CUTTING CORNERS

 by Yang Xuangxing

We've all done it at one time or another; tried to “cut corners”: when it came to learning or practicing a particular form or technique...right? Sure we have, and that's normal. It's just human nature.

However, we discovered – some more quickly than others – that cutting corners isn't an efficient way to truly learn or acquire real skill. It often results in injuries. Then we had to drag ourselves back to the old tried and true method of practice – endless repetitions with mental focus.

There's an old Latin phrase that tells us, “Repetitio mater studiorum est .” It means, “repetition is the mother of all learning” and it's absolutely true. But there's much more to it than just going through the motions, lobbing out one empty technique after another. I call them “empty” because they're devoid of any real spirit and intention, and hence...real strength. Thus, the mind and intention must be focused on each and every repetition.

This is why it's generally pointless to practice a large number of the same techniques over and over. Your mind gets bored, you lose mental focus and/or your legs (or other body parts) begin to ache and your attention (yi) is drawn to that part of your body. In short, although your body is doing the same outer movement(s) repeatedly, your mind isn't fixed on what you're doing.

Physical repetition must be enjoined with mental concentration if you expect to derive any real benefit from your practice. And the corners you thought about cutting? Forget it.

CLUELESS

 by Phillip Starr

A good friend of mine, Mr. Chris Smaby (hachidan, JKA and student of Hidetaka Nishiyama and Keinosuke Enoeda) once told me with a chuckle that “There are those who don't have a clue (as to what authentic martial arts are), and then there are those who don't even suspect.” And I must say, I've certainly see my share of both.

The clueless ones like to think that they know what they're doing; those who don't even suspect generally believe that they're doing is right and they refuse to pay attention to what else is out there. They KNOW they're right. They've learned and/or mastered all they need. They won't look any further.

These “maladies” often result from someone reading about a particular art or technique, watching a video about it, or attending a seminar(s) about it; none of these necessarily involve any firsthand, “hands-on” training. These methods of learning can be useful in learning various aspects of, or polishing an art in which one has already been taught. But learning an art from scratch? Nah...

Before the internet, such incomplete instruction was largely limited to those who attempted to learn from books and videos. But with the advent of the worldwide web, videos became much easier to come by and the problem snowballed. Now we have a whole generation of people who, starting off as rank novices, are convinced that they have acquired considerable skill in an art that they learned online or from books or seminars.

I have met people who became certified instructors in an art that they learned entirely through participation in seminars! They missed out on the rigorous daily training that actual students of the art must endure. And of course, they lightened their wallets rather considerably to obtain their certification, which only made them more determined to believe that their skill was authentic. Tragic and foolish. Books, seminars, and videos are useful as introductory or reference material but a complete martial art simply cannot be learned from them. To learn the real art requires frequent, regular attendance in a class taught by a genuine instructor.

The real tragedy is that many of these folks become instructors who will produce another generation of clueless, unsuspecting followers.

CATCHING THE MOMENT

 by Phillip Starr

Knowing and “feeling” when the opponent is about to attack. Those who are able to do this are certainly very formidable opponents for obvious reasons. This skill is usually regarded as some sort of mystical skill that may be acquired through the practice of special meditative routines.

Not true.

You can meditate all the livelong day but it will be of no real use to you in developing this special skill. And it is developed through regular, repetitive practice of one of the most basic training exercises...three-step fight! Exactly how this is to be done is shown and discussed in my book, MARTIAL MANEUVERS. There's more to be learned from three-step fight than meets the eye.

We know the brain sends out electrical signals, like a radio. A simple EEG proves this. And a radio can, with a bit of work, be turned into a receiver. The biggest problem is getting your mind to be quiet so that you can “hear” the receiver.

When someone attacks you, it occurs in stages:

1. First he has the intention to attack in some fashion.

2. Second, he determines just how he will do it and with what (punch, kick, grab, or whatever).

3. His brain then signals the muscles (via the nerves) that will be involved in making the attack.

4. The attack ensues as planned.

Now, the brain sends out signals at each of these stages. Thoughts (on your end) act like static in the receiver and you can't really pick up the opponent's signals. So, over-analyzing the process only gums up the works.

It is crucial to your practice that your partner actually has the intention of striking and harming you. This is usually the biggest stumbling block in training. You must feel his yi (intention). If he really has the intention of hurting you, his yi will be strong and you can detect it; if he's just lobbing his punch out there, there's no danger, no yi, and nothing to detect. There's no real attack. Yi is a vital key to acquiring this skill!

Once developed, you can feel when the opponent's brain gives his body the command to commence the attack. You then strike first! The opponent is momentarily helpless; to defend himself his brain would have to cancel the previous signals, determine what you're doing, where your strike will land, when it will land...and all this takes much too long. He's in an “attack mode” and cannot easily reverse himself and go into a “defense mode.” He's helpless and unable to defend himself.

The progressive training routine for developing this unique skill is tedious and can become rather boring. But you must stay the course and NOT jump ahead; each stage must be mastered before moving on to the next. I recommend getting a copy of MARTIAL MANEUVERS and learning how this is done. Take your time. Find an agreeable partner and begin. Your practice must be regular, not haphazard. You and your partner will find that building up a strong intention to harm each other (when performing as the attacker) is both mentally and physically tiring. But you must do it! Real skill isn't developed quickly...

RUMINATION

 by Phillip Starr

In his last days, the revered father of Japanese karate, Funakoshi Gichin, was largely bedridden. One of his youngest students, Tsutomu Ohshima, helped care for him. Ohshima would carry his teacher on his back down the stairs and into the dojo when he was scheduled to do a demonstration. When Funakoshi's feet touched the dojo, it was as if he was suddenly 20 years younger and he would perform magnificently...but afterwards he was exhausted and Ohshima would carry him back upstairs to his bed.

One morning, Ohshima arrived to find his sensei sitting up on the edge of his bed and practicing the basic seiken-tsuki (forefist thrust). Funakoshi looked over at his student and said, “I think I've finally got it!” This humble man had never spoken of his great skill before. Ohshima wept. Funakoshi passed away a few days later.

Kofujita Kangejuzaemon Toshinao was a master swordsman of feudal Japan who devoted his entire life to mastery of his art. Although he began in the style of the Chujo ryu, he was later accepted into the dojo of Itto Ittosai Kagehisa, who founded the famed Itto (“One Sword”) style of swordsmanship. The primary tactic of this school required a fine sense of timing and total confidence in one's ability to execute a single blow at precisely the right moment. Kofujita took to this concept with great enthusiasm.

He became a recognized master and authority of the art and was titled a “shihan” (“a model for all others”). One day as he was in his garden practicing, an old classmate visited him. His friend stood inside the house and quietly watched so as not to disturb the master. He saw that Kofujita was practicing a basic exercise of using his hips to precede the action of cutting. This was the very first thing that Itto-ryu novices were taught. The aging classmate could see that his old friend was wholly focused on the technique.

After a short time, Kofujita saw his friend and realized the classmate had tears in his eyes. “it is the first thing our master taught us”, Kofujita said. “I don't think it's quite good enough yet, do you?”

Kofujita's introspection and incessant struggle to examine his own progress, reflect on it, and strive for improvement (no matter how long he'd practiced it) is characteristic of a master. In Japanese, this attitude is called “ryomi”...intense, ongoing, self-evaluation.

In contemporary martial arts, the title of “traditionalist” is given to those who practice the ways of the past. You won't find them wearing glitzy uniforms or strutting around at tournaments with their chests puffed out. They're on a journey of self-discovery – which would be frustrated by following current fads. They believe in what they do and can be quite obstinate. Many regard them as people who see themselves as faultless paragons, paladins of Way of the warrior. Traditionalists rarely challenge this view while they engage in self-citicism only in secrecy and amongst their own kind. It's a fault for which they must be forgiven.

Self-criticism is not pleasant or easy to do. The main reason is that the arts that they follow far exceed the more modern “eclectic” forms. A second reason is that the criticisms of their art are often offered by those who are quite ignorant; one self-appointed critic may ask “what has all this practice of forms got to do with real fighting?” Such ones might just as well ask an auto mechanic what possible value a drive shaft could have in making a car go...

The overall problem faced by traditionalists is that although their world is filled with excellence, it is usually too small and often extends only to the walls of his dojo. This can foster rather narrow views. But there's nothing at all wrong with spending time in the schools of other accomplished martial artists, asking questions, and getting to know other traditionalists. This is actually following a very old and valuable custom of the martial arts.

Some traditionalists come to see themselves as purists, fine examples of their arts, and faultless. They are wrong. And if a master like Kofujita and Gishin could submit themselves to the self-criticism of ryomi, then today's practitioners could survive and even benefit from a little of the same.

PROPER DISTANCE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

 By Phillip Starr

Over the years that I've assisted as an official in tournaments and taught dozens of seminars, I've noticed a crucial element of martial arts application that is often missing from the training of a great many participants...that of Distance. It is crucial; one of the “Three Elements of Combat” (Distance, Timing, and Rhythm) and without mastery of it, effective application of technique is nigh to impossible...especially in a real confrontation.

Ask most martial artists for a definition of Distance, and you'll hear them parrot something about Kicking Distance (long range), Punching Distance (medium range), and something about short range (wherein elbows, knees, and grappling techniques are to be utilized). This is, for all intents and purposes, a child's definition. The more advanced definition is simpler but more “plastic”, and much more profound. Put simply, it is the distance from which one may deliver an effective blow in a single step... that is, a lunging punch).

The Japanese martial arts are very, very sensitive to this concept. Their culture developed around the sword and maintaining a fine awareness of how far a swordsman could step and deliver an effective cut could be critical to survival.

Most Western martial artists begin at a distance that is much too short. This is due to lack of proper training. Rigorous, regular practice of basic 3-step fight for the first several months of training is absolutely necessary in developing a fine sensitivity to proper distance. Oftentimes, practitioners find themselves much too close at the 2^nd or 3^rd punch. The Receiver must learn the adjust his distance with each punch. If he fails to do this, the Attacker will be too close by the time he executes the 2^nd or 3^rd attack.

I recall one seminar I taught where students all wore the foam-padded mittens for basic two-person exercises. And...they'd never done 3-step. A good number of them wore black belts but try as I might, I was unable to get them to even BEGIN at a proper distance! They started off much too close (close enough that the Attacker could easily punch the Receiver without having to advance a single step) and...that's how they sparred as well! A competent fighter would have easily eaten them for so many snacks! They simply had no concept of distance. At. All.

Distance is divided into 3 categories; First Distance is YOUR Distance. That is, how far can you drive out in a single lunging step and deliver an effective blow? This isn't measured in feet and inches. It's a “feeling” and you instantly know when an opponent has stepped into your effective striking distance.

Second Distance is the OPPONENT'S Distance; you must, through experience (and the earliest stage of experience in acquired through the practice of 3-Step Fighting) know exactly how far your opponent can drive out and deliver a powerful blow. Again, this is a feeling rather than a precise measurement.

The Third Distance is MUTUAL; it is the distance that is between you and your opponent and as the two of you maneuver for position, it changes. It isn't fixed at all. It's plastic and constantly changing...and you must be hypersensitive to it.

Training to increase your Distance (how far you can drive out and deliver a strong blow) can give you a tremendous advantage in both sparring and real self-defense. How this is to be done and how it's used are presented in my book, MARTIAL MANEUVERS.

PRACTICE, COMPETITION, AND COMBAT

 by Phillip Starr

Nowadays, it seems that many martial arts devotees equate practice (with a partner) and/or success in the competition ring with combat skill. I've often heard remarks like, “He's a really strong fighter! He's won two grand championships. Nobody messes with him!”, and variations thereof. But the brutal truth is a very different story.

In class, we must strive to practice “controlled violence” that is neither excessive nor insufficient. This is done for obvious reasons. The same is true for competition, although to a lesser extent. Blows may be thrown with great power, but careful control must be exercised to avoid striking and injuring one's partner. It happens from time to time, but such is the nature of the beast.

Hollywood's celluloid martial arts heroes have given many people (including a great many martial arts practitioners) a totally false impression of just how martial arts are used in actual self-defense. For starters, there's usually very little distance between you and your opponent and there's very rarely time or space to adopt some kind of “fighting stance.” The attack, more often than not, is unexpected.

There are no rounds, no referees, and no rules. It's quick and brutal with no quarter given. The odds are that you'll get fairly scuffed up even if you “win.” You can smell the enemy's breath and sweat, and feel his rage. It's usually over very quickly. But you mustn't dwell on having emerged victorious; he may have friends waiting in the wings. You must remain alert and sensitive to your surroundings (“zanshin”). Fear grips your gut as you realize that this isn't practice (where your partner makes an effort not to injure you) but your determination must wash over your fear and blot it out until the fight has ended.

The whole affair is usually over very quickly...within a few seconds. Long, drawn-out fights such as we enjoy on the silver screen don't exist (for all intents and purposes) in real life.

NOT EMPTY NOR HOLLOW

 by Phillip Starr

Practitioners of karate, taekwondo, and most styles of gong-fu are told that they must strongly visualize their opponents as they practice their forms. However, devotees of taijiquan, baguazhang, and even xingyiquan are rarely, if ever, given such instructions. They focus on doing the postures and footwork methods correctly but scant attention, if any at all, is paid to applying the postures.

To perform these sets properly, there are several things that must be considered. The first is visualization of the opponent(s) and extension of the yi (intention). Remember that extending yi automatically extends qi. Without yi, the form is about as worthless for actual self-defense as jumping jacks.

For many practitioners, they must get over the idea and practice of moving with all the power and spirit of a damp rag. The body should be energized (a technique I call “engaged”, which is discussed in my book, DEVELOPING JIN) and blows must land with force! To do this does not require muscular tension but it does require proper structure.

Moving with speed is critical (no one ever won a fight by moving in slow motion) and the proper rhythm is also vital to mastering the form. Where and when is power applied (fajin)? And you must learn to emit the power very quickly. Without an understanding of how this is done makes your form no different than the forms of shaolinquan or even karate. This is not to say that shaolinquan and karate aren't effective; they definitely are, but their methods of issuing power are considerably different than those used in the neijia (internal martial arts).

The set should follow a particular rhythm. When you engage a flesh-and-blood assailant, combat does NOT adhere to a nice, even, 4-beat rhythm. Your instructor should be able to show you the proper rhythms of the form.

You must never be completely “empty” or “hollow” as you move through the form. You must be “engaged” at all times (that is, the connective tissues are “inflated” with energy; qi). You never hold your breath and inhalations must occur at just the right moments. To do all of these things and remain relaxed (which is a relative term which means, roughly, “not stiff like a wooden soldier”) requires a huge amount of practice over and over. Trust me, you won't get it right – or even close to it – for some time. You need lots and lots of repetition and focus.