AND WHEN YOU'RE OLDER...

 by Phillip Starr

When I was much younger, I thought I understood how one should train when one gets “older.” I was wrong. But now that I've definitely passed over the “older” line, I understand it much better. Generally speaking, athletes start to see physical declines at age 26, give or take (This would seem in line with the long-standing notion in baseball that players tend to hit their peak anywhere from ages 27 to 30.) For swimmers, the news is more sobering, as the mean peak age is 21. For those of us in martial arts, I'm going to say that the peak age is about 26 or so.

The decline is gradual...speed and strength begin to ebb, although oddly enough, timing can continue to improve! But there's no reason to stop training! But you do have to make some allowances and adjustments as you get older.

First, you have to come to grips with the fact that you'll never be as fast, flexible, or as strong as you were in your younger years. You don't have as much energy as you used to, and injuries don't heal nearly as fast as they once did. You can't endure the hardcore workouts that you once did, nor should you try. You can still train hard but not quite like you did when you were 23 with a full head of dark hair! You have to train SMART!

As we age, flexibility is very important; I believe that one of the things that cause older people to “get old” is lack of flexibility. So maintaining flexibility is critical! But be careful when you practice stretching; torn muscles heal very slowly when you get older. Be gentle with yourself.

Maintaining speed is likewise important but again, be careful that you don't inadvertently injure yourself.

Sure, you can and should continue to push yourself... just push a bit more gently.

UNDER THE SUN...

 by Phillip Starr

I've got a great idea that'll make millions! Take a bread bun and slit it down the middle, put a sausage inside and add some condiments, like mustard or relish, and...voila! You've got a snack you could take anywhere...picnics, ball parks, whatever.

Now, in other arenas, this could pass for comedy but in the martial arts it's a fact of life...even in the East. Every now and then someone with a special aptitude might gain some “new” insights and make minor “improvements” to a fighting art. And I mean MINOR. Now, some valid “discoveries” have been made, particularly in training routines; the old “duck walking” exercise has been shown to be potentially harmful and they have consequently been dropped and although forms of resistance training have always been encouraged, most instructors left the students to find ways of doing them on their own. Nowadays we use improved, standardized methods. But with a very few exceptions, these small changes haven't been central to the core curriculum of a given art.

I'm not suggesting that all of the martial ways are absolutely perfect and must never be altered...just that changes occur only incrementally and only after practitioners have acquired a thorough understanding of the art. It must be borne in mind that the martial ways have evolved over a very long period of time, have been tested, and this should be considered VERY carefully before even suggesting any alterations. A LOT of people nowadays seem to feel that the estabished arts are somehow rather fragmentary or outdated at best. Many others seem to be completely unaware that such knowedge ever existed and it is this group that has provided us with so much amusement and it is to them that I turn my attention in this article.

They remind me of cartoons wherein some poor soul struggles so hard to climb up the side of a rocky mountain only to get to the top and find someone else already sitting there, having walked up a stairway carved into the other side of the mountain! I recall a well-known martial artist who “discovered” that by paying close attention to proper timing, it is altogether possible to lauch a counter (a kick, punch, or whatever) just as your opponent was initiating his own attack. There was no need to block anything and you'd catch the enemy at the moment when he is most vulnerable. This fellow even gave his new discovery a name...I believe it was something like “stop-time hitting.” These people are always very keen to give cute names to their “discoveries.”

It's true that his discovery really is a superb tactic and we would owe this guy a huge debt of gratitude but for one one thing....this tactic has been known and practiced for many generations. In Japanese, it is known as “sen” and it's been around for a very long time. Another guy “discovered” that it was possible to redirect an attack and deiver an effective counter strike with the same hand! I think this was called something like “redactive synchronicity theory” - I told you that they really like cute names – but it, too, has been around for a long, long time. Even basic forms (which would likely be disdained by this farsighted genius as non-functional) contain numerous examples.

These “new innovations” go on and on. Every shodan-level aikido student knows that a joint can be manipulated at more than one angle at the same time (making the lock more effective), and that the smaller the joint, the more immediate the response. But don't tell that to the various “experts” who think they've “discovered” this idea and conduct seminars to present their newly-minted ideas. The saying, “There is nothing new under the sun” is very apt here. So many people work really hard at reinventing the wheel...many of them are rather lazy, arrogant, or insensitive. They're like a person who's determined to invent his own language. Why go to such lengths when such knowledge is already available?

Of course, they're not always readily available; to learn such upper-level concepts and acquire skill in them requires submitting oneself to the rigors and discipline of a traditional school. One must be patient, perceptive, and persevering. But this often isn't to the liking of the type of individuals we're discussing here. They go off on their own, looking for shortcuts...and end up working harder than they would have if they'd stayed in the school.

TRY NOT!

 By Phillip Starr

Many years ago, I was giving my basic presentation of qigong for my class while an old friend (who was a psychology professor that I'd met while I was still in college many years before) looked on. He was visiting for the weekend and was a practitioner not only of Shorinji Kempo, but Taijiquan as well. I had given this presentation dozens of times and the whole thing was burned into my memory. One of the first things that I introduce is known as the “unbendable arm” in aikido circles and I explained how it is to be done before I finally told the students to “get a partner and do it.”

My friend, Dave, asked if he could address the students before they began practice. Of course, I agreed. He spoke to them, repeating many of the principles that I had previously mentioned. I was a little confused. Then he instructed them, “Okay, get a partner and try it.”

And they all FAILED!

None of them could perform the basic unbendable arm exercise! I'd taught this many, many times, even to non-martial arts groups, and they always succeeded! What was wrong? I explained to Dave that this had never before happened. He chuckled and told me that he was responsible; he wanted to teach them a lesson, He called the students over to him and explained what he'd done.

“When your instructor finished explaining the principles, he just told you to “do it”, he said as he smiled and looked at me. “But I changed that”, he continued. “I told you to 'try'. And when you 'try' to do something, that implies the possibility of failure. The human brain will always take the route of least resistance; the easiest way. So you failed.” Then I told them to get back on the floor and “do it.” And they all immediately succeeded!

I think I learned more from that lesson that anyone else that day. When I told them to “just do it”, they did it with no problem. The problem occurred when the word “try” was used. It's a word that I determined should rarely, if ever, be used...especially in so far as martial arts are concerned. Years later, I'd hear Yoda (of “Star Wars” fame) utter his famous word, “Try not! DO or DO NOT. There is no 'try'.” Whoever wrote that script understood this principle.

Since that day, I've not used that word in connection with anything I really wanted to do, nor do I allow students to use it.

THE STUDENT

 by Phillip Starr

The student. You. A student, in Chinese, is xuesheng. It is generally used to describe persons who are enrolled in some formal education institution, from kindergarten to graduate school. In traditional martial arts, the student was once called shixinren (始心人), which means roughly “beginning mind person.” The word implies that one is part of a family or at least seeks to join. The wise student remains a shixinren all during his training; his mind is always ready to accept that he hasn't seen it all, no matter how much experience and talent he may acquire, and he's always ready to learn.

The image it presents is that of a person standing before the “door” to the training hall for the first time. It will be entirely up to him just how far past the door or gate he travels. Looking at him, there's no way to tell. Oftentimes, the one who is ambitious and/or very physically fit gets bored quickly (especially after the endless repetitions of the same thing) or just realizes that this stuff isn't for him...and he leaves. Conversely, it often happens that the one who just peeks in and is rather tentative is still there decades later, totally immersed in the art. But all of them will eventually have reason to pause, just as you and I have done, to consider just how we happened to be here.

New students often find the path before them to be quite steep and narrow at times. There's no room for lugging around extra “baggage”; it will only weigh you down and may well cause you to give up. Those who aspire to become martial arts “heroes” like those depicted in Hollywood will be sorely disappointed. They likely won't get very far past the gate. I think every new student is initially confused and even intimidated by the behavior of his seniors and they should assist him in understanding how and why things are done as they are. After all, these are martial Ways of a wholly different culture than his own.

Perhaps one of the most difficult lessons to be learned is that there isn't going to be a “graduation” from the Way; it's a lifelong journey for those who have the enthusiasm and stamina to continue. For many, perhaps most, Western students, this notion of doing pretty much the same thing week after week, year after year, is just too odd – too foreign - and, too nonsensical. As you continue along the path, you'll think of it like climbing a tall mountain; many of your companions will lack the strength or capacity to live at the higher altitudes that you must reach. Others find that they are perfectly happy where they are and don't want to climb further. Bidding them farewell, if you plan to go further, is a hard thing to do and may cause you to question your own journey.

There will be others like you, others who are still climbing. If you ask them why they're still climbing, most will have a difficult time giving you a simple answer. What is it that keeps them coming to the training hall? Why have they stayed when so many others have quit? The sacrifices we make, the challenges and demands of the martial arts eventually cease to be of much concern. We follow the Ways because they have become “our Way.” We can't imagine NOT following the paths along which they have led us. We have not mastered the art; what we have done is gone through the gate. We have become students.

A SQUIRRELY APPROACH TO MARTIAL ARTS

 by Phillip Starr

Xunzi (aka. Hsun-tzu) was a Chinese Confucian philosopher who lived during the Warring States period and contributed to the Hundred Schools of Thought. A book known as the Xunzi is traditionally attributed to him. Known for his unique writing style, he typically compares humans to squirrels. “The squirrel can do five things”, he wrote. “it can climb a tree, swim, dig a hole, jump, and run. All these are within its capabilities, yet it does none well.” Actually, I'd argue that they do climb trees quite skillfully, but it’s true they they're not particularly skilled at much else.

It sounds as if the sage was giving advice to those who set out to follow the Martial Way or other related ways such as tea ceremony, calligraphy, and so on. We can compare what he said to the writing of C.W. Nicole's cult classic book, “Moving Zen”; Karate As A Way To Gentleness” (which I highly recommend) where he talks about his frustration when he initially took up the study of karate. He was already deeply engaged in practicing judo and soon found himself constantly exhausted and having trouble recovering from minor injuries. He was told that “A hunter who chases two rabbits will come home empty-handed.”

Now, some instructors like to use Nicole's words when their students inquire about adding to their understanding by taking up the study of another art. I think sometimes they're being sincere, but at other times they're worried about losing students who find that they prefer the training offered in another style. So, is it true that if we extend our training efforts in different directions, we'll miss our target? Will we become like the squirrel...fairly skilled in a number of endeavors but master of none?

One answer to his question might be found in the writings of Kanze Zeami, a 16^th century master of the ancient Noh theater of Japan, its first great figure, and the founder of a school of Noh drama that continues even today with one of his descendants serving as its headmaster. Except for extremely rare occasions, if you want to see Noh, you must go to Japan. Be glad that learning Noh didn't appeal to you; otherwise, you'd have to pack your bag and head across the pond!

Many Japanese martial artists were big fans on Noh, looking into its methods of movement, timing, and spacing – all things that were vital to their own practice. Zeami notes that aspiring Noh actors often faced the same dilemma; they'd strive to improve one aspect of their skill and end up being just mediocre in all of them. Zeami wrote, “As the result of persistent training, untutored style will develop into greater artistry, constantly improving until, before he knows it, the performer has reached a level of versatility and exactness. If his training is comprehensive and he expands his art in versatility and magnitude until he attains full competence, he will find himself at the level of the flower of truth.”

At first the many facets of Noh performance will seem dissimilar to the novice. The chanting and difficult movements don't seem to be interconnected, at least not in his mind. It's the same with the breakfalls of judo, the body shifting of aikido or kendo, and so on, They all seem like unrelated concepts. Zeami suggests that “persistant training” must be focused on the fundamentals, which will bring the student to a high level of competence. But it's not over.

Nicole noted that after acquiring “versatility and exactness” in his karate, he went on to take up iaido and later, jodo (using the 4 ft. stick against a sword). He was following Zeami's advice, expanding his skill “in versatility and magnitude.” Using lessons from one Way assist in acquiring an understanding of aspects of another. One noted author discovered that learning the etiquette of the tea ceremony taught him a trick for moving rapidly in the practice of aikido's “seated techniques.” A senior karateka found that the way of placing his hands on the floor during that tea ceremony made clear the position in which he had to keep his hands when he had to come off the ground in an advanced karate kata. And it was from a practitioner of Japanese dance that he learned to improve the stepping and turning motions used in another form.

Look to increase the depth and breadth of your martial skills by increasing the depth and breadth of your exploration into the culture and thinking of the land from which your art comes. You'll find that all of the art are interconnected and that all of them can be instrumental for attaining the “flower of truth.”

THE REAL TEST

 by Phillip Starr

The Japanese word for “tournament” is “shiai.” It is comprised of two radicals, the first of which is “shi” (试). In Chinese it is also “shi”, which is pronounced very differently in Pinyin. It means “test.” The second radical, “ai” in Japanese and “he” in Chinese (合) means, roughly, “join, together.” So, the original forms of shiai were placed wherein participants could test themselves. With the passage of time this has changed, even in Japan. This concept never really caught on in the West where the sole objective of such an event is to WIN. There's a considerable difference.

In the misty past when I used to compete, I tended to regard these contests as learning experiences and I must say that I learned a lot from them. Mostly about myself. Sure, I chased trophies for awhile but I quickly matured beyond that. And I would test myself, finding out where my weaknesses were and where I needed improvement.

I never had time for the type of behavior that we see all too often nowadays, with the winner of an event jumping up and down, raising his arms and fists in the air. And I met some rather curious individuals along the way during those years... For instance, there were those who regarded themselves as just “too dangerous” for competition. Being the impish type, I'd sometimes taunt them with remarks like, “Well, let's see how dangerous you really are! C'mon, join the fun!” Of course, they never did.

I recall a young martial arts practitioner who was the golden child of the martial arts media and even Hollywood. In an interview with one of the magazines of the day, he was asked why he never entered competitions. His response? “I'm just too dangerous.” And you know what I think of people who respond with such statements...

Then were the alleged “national champions” I met who were from foreign eastern nations. I noted one such individual who was attired in a 3-piece suit that cost more than I made in six months, and platform heels. He was strutting about, watching the action and making sure that his hair was just so. I told you I was rather impish...so I sauntered up to him and asked if he was planning to compete. He acted as if I'd just slapped him in the face as he shot back his reply, “No! I'm a XXXXX (name of nation) national champion!” I smiled and said, “Well, this isn't XXXX. This is America; the most competitive country on earth. If you can be a champion here, you can be a champion anywhere! So how about giving it a shot?” He snorted loudly as if I'd just sneezed on him and strutted off.

Many practitioners had egos so huge that they dared no test themselves, lest the result be considerably less than what they expected. Unfortunately, most tournaments nowadays have become little more than semi-gymnastic displays of baton-twirling, flip kicks, and taps on the head. I hope that someday we can bring them back to their original intended purpose... to test ourselves.

NOW WHAT?

 By Phillip Starr

“What got you started in the martial arts?” Every martial arts practitioner is eventually asked this question although the arts have been around in this country for more than half a century. Even many universities have karate, judo, aikido, taekwondo, and even kendo clubs on campus and youngsters enrolling in classes is no more unusual than signing up for Little League. Even so, it's a bit unusual and people are sometimes curious about what drew you to such arcane, foreign arts.

One of the main reasons, no matter how we try to explain it away, is fear. We're afraid of threats we've received, of handling stressful situations, of violence itself, of our inadequacies, of “aging.” Once we enter class, we are confronted by our fears directly. If I'd been previously worried about getting thrashed, I'm now in a place where any number of people really CAN do that. Sitting at home on my couch, I may have been able to convince myself that I'm about as tough as the next guy but by now, I know better. And a good teacher recognizes the element of fear as a motivation for beginners.

Sadly, there are some – too many – who never let themselves reach that stage. Such people are rarely happy people. Or mature. Children worry about their self-image and their ability to compete. Most of them grow out of this. Some don't and frankly, there's something a bit sad about a middle-aged man who gets up every morning, looks in the mirror, and wonders if he's still the toughest kid on the block.

NOT LOOKING, JUST SEEING

 by Phillip Starr

Ancient warriors who survived numerous conflicts wrote that “the eyes must take in everything and nothing.” Many left instructions as to where one's gaze should be directed; some are rather practical while others seem rather mysterious or obscure. But these are concerned with the fixing of the gaze in combat as it relates to martial strategy. What about what is known as “kan kan shiqing”...the ways that we look at things in daily life?

In daily life, training, working, and relating to others as we pass through this world, we strive to adopt the proper way of looking at things. “To look into things” has a special significance to artisans of all kinds (not just martial arts practitioners). When a potter examines a ceramic bowl, he looks at the glaze on it and the outer form of the bowl, as would anyone else...but as an artist, he looks deeper. He sees into the essence of the bowl. One famous ancient potter said that when he held a bowl he could “see its inner formation and see, too, the character and shape of the individual who made it.” He was talking about “seeing INTO” rather than simply “looking at.”

Traditionally, students of an art or Way rarely look directly AT the lesson being taught to them. Trainees may lower their gaze slightly or focus their vision at a place just past where the action is. Some schools encourage students to watch what's going on from “sanpaku” (meaning “one-third white”), which refers to positioning one's head so that it is very slightly tilted down such that the bottom third of the eyeball – the white beneath the iris – is showing,

It sounds pretty silly and impractical; after all, if we want to learn a technique, we have to watch how it's done. But remember, we're talking about seeing into rather than looking at. Next time you're recovering from an injury or illness and unable to jump into class, go anyway and watch how others learn. You'll learn quite a lot when you see how they respond to new material when it is presented to them. Most of them are looking AT but they don't see IN.

For instance, in learning how to do a particular kick, they look AT it and see the foot shoot out where it would strike the intended target but they often miss key points; when the instructor shifts his weight, exactly where was his kicking knee directed, how did his hip(s) move...and so on. So they set about clumsily trying to imitate it. Much later, they will see into it and focus on specific points and then put it all together, They will see more than just a foot kicking out or just disparate parts of a kick; they'll appreciate it as a complete technique.

Focusing directly on an object tends to localize our perception, reinforcing previously formed judgements. One reason why beginners kick so awkwardly is that their only other likely exposure to kicking is in kicking something like a ball. They fail to grasp all that's involved in the performance of a proper front kick. It's similar to the fellow who looks at a tea bowl and concludes, “Huh...damned poor beer mug.” He's not seeing the tea bowl. He sees only a drinking implement that fails to measure up his narrow standards.

Seeing INTO goes far beyond observing simple objects or movements. A spouse snaps at her husband, who beats a hasty retreat to avoid the unpleasantness without pausing to try to see into the reason for her anger. A young man listens to his grandfather's stories, never stopping to consider that such stories are a great source of wisdom for him. A gong-fu student attends class week after week, month after month, never stopping to consider that his art is anything more than a sophisticated form of hand-to-hand fighting. The world is full of people who are perfectly happy looking only at the surface of things. But the aspiring martial arts practitioner must keep his eyes open to the path – the Way – set before him. Every. Day. Not just a glance now and then, but a long, deep look INTO things.