a video of them selves doing a kick straight up in the air, there’s always some negative fucker who needs to comment about how it’s a useless kick. Agreed, it may not be useful in an actual fight, but consider how flexible this person is and how precise they may be while using an actual kick against an opponent. You don’t learn to punch properly by striking a punching bag once. By the same token, your flexibility and reach isn’t accomplish simply by kicking ONLY as far as you want to go. One will usually train to exceed that reach in order to allow for a more efficient technique. To most martial artists, this is what would be considered a common training practice and also “common sense.”

I continue to be impressed by practitioners who execute high flying techniques and show remarkable flexibility, a flexibility that I’ve never had. I can easily say that I would never use fancy spinning kicks or use a kick where one strikes straight up above one’s head. But that doesn’t mean these techniques aren’t impressive and useful in their own way. It’s important not to judge too harshly, when one sees some of these techniques. Although they may not be included in your style, they still hold some use and practicality from a training standpoint. Instead of commenting on how useless the kick is, why not recognize the balances, strength, precision and agility involved. This is the true martial way. ☯️

Carry The Torch For Too Long And You Could Get Burned…

We all get older. There’s no getting away from it. And as we get older, our muscle tissues become less flexible, our joints a little less loose and our energy levels can deplete. This is why it’s so important to maintain one’s fitness throughout one’s entire life in order to ensure that we can maintain our best form throughout our later years. This includes proper diet, regular exercise based on one’s capabilities and in my case, proper Diabetes control and frequent blood sugar testing. Staying abreast of newer therapies and exercise routines definitely helps.

Most people with Type-1 Diabetes have difficulty keeping their energy levels above nap time at the BEST of times. But once we get older, we tend to have a little less get-up-and-go. So long as one has a strong sense of determination, one can push through the apathy. But so long as you keep moving and pushing yourself forward, there’s no shame in altering your fitness routines and lifestyle to accommodate one’s life, despite energy levels.

I can admit that in recent years, my motivation towards daily workouts, pushing myself to the point of exhaustion and cycling for 100 kilometres in one sitting seems to have taken a back seat to taking care of writing, doing forms, yoga and light calisthenics mixed with the occasional venting of negative energy on the punching bag. Where the cheese has definitely slid off my cracker is my diet. Battered proteins and starchy foods have become a little too common, lately. And although I’ve enjoyed the benefit of shedding a few pounds in recent months, my diet could certainly use some tweaking. this doesn’t mean you can’t indulge or allow yourself something enjoyable on occasion. But moderation is key.

The extreme heat that we’ve experienced over the past month has definitely put a damper on my ability to push through. I always like to think that my ability to push forward and push through will always be there. But the fervent zeal I experienced in my teens and my twenties no longer exists (I’m well beyond that point, in case I haven’t dated myself enough in previous posts). Sometimes we need to evaluate where our motivation lies in order to be able to tap into it. In previous years, I was attempting to save my own life from the cruel ravages of Diabetes. Dramatic, I know. But accurate.

Throughout my twenties and thirties, I had a point to prove to myself as I continued and excelled in my martial arts studies. Then I had the benefit of my job requiring a certain level of physical fitness and a combat acumen. In case no one has guessed from my initial posts from years ago and some of the hints I’ve dropped, I used to be in law enforcement. And although I still have my overall health and fitness to maintain, I’m finding difficulty in keeping that momentum going. It’s been noticeable. I DON’T like it, haha.

I’m sure that I’m mostly in a slump and I’ll fight my way through it. I always do. And that’s the important thing; to keep fighting for what’s required to ensure your health and happy life. Everyone’s capable of it. One simply needs to do it. ☯

Keeping It Simple…

It dawns on me that I haven’t written a post on something martial arts related in a fair little while, so I thought to myself, “Why not do some venting?” In all seriousness, I’ve had some instances in my personal and professional life where karate was a useful tool and got me out of some sticky spots. The problem with such incidents, is that I can’t necessarily discuss the “professional” ones and the “personal” ones are usually embarrassing. In all honesty, there’s no real way to tell a fight story that doesn’t make you come out sounding as though you either got your ass kicked or you’re bragging about kicking someone else’s ass. I don’t like either scenario, so I’ll simply provide that every fight I’ve ever been involved in was initiated by the other party, was unavoidable and was in the defence of myself or others. With that in mind, here are some thoughts on those fights, the comments that were made and the presumptions people have about martial arts…

For the most part, I don’t discuss my karate training with someone unless I know them and am comfortable with them. You may be asking how I can make that claim, since I’m writing a post that all my followers and anyone who stumbles across my blog can read and recognize that I study karate? Well, it’s a blog about Buddhism and martial arts so, what do you expect? But outside of this digital arena, I don’t go around advertising my skills or training. And in recent years, I’ve even started to avoid wearing anything with my dojo’s insignia’s or logos outside the house. The reason for that is quite simple: there are those who just want to watch the world burn and will seek to challenge someone claiming to be trained in a fighting art. And that’s where this point comes in.to play.

In 2005, I was out with a few friends at a local club. I use the term “club” quite loosely. I’ve been to Halifax and Ottawa and have had the opportunity to experience actual night clubs that are comparable to some of the ones one might see in the movies. But the BAR from my home town that fancied itself as a club was pretty much the only location of its kind for a couple of hours in any direction. So they had the option of taking liberties with how they referred to themselves. Somehow, a dark, poorly-lit space with stained and damp carpeting, coupled with a flat 10-foot by 10-foot space of vinyl tile as a dance floor just doesn’t scream “night club” to me. That location no longer exists, so I can allow myself to be critical. But I digress…

Like most people in the area, it was one of the only locations that a person could go in order to socialize (as much as socialization can happen with loud music playing). But if you wanted an adult beverage mixed with some company, this was the place to go. But when you cram a couple of hundred people into a confined space, load them up with alcohol and loud music, it has the potential to be a recipe for disaster. But, I was in my 20’s, I was single ands I had nowhere else to go on a Saturday night. I had gone out with two of my friends; one who worked with me and one who actually did karate with me. We got some drinks and relaxed by chatting and people watching.

At some point in the evening, my friend and I (the work friend, not the karate friend) were leaning on a section of the bar and chatting, when what I will simply call a “young lady” walked over to us. For some reason that to this day I can’t explain, she started in on me. She accused me of grabbing her backside as I walked past her earlier. My friend and I both laughed until we realized she was totally serious. Not only was this a ridiculous accusation as I’d be the last person to ever do something of that nature, it was also impossible as my friends and I had walked in, bought our drinks and leaned at the bar. The karate friend was off somewhere trying to pick up (a common, albeit unsuccessful hobby of his), but my other friend and I hadn’t moved since we had arrived.

I basically wrote off her comments and told her to leave us alone as all we were trying to do was have a nice evening and that I wasn’t the guy she was looking for. She took offence, claimed it was me while pointing out my clothing (I was wearing a black t-shirt) but walked away. I thought the matter was closed until we noticed her talking to a couple of guys in an agitated manner and pointing at us! Never one to willingly walk into a fight, I told my friend that maybe this would be a one-drink night and that we should vacate the premises. He agreed. I couldn’t find the karate friend, so we headed outside where we could decide what we’d do next (this was before cell phones were a common thing). We decided the best thing would be to wander down the street to the nearest sandwich shop and grab a snack.

As we started walking down the street, the door of the club opened and closed a couple of times. Not an unusual occurrence, but given the situation we had dealt with inside, I cautiously turned and looked over my shoulder. Some may call it coincidence, some would call it providence but I looked over my should just in time to see two guys moving quickly to catch up with us. I turned just in time for the first guy to take a wide hook-punch towards my head. Given the slow, telegraphed nature of his punch, there was plenty of time for me to block and deliver a single punch that staggered my attacker and sent him to the ground, holding his mouth and moaning in pain.

I stood there, shaking out the throbbing pain in my fist and staring at the second guy. I asked him if we were done. He stared in disbelief at his cohort sprawled on the sidewalk, helped him to his feet and returned to the club. My fist was killing me and I was hankering for some ice. My friend appeared to be in shock and hadn’t fully absorbed what had just happened. My karate friend conveniently stepped outside at that point, angry at us for having left without him. We carried on to the sandwich shop.

Once we were there and my work friend finally had his adrenaline dump and was getting some food into his system, he asked me the same question that many if not most people have asked, who have seen something like this happen in real life: “That’s it? I thought you’d do something fancier…”. The important thing to point out is that a threat presented itself, I responded and stopped the threat and then stopped myself.

There’s a common misconception, and I blame cinema and television for this, that someone who practices and studies the martial arts will always do some high-flying, flowery move when using their skills. Martial arts is complicated and convoluted on its face, but its application is intended to be ANYTHING but complicated and fancy. Muscle memory is key, as it allows a practitioner to defend themselves in the moment, without the need for prior preparation or warning. Without that training, the individual in question may have reached me and injured me before I ever had the opportunity to defend myself. Depending on what their end game was, it could have led to more than simple injury.

So here’s what the non-practitioner needs to know about the practical application of martial arts skills:

– It’l Be Quick: Unlike what you see on screen, fights rarely last more than 30 seconds to a couple of minutes. Fighting is exhausting and takes a lot out of you. Even with adrenaline coursing through one’s system, street fights often end with one participant or the other being struck and stopping, or both parties exhausted and breathing hard. Boxer and professional fighters train ad nauseam to be able to last the length of time that they do in the ring. But even they get to take a rest every few minutes;
– It’ll Be Simple: No, I won’t spin around with both my feet flying off the ground, my body won’t be spinning in place and there won’t be a fancy, high-flying technique where I strike my opponent ten times before they have the time to fall to the ground. Defending oneself needs to be a simple and straightforward as possible. There isn’t time to try anything out-of-this-world and attempting to do so will give your opponent the time to harm you;
– It’ll Hurt You As Well: Even if the stars align and you manage to evade the opponent’s attack and deliver some strikes of your own, don’t expect that you’ll walk away without injury. If I take the scenario above as an example, I managed to defend myself and stop the threat against my friend and I. But not without my fist throbbing like a bastard. Even though I punched properly and didn’t sprain my wrist and didn’t have my fingers loose or any of those common mistakes, Knuckles are made of bone. The guy’s face is plated in bone. Bone on bone hurts. No matter the nature of the fight, winning doesn’t mean you’ll be pain and injury-free.

I’ve had a number of people, over the years, ask me about situations like this and wonder why I didn’t do something more substantial or complicated. The important thing to remember is that when defending oneself, all that matters is coming out safe. Not looking good doing it. And that usually requires keeping things quick and simple. Don’t be fooled by everything you see on the television. It looks cool and nice on the big screen, but rarely does this apply to real life in an actual fight situation. ☯️

Rambunctious Youth…

We’ve likely all been there at some point in our lives…. Young, energetic and full of piss & vinegar. Most teenagers are filled with energy levels that adults are envious of, despite the fact that they have a tendency to somehow hide that energy while sleeping in a classroom. But I digress…. When I was in my teens, my biggest problem was my uncontrolled blood sugars. THAT aspect will perhaps be a topic for tomorrow’s post. But like most teenagers, I was filled with repressed energy, angst and a competitive drive. Typically, this energy is expended through various means, such as playing in team sports. Since I was never a team sports “guy,” I didn’t have this outlet. No, no… instead, I was the karate guy. And when two “karate guys” get together to expend some of that pent-up aggression, no good can come of it. Today’s post is a few short stories of just such occasions.

The 1990’s were a strange time for me. I was growing as a martial artist and as a person. I was a bit of a black sheep among my peers, since I wasn’t into cars or sports. I spoke to the majority of my time in the dojo or on my bike. When I wasn’t doing that, I was indulging in a guilty pleasure that I still enjoy today: action movies. You all know my opinion on the so-called action heroes who use martial arts on the big screen. It looks good, it evokes those happy-happy-joy-joy “I like seeing shit blow up” feelings, but they rarely represent a realistic portrayal of martial arts. But they’re no less fun to watch, despite that fact.

In 1997, I was bouncing between living at home and in an apartment in the neighbouring town for college classes. During a particular weekend at home, my friend (I’ll call him “Guy”) and I went to see Mortal Kombat: Annihilation, which had just recently come to theatres. This was the follow-up sequel to Mortal Kombat, which had come out in theatres a couple of years prior to that. As a fan of the video game (who wasn’t?) I was excited to see the original. The sequel fell short. In case my sarcasm isn’t clear enough, it sucked. It definitely wasn’t up to par with the original, but it still involved a number of fight scenes that left Guy and I loaded with adrenaline on the way home.

Interesting side note about Guy: he’s my Sensei’s son. And he’s been training in Okinawan karate for longer than I have. Can anyone guess where THIS is going? We pulled into Guy’s driveway, where my vehicle was parked. We both stepped out of the vehicle and came around to the rear bumper, where we stood about ten feet apart and looked at each other with a grin. It was almost like one of those traditional Kung fu movies…. There was silence in the air, a light powdering of snow was falling and we squared off against each other with fists clenched and smiles on our faces. In an instant twitch of reflex, we closed the gap and the fight was on! We both threw attacks and blocks simultaneously and fought semi-contact, until we fell to the ground in a match of grappling that would have been suitable for inside the dojo, albeit not for the bare asphalt of the street.

Now, Guy used to live on a pretty secluded side street of our home town. Secluded enough that traffic was rare and one could sit there for hours without seeing another person or vehicle. But Murphy’s Law, right? As we’re rolling around on the ground, laughing and punching each other, we hear the telltale whine of brake pads, right next to our heads. We look up to see the head of a buffalo, staring right at us. A police officer, specifically RCMP, had rolled up next to us and came to a stop. We both jumped to our feet, dusted ourselves off and smiled at the officer. He looked at both of us and asked, “Is there a problem here, guys?” We calmly explained that Guy lived on the house behind us, the red car was mine and we had just come from watching Mortal Kombat. We were both karate students and just blowing off some steam. The officer smiled, shook his head and slowly pulled away while mumbling, “Teenage hormones…”

This would only be the first of many instances that Guy and I would “play” with our martial arts training. There was a time in the early 2000’s, when I traveled to Quebec City with the girl I was dating. She had never met Guy, but he lived in Montreal at the time. When he heard I was coming to Quebec, he convinced me to meet him in a diner off the highway, just prior to crossing the bridge into the city. We collected the girl’s sister, and the four of us had breakfast at this diner, where Guy was able to exude his usual charm as they got to know him. It went reasonably well, with guy and I telling stories about how we met, how we grew up and some of the shenanigans we’d gotten into. One would think that what was coming could be guessed…

As we all walked towards our respective vehicles, Guy was walking slightly ahead of us. As he walked, he let out a small sigh, started removing his watch and putting it into his coat pocket. I knew what was coming, so I took off my watch as well, and handed it as well as my insulin pen, to the girl I was dating and whispered, “Hold this!” Guy removed his coat and tossed it towards the rear fin of his car (he drove a Saturn coupe). All eyes besides mine were drawn to the coat and as soon as it touched the rear of the vehicle, Guy spun around with a roundhouse kick that would have removed my head, had I not known it was coming. The girls screeched and backed away, visibly confused by the sudden and unexpected combat situation that was playing out before them. It only took a moment for them to realize that Guy and I were both laughing as we sparred, despite some of our techniques actually connecting. The people passing on the highway didn’t have the benefit of hearing us laugh, and we drew quite a few stares from passing motorists. No cops, this time.

The next two incidents took place in the early 2000’s as well. Yes, the next two…. Keep reading, these are hilarious! I was renting a house in the City of Moncton and Guy was ironically living there as well while he pursued his college diploma. This meant that we had the opportunity to hang out a fair bit. One evening, we were all hanging out in my backyard, having a few drinks and chatting. Remember reading a previous post where I explained why I never drink to get intoxicated? And the story about how I could have injured someone? With Guy in the picture, times that by a factor of ten. We got called out by some of the people who were there, asking us to demonstrate our karate. Although neither of us were interested in doing so, we reluctantly got up and squared off on the back lawn. We both had a few drinks in us, and I thought I would have a clear advantage. I was wrong.

As soon as the match started, Guy threw a flurry of kicks at me that staggered me easily. After a few moments, I got tired of his damn legs reaching me so easily so, in my drunken haze, did the only thing I could think of: I dove for his knees. It seemed like a good idea, right up until the moment that his fist connected with the back of my skull. The next clear memory is being inside my house, sprawled on my bed. I remember thinking that I hadn’t drank enough to have passed out. Then, I remembered the punch. I got up and walked to the bathroom and was faced with an image I didn’t recognize as my face. My head was pounding, I was covered in dirt and mud and I had a welt on my left cheek accompanied by a dried trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth.

To provide some context, my back yard had a lawn, but it was also a bit muddy. A later recounting of the story by an observer provided that when I dove for Guy’s knees, he swung down towards my head, thinking I would block or dodge. I did NOT block or dodge. The strike basically face-planted me in the mud, which caused the welt and bloody mouth. Since everyone was having a “good” time, they brought me into the house and put me in my bed. Idiots. Lucky I didn’t have a concussion. Of course, it was my fault for agreeing to it in the first place, I guess.

The last instance took place only a short while later, while we both still lived in Moncton. Yes, I promise this is the last one. Guy and I were watching a movie at his apartment. And you guessed it: it was an action movie. When the movie was done, he walked towards the back door of the apartment I would be leaving from. I already anticipated what would be coming, but I had been suffering from a pretty bad cold at the time and was in no mood to fight. I explained this fact to Guy, who responded by removing his watch and bringing his fists up to a fighting position. I sighed and positioned myself accordingly.

Just to set the scene, this was a small apartment that had a walk-in kitchen with countertops lining both sides. At the far end was Guy’s dining table, which Guy was standing in front of. Still with me? Good. I m uttered all my speed and strength, hoping to make this quick. Oh, it was quick all right. Guy not only blocked my punch but spun around behind me and delivered the sole of his foot to the back of my head. The kick, combined with my own forward momentum, sent me rolling right under his kitchen table. He grabbed his watch, strapped it back on and said, “Great movie, thanks for coming over,” and went back to the couch as I groaned, unceremoniously collected myself off the floor and walked out. Brotherly love, am I right?

The interesting part is that we did grow up as brothers. Sensei essentially raised me, with all the time I spent in the dojo when I wasn’t in school. And it’s no secret that siblings will often wrestle or fight when given the chance. It just hits a whole other level when it involves two black belts. Although this post was merely intended as a feel good story to share some memories, something I’ve been doing in spades lately, I think it also illustrates a few important points. We always had fun with our karate. Our skills were sharp, we trained hard. But we also played hard. And we loved it. Some of you are probably thinking, “Your skills don’t SOUND all that sharp,” considering I always seemed to be on the receiving end of a beating when sparring with Guy. hey, what do you expect from the first-born son of a Sensei?

But the next important point is that no matter how hard you train and develop yourself, there’s always the potential for someone else to be more skilled than you. This can be important, especially in the mindset of defending yourself or someone else. It’s important to continue with one’s training and development. This isn’t something that ever stops. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit fun along the way. Food for thought…. I hoped you enjoyed the stories as much as I enjoyed walking down a painful memory lane. ☯️

Something Is Anything More Than Nothing…

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of mine from back home posted a meme-style poster with Dwayne Johnson’s face shadowed behind the words, on his Facebook timeline. It read, “I want to see what happens if I don’t give up.” My friend shared the post with the caption “A legend will be born, if so.” An interesting but truthful perspective and one that more people should acknowledge. There’s a great deal to be said for pushing on when it feels like you should give up.

His post sent my mind back in time, all the way to 1995. I was a year away from graduating from high school, I had my own car and I spent my weekends playing Star Trek RPG in my buddy’s basement. But I was also training at karate, full time. By full time, I mean I would wake in the morning and do a half hour of forms before school. Then it would either be a karate night or not. We had three classes a week, and not just an hour or an hour and a half; I’m talking two hours of blood, sweat and tears wrung out of us by traditional Okinawa karate. Then we’d usually go 30 minutes over time, asking questions and trying techniques. If it wasn’t a karate night, I’d spend an hour training at home, followed by wandering around town on my bike or running on the beach.

It was a different time of my life and all I did was eat, sleep and breathe karate. I loved it, and it was all that was me. And yet, right around that period in 1995, I hit a slump. I just didn’t seem to have the energy and the get-up-and-go that I usually did. I started to find that I was struggling in class, was always tired and didn’t seem to have any motivation. It all came to a head one night, when we were doing drills involving crescent kicks and I just couldn’t get my damn legs to go fast enough to keep up.

I bowed out, left the class and headed to the locker room where I proceeded to sit on the bench and openly weep into my hands. I felt as though the entire reason for my health and well-being, both mental and physical, was coming to an end and I was powerless to stop it. Was I in a slump because of my Diabetes? I had conditioned myself NEVER to use that as an excuse for not accomplishing something. But the consideration was there. Had I simply peaked and had nothing left to give? My heart said no, but my body and mind didn’t seem inclined to agree.

Sensei was used to having me excuse myself during class, as I would occasionally need to wolf down some fast-acting carbs in order to keep going. But I had been gone for much longer than usual, which was enough to have him come check on me. I was still sobbing when he walked in, which in and of itself was embarrassing enough. But when I explained why I was upset and how I felt that maybe it was time to give up and call it a day, he sat next to me and fed me the words that were burned into my memory and that I’ve carried with me, ever since:

SENSEI: “Want to know what happens if you give up?”
ME: “What?”
SENSEI: “Nothing. Nothing happens. And nothing is always worse than anything. So keep going, even when it hurts, even when it’s hard and even when it feels like you aren’t moving forward.”

Even now, almost thirty years after he spoke those words to me, it gives me chills and makes my eyes well up. I turned a corner after that night. My energy and motivation came back and I found myself renewed. Maybe I just needed the encouragement. We all need a little pep talk sometimes.

That brings me to my point. I may not be your Sensei. And I don’t know who may need to hear this. But you matter. And no matter how slow you move, you’re still getting farther ahead than the person who’s standing still. Don’t give up. Don’t EVER give up. Even when things seem hard or impossible, you can always make some headway, as long as you’re willing to fight. And I believe you can.

Anytime I’m reminded of that night, I feel a pang of guilt at how close I came to walking away from such a huge part of my life. And I know others who have. Where would I be today, without my martial training? I would definitely not be the same person. But I can’t help but feel that I would also be potentially worse off, health-wise. Karate has done far more for me than simply teaching me to defend myself.

A huge shout-out to my friend Ricky for this post. Unintended consequences, brother. Even when you don’t mean to, one’s actions can have them and this post is a prime example. And despite the importance of this story, I should provide some levity and tell you how that night played out. It ended with Sensei clapping me on the shoulder (nearly hard enough to dislocate it) followed by the words, “Now get the fuck back upstairs and back to training or you’ll owe me a hundred knuckle push-ups!” And I did. Go back upstairs, not owe him the push-ups…. ☯️

Bloodsport

I saw an interesting post today in a blog I follow… Yeah, that’s right! I also read blogs; I don’t just author one. My point is, the post was about 1988’s “Bloodsport,” starring Jean-Claude van Damme. The movie is about a young boy who is on the cusp of going down the wrong path, when he is taken in by a Japanese immigrant who brought his family to the United States. He teaches him the art of ninjutsu along with his only son. When the son dies, Van Damme’s character takes over as the Japanese master’s protege and learns the martial arts to its full extent.

Years later the boy would grow into a man and join the military, only go AWOL in order to travel to Hong Kong and participate in an alleged tournament of martial artists called the Kumite, which he ends up winning. Of course. The movie is said to have been inspired by the real life events of Frank Dux. There’s a great deal of controversy surrounding Mr. Dux, and he’s been the focus of a lot of attention in recent years, especially in martial arts circles.

Mr. Dux is said to have been born in Toronto, Canada (please don’t hold that against us) and his family moved to the United States when he was very young. This is where Dux was allegedly introduced to the teacher who would teach him ninjutsu. He later went on to serve in the military. There are a lot of claims he made that don’t make sense and that people have been working to discredit. He went on to found his own style of ninjutsu, Dux-Ryu. He made a lot of bold claims about working for the CIA, winning the Kumite and even the existence of his alleged teacher has been disputed.

Despite the controversy surrounding Frank Dux, Bloodsport is still arguably one of the best 80’s martial movies out there and has stood the test of time. It came out when I was 10 years old, right around the time I decided to change the path I was on and join the martial arts. I won’t say this movie was the deciding factor, but considering my age and the fact I LOVED martial arts, it definitely played a role. And who doesn’t love a good story about the good guy winning? This movie definitely carried a number of important life lessons. When you consider the situation the young boy was in and the fact he was given a second chance, which he used to become reasonably successful by serving his country and train in the martial arts… One could do much worse.

There are a few problems with Dux’s story. For those who walk in martial arts circles, we know that ninjutsu isn’t a fighting art as it’s described in the movie. Ninjutsu was mostly developed as a means of espionage and survivalism. They trained with a number of weapons and throwing devices, but there wasn’t so much a structure fighting style associated with it. Arguably, most who have studied and practiced ninjutsu have pointed out that the practitioners didn’t go around advertising what they did or the art they studied. Some have described it as “the art of invisibility.” Not if you go around advertising it, bro!

The next problem is the name of the alleged tournament Dux participated in, the Kumite. Yeah. THAT one… I’ve been studying Okinawan karate for over three decades and I can tell you this: the word “kumite” means “grappling hands” and is a form of pre-arranged sparring that combine techniques learned through katas and structure drills. Considering the “pre-arranged” part, it isn’t something they’d use to describe a super-secret, illegal tournament held in the heart of Hong Kong…

Despite all of that, I still love the movie. Look, you can take the movie in one of two ways. You can accept that most movies are based on fantasy and enjoy the movie with grain of salt. Or you can be bitter about the fact it may be predicated on one man’s lies and boycott it. The choice is up to you. But if you want a solid 80’s action flick with lots of gratuitous fight scenes and some cheesy lessons thrown in, Bloodsport still stands on its own. ☯

In The Absinthe of Good Sense… (A Long Read)

In some respect, I was kind of what some would call a “late bloomer.” I never had a rebellious phase, never got brought home by the police and contrary to the majority of my age group back home, I didn’t spent my teen years partying and drinking alcohol. In fact, I only drank my first beer at the age of 23 when I was training in Okinawa. And during those first few tastes of golden, alcoholic bliss, I was hanging out in a climate that required my body to retain every single drop of fluid I was taking in, which meant I was pretty much drinking beer AND water with impunity. That first little while saw me drinking with little to no after effects (other than raised blood sugars from the occasional high carbohydrate beer) and never a hangover.

Because of that fact, I thought I was somewhat invulnerable to the effects of alcohol. At least where hangovers were concerned. I didn’t learn my lesson until about six months AFTER my return from Okinawa where, on my way to a friend’s party, I couldn’t decide between two brands of beer, and bought a 6-pack of both. And then consumed them all. In one evening. Within about three hours. Ironically, I remember my evening quite clearly and it was a lot of fun. No worries or concerns, really. But the physical pain I was in the following morning taught me the error of my ways and why I should never drink with such impunity again.

I woke up soaked in what I hoped to Light was sweat, and my body sending out warning signals of varying sorts. My blood sugars were through the roof and my bowels and stomach were having an extremely loud argument over who had the right to kick out their unwanted guests first. I decided that my parched and swollen tongue required some water before giving attention to anything else. The water aggravated my stomach further, causing me to rush to the washroom where I managed to sit on the toilet while simultaneously testing my ability to aim by unceremoniously throwing up into the sink next to me.

It was like there was a party in my mouth and everyone was throwing up. I walked away having learned an extremely valuable lesson about alcohol, after that night. Despite being in my early 20’s, it would prove to be only one of two or three times in my life (so far) that I would actually get drunk. Putting aside the story of the staff party where I don’t remember being dropped off at home, the recollection of the third and last instance where I got truly drunk is the topic of today’s post. It involves an unplanned road trip coupled with a legendary and often-feared drink: absinthe.

Because of the first two instances of getting drunk, I had a strict “no getting drunk” policy, which involved never drinking anywhere but the comfort of my own home as well as never drinking enough to go beyond the enjoyment of simple libations and the flavour of whatever I may have been consuming at the moment. That isn’t to say that I don’t have the occasional beer when out at a restaurant or bar with friends. Far from it. But as a personal policy, I never allow myself to drink to excess. I think this is an important self-policy and should be followed by everyone. But my third and last time of getting drunk hammered it home for me. Here’s what happened…

Sometime between my return from Okinawa in 2001 and moving to Ottawa in 2007, I had a friend who lived in Fredericton, New Brunswick. The capital city of New Brunswick, it sits near the south-west corner of the Province and is about four hours away from where I was living at the time. My friend had moved there some years’ prior and had an apartment on the south side of the river. Although some locals may argue this point, the south side is where it’s at. It has the university, the shopping, the coffee shops and the bars. It also has the best comic shops.

Since I had a lull in my career, I found myself between jobs and had recently become single (unrelated) so I decided to pay my friend a visit. I haven’t spoken to him about retelling this, so for the purposes of this story I’ll simply call him “Treats.” If he reads this, he’ll be the only one who knows this involves him. I swear on my right hook that this is how the night went down, but his recollection may be different. I’ll let y’all know if he ends up reading this and reaching out to me. But I left early in the morning and arrived at Treats’ apartment around lunchtime. This worked out well, since we decided to go have brunch at one of my favourite breakfast restaurants called “Cora’s.” Although it’s nothing special beyond the fact they serve fresh fruit with every dish, one of our mutual friends also work there.

Treats had managed to gather a small group of mutual and new acquaintances to join us for breakfast, which included Treats’ brother and made for a pleasant, social outing. That’s right; I can be social. After an uneventful afternoon of coffee shops, comic book stores and good conversation, we discussed what we would be doing for dinner and with our evening. This is where things began to slowly roll downhill. Innocently enough, we decided on a local pub where we could indulge on a dose of unnecessary calories while having a few drinks. Once again, we had a few people with us but everyone kind of melted away as the evening progressed. A combination of university, work and the fact it was a week night made for a quiet party.

We got bored and didn’t want to spend a fortune on every beer we got, so we stopped by a local liquor store and got a case of beer for the apartment. We decided to binge watch some Family Guy. This was before Netflix was the big thing, and Treats actually had all the current seasons on DVD, so we watched and giggled like drunken school girls until we watched a scene involving Peter Griffin and the giant chicken. This prompted a heated discussion about fighting and martial arts, as I had been training in karate and he had apparently been doing kickboxing for quite some time. We already had quite a few drinks and despite being heated, it was nothing but conversational until Treats spoke the words that would change the tonality of the evening: “We should do a shot of absinthe…”

Folks, absinthe gets a reasonably bad rap. There was a this misconception that it had hallucinogenic properties and was mostly banned in North America, as a result. This concept has been mainly disproven in the past twenty years, and you can now buy the stuff at most liquor stores. Its no more dangerous than consuming any other spirit. Treats had brought over bottle from his travels in Europe over the previous couple of years and wanted me to experience the stuff, since I had never tried it. On the flip side, this shit is about 150 proof and is meant to be consumed by sprinkling sugar over ice and combining the absinthe with water. Treats took out two shot glasses and poured straight from the bottle. Asshole.

We were already drunk and bearing in mind that both of us had likely consumed close to a 12-pack each, albeit over the course of several hours, I wasn’t keen on the prospect of downing a shot. My previous experience with spirits hadn’t ended well. But I figured, what the hell was the worst that could happen? We were in the relative safety of Treats’ apartment and weren’t planning on going anywhere. Famous last words…

I take an experimental sniff of the greenish liquid and compared it to a bad combination of surgical-grade antiseptic mixed with antifreeze. I watch Treats throw his head back and down his shot. Suddenly, my self-confidence is shaken since Treats is about half my size and weight and he’s drank as much beer as I had. I do my best not to be a prideful person, but booze makes all the smart thoughts go, “Fuck it, I’m outta here!” So, like a true drunken idiot, I also throw back my shot and down it in one gulp.

It almost felt as though my entire body went into panic mode as every molecule in my esophagus was suddenly screaming at me and asking why I had brought this unwanted guest to the party. My stomach responded in kind, akin to a bouncer trying to tell someone they weren’t on the list and didn’t belong in the club and to get out of there. My stomach threatened to reverse impulse engines and expel right there in Treats’ kitchen. Sharp beads of sweat break out on my forehead and my knees buckle as I get dizzy, wondering what the hell I just did to myself.

Treats is laughing at me, mostly because he’s drunk and he sees me swaying in place but also because half the absinthe bottle was empty. This meant it wasn’t his first rodeo and he intentionally wanted to see what effect it would have on me. This makes me indignant and I consider this a slight against me the likes of which karma needed to correct. Once my momentary weakness passes, I decided it would be a good idea to test my blood sugars. This is a true testament to my muscle memory and control over Diabetes. Most people would have put that shit on the back burner.

When I come out of the guest room, Treats is back on the couch and has continued to watch Family Guy without me. This makes me morose as I sit in silence and begin to watch with him, having missed a portion of the episode. Somehow the conversation returns to our respective fighting styles and becomes more argumentative over the value of certain methods and techniques. I pride myself on being open to others’ interpretation. But as I mentioned earlier, drunk Shawn has a much different perspective. I berate and belittle his perspective. This makes him openly angry. Absinthe has joined the argument!

Treats finally decides he needs to demonstrate the effectiveness of his kickboxing prowess and invites me to spar in his entryway. We’re talking a less than ten-foot by ten-foot space inside an upper floor apartment. I start picturing Jean-Claude Van Damme’s drunken fight scene in Kickboxer and decide that this is a fantastic idea. We move his dining table slightly and square off. I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have looked; two grown-ass men, drunk beyond reason on beer and absinthe, planning to “spar.” I use the quotation marks because of what was to come next…

He starts with a couple of simple jabs. He’s using the typical boxer’s stance that I despise; his guard is firmly against the side of his head as he delivers his jabs. I block the first one. Then I block the second one. I begin to realize that my excessive martial arts training allows me to operate almost on instinct and I stop TRYING to block and simply let the blocks happen. I am in the zone. He delivers a couple more jabs and punches without any success. Although my guard is still up, I start laughing. And that’s when it happened.

Because of my drunken stupor, my laugh involved my eyes squinting shut. This is not a good thing during a fight. His next straight jab catches me right in the face. My eyes were no longer closed, let me tell you! I look at him in shock and surprise and try to deliver a jab of my own. As I do, he suddenly remembers the “kick” aspect of his art and delivers a firm, roundhouse kick to my right ribs; right underneath the arm I was jabbing with. I fold over on the injured side, which opens up the left side of my face. BAM! He delivers a right hook to the left side of my face.

The hook jars something loose as a flood of all the times I had been bullied and beaten up in school came flooding to the surface (Yes, I was bullied in school! One story at a time, people!). I was drunk on more alcohol than I should have consumed and my inner filters and controls melted away by Mr. Absinthe, and I saw red. I threw a quick rounded punch into Treats’ gut. He grunts. I am displeased at his lack of folding over, so I deliver a front kick to his solar plexus. As he doubles over, he guards the left side of his face. Since his fist is firmly against his head, I strike and it’s as though the fist isn’t even there. I bring a knee up into his abdomen and back kick him into his living room, sending his sprawling over the coffee table.

Maybe I should have mentioned that his girlfriend was also there at the time. Did I mention his girlfriend was sleeping there, at the time? She got up and was not impressed. We were both battered and bruised, with fine rivulets of blood at our nose, mouth or both. Everything had happened over the course of about five minutes. She used a rather matronly voice to “suggest” that we quit our bullshitting or she’d get “involved.” This this day, I don’t know what she meant. I didn’t want to know then, and I don’t want to know now. We watched a couple more episodes and the mood lightened significantly. Probably because we had drained out all of our testosterone in those few moments. Who knows?

I awoke the next morning and staggered my way to the washroom. The left side of my face had some mild swelling and it hurt to move my rib cage. I stepped out into the kitchen and found Treats seated at the table. He offered me coffee, which I gladly accepted and then grinned devilishly while making some off-the-cuff comment about how I couldn’t handle my booze. I left it alone. I didn’t know how much he remembered from the previous night, but I have the significant advantage (or disadvantage) of always retaining full memory of what I’d done despite the alcohol.

We decided to have a second round of brunch at Cora’s before I got back on the road to home. I had a reasonably low after-effect and little to no hangover, considering the amount of alcohol AND the strikes to the head. We chatted, we laughed and I got back on the road having thoroughly enjoyed my time with Treats. Good times and good memories. It would prove to be the last time I would ever consume that much alcohol of any type, and one of the last time I ever went beyond “tipsy.” Even though I didn’t have a rambunctious youth, I recognized that my capacity for violence when inebriated was significant. And I didn’t want to ever chance inadvertently bringing harm to someone.

So there you have it! A little insight on lesser moments in my 20’s. I definitely wasn’t proud of how I was that night. Anymore than I was of the other two instances when I allowed myself to drink outside the home. But this is why I make a point never to consume to intoxication. And for the most part, I never drink outside my home. My personal and professional life have taught me that there’s too much room for error. To this day, I enjoy my wine. I also enjoy beer much the same way many folks do: cold and while barbecuing. But sometimes we need to learn about moderation the hard way. Maybe some of you will see my story as a way to learn that lesson. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll need a couple of hits to the head, like I did. ☯