A Uniform for the Low Ranking Spearman

As readers stumble upon this blog or the school website, we get all sorts of feedback: some we receive directly and some we find as chatter on message boards, some is thoughtful, some is nasty.

On several occasions now, people have asked and speculated about a photo of myself on our website where I am wearing a green kimono and a tare.

Normally I hate pictures of myself. Maybe one out of five hundred pictures taken of me won't get torn up, or--in this day of digital--erased. With such a small selection of photos of me to choose from, I picked this one. One day I’m sure it will be replaced when I find one I like better.

This photo happened to be taken on a day when I was teaching my students how to use the yari (spear). This outfit of a kimono, no hakama (pleated trousers), and a tare--basically a padded apron--from a set of kendo armor, might seem unusual to most practitioners of the Japanese martial arts.

Yet, this was the normal "uniform" that I wore when I trained in Sojutsu (spear arts) with my teacher (minus the t-shirt seen underneath, which my teacher would never have allowed, but I now wear to protect the kimono from my sweat--it’s very hard to find a kimono that fits me).

It might surprise some of you young guys, but finding a hakama in the 70’s and 80’s wasn’t that easy. However, kimonos were easy to find, and a vintage kimono was a lot cheaper than a hakama. As a result, we wore kimonos most of the time, especially at the beach where we didn’t want to get our hakamas (those that we could find) dirty or damaged due to the sand and water.

As for the tare, well that’s simple: it protects the hips, upper thighs, and groin. Since sojutsu training includes a great deal of thrusting practice from the hip, it is not unusual to get hit in these spots when doing two man drills/forms, especially if one’s timing is just a little off, or a deflection doesn’t go were it is suppose to

While the tare doesn’t offer great protection, it’s better than nothing at all. It’s also easier to find and far more affordable that buying a do-maru, which would be the most appropriate equipment to practice in. A do-maru is a type of Japanese medieval armor that first appeared in Japan during the 11th century; it was commonly worn by lower ranking foot soldiers.

I think a lot of the confusion related to my picture would have been eliminated if I had also been wearing the do (chest guard) that normally goes with the tare. However, when I was training with my teacher, finding Kendo armor was even harder than finding a hakama. When one could come across them, they were very expensive--especially for a teenager with limited funds. Lets face it, they’re even expensive today.

Since lack of funds was always an issue, my teacher and I rarely could afford to buy martial arts equipment. We had to improvise. This meant we rarely, if ever, owned a do to wear, and we never had a men (helmet). We didn’t even have kote (gloves)--which, by the way, are terrible for spear practice (at least the ones designed for Kendo are.)

Do	Men	Kote

The fact of the matter is, that when I was training with my teacher, we normally made our own tare. We made them out of stiff cardboard and foam that was covered in assorted scrap fabrics. They didn’t look pretty, but they were functional, and if they ripped we didn't care. In addition, the “plates” were a lot longer then most tare, and covered both the front and back of the person wearing it.

In many instances, our tare were more comparable to kusazuri, though some versions were clearly related to haidate.

Now please forgive my ignorance when it comes to Japanese armor, but I believe the difference between a kusazuri and haidate are that the kusazuri version is a skirt of plates attached to a leather belt which is laced to the bottom of the do, while the haidate version are a series of plates intended to specifically protect the thighs.

Another difference is that haidate do not protect the rear side of the person wearing them, and from what I’ve read were often not worn by samurai because they were uncomfortable, had limited mobility, and slowed them down.

Kusazuri with do


Haidate

As for the do, we did try to make them, but cardboard doesn’t work well, and really gives a false sense of security. After much trial and error, my teacher came to the conclusion that it was a waste of time. He felt that it was more important to really learn to deflect or evade attacks to the body, than rely on such protection. And yes, it hurts a lot when a thrust strike hits your body.

Of course, we tried other things. One substitute we tried was using chest guards designed for baseball catchers. But they presented other problems. For example, when they got wet they became very heavy and uncomfortable. They would also smell and rot due to the moisture. Basically, they were just not a good solution.

We also made our own sune-ate (shin guards), which were either worn over are bare legs, or covered the bottom of our hakamas when we elected to wear them. The beaches in San Francisco where we trained can get extremely cold and a hakama helps keep you warm or at least reduce the wind-chill factor--at least a little.

As I said already, I’m no armor expert; but from all the pictures and illustrations I’ve seen of Ashigaru (conscripted foot soldiers) they are normally depicted wearing little more than a do with kusazuri, and some type of simple helmet such as a jingasa (war hat).

My teacher considered himself as a spearman, and had ancestors who were once low ranking samurai, possibly ashigaru (a fact he never fully confirmed or denied). I believe that he wished to equip himself in that fashion while practicing spear techniques, but elected to wear only the tare since he didn’t own a do or a do-maru.

Whether this was a family tradition, or was simply because my teacher couldn’t afford the proper equipment I can’t say. Though if I had to guess, it was probably due to his financial situation.

In either case, following the example set by my teacher, we now wear the tare when practicing Sojutsu, which explains the photo. One day, if I can find affordable, sturdy, American-sized do-maru, that tradition will most likely change.

I’m not stating that wearing the tare alone is traditional when it comes to Sojutsu styles, or that any other school dress in such a manner. It just works for us.

Picture from “Ashigaru 1467-1649” by Stephen Turnbull and Howard Gerrard

Aiki-BULL-do

When I was a kid, I used to spend my summer vacations visiting my father who lived in Sulphur, Louisiana.

Now, the city of Sulphur used to be one of those small rural cities you could drive by and miss if you blinked. It was the type of place where everyone seemed to know everyone and most people were related to each other in some manner or other.

It was “good old boy” country, except most of these good old boys were Cajun. They spoke French, listened to Zydeco, and who proudly referred to themselves as “Coon-asses.” (Yes, the term “coon-ass” is historically derogatory, but they called themselves that with pride. Go figure!)

Sulphur was also one of those places where there was almost nothing to do. I mean, they didn’t even have a movie theatre, and unless you were on a little league baseball/softball team a kid could die of boredom. It was clearly a place that if you weren't interested in watching the daily soap operas on TV (must see TV for my relatives) you had to have the inventiveness to find alternative ways of entertaining yourself.

However, while visiting Sulphur could be frightfully dull, it was a place surrounded by wilderness, fishing holes, and small family farms with almost every variety of livestock imaginable. For a city boy like me, who loved animals and nature, Sulphur was paradise.

Or maybe I should say that it was because of the animals that I found Sulphur to be a so much fun. To be perfectly honest, as much as I like the “simple life,” if it weren’t for the animals and my father’s relatives (a very interesting lot), Sulphur would be more like Hell. If the heat and humidity don’t kill you, chances are the swarms of blood-sucking mosquitoes, poisonous snakes, alligators, garfish, torrential rain and lighting storms, or toxic sulfuric fumes from the refining plants will.

Of course as a kid, none of the heat and or other hazards seemed to matter, and I looked forward to my yearly trip. It was my chance to be the “farm boy,” to play with the animals, to go fishing, and to walk in the woods whenever I wanted to. It was a chance to experience country living, far away for the noise and congestion of the city. In addition, there was the added bonus that I could drive my fathers riding lawnmower each and every time the grass needed cutting, and the grass always needed cutting. For someone not old enough to legally drive that was a big plus.

Now before I get into heart of my story I should inform the reader that there is a big difference between raising animals for food, and raising animals as pets. Those individuals that raise animals for food view farm animals as commodities; while I never witnessed any animals being mistreated, these people know where the animals will eventually end up, so never really build an attachment to them.

I on the other hand, being from the city viewed all of these farm animals as “cute and cuddly” pets, or—should I dare say—as playmates. The realization that many of these animals would end up being someone’s dinner didn’t occur until many years later. I mean, how could anyone eat poor Fluffy?

Because I viewed all animals as “pets,” I rarely considered the potential hazards of interacting with them, or the possible injuries these animals could inflict. At the time, it didn’t even dawn on me that many of these animals had little or no exposure to humans, and if given the choice would avoid human contact all together. Needless to say, I often learned this lesson the hard way. And let me tell you, even a duck can cause severe injuries with the right provocation, even provocation with the duck’s best interest at heart.

Of course, interacting with various animal species does teach a person a lot, especially how animals think and react to specific stimulus and how to read body language correctly. These lessons were useful for understanding and dealing with the more unpredictable two legged animals in my career in law enforcement many years later.

More importantly, interacting with animals can also teach one a lot about life-protection skills. Skills such as: how to run very very quickly when threatened or outmatched; how to dodge/block oncoming attacks from beaks, claws, horns, and teeth; how to improve vertical jumping skills in order to clear high hurdles/fences; and how to develop the art of improvised defensive weaponry. I think I know at least 20 ways to use a feed-bucket in the art of “Barnyard-Jutsu.”

Of course, a lot of these lessons could have been avoided if I would have listened to the people who were raising the animals in the first place. Giving credit where credit is due, farmers know a lot about the animals they raise. While a lot of what they tell you seems far-fetched, normally their advice is worth taking. Their advice illustrated in advance the risks I took; I was clearly informed what could happen and how to avoid it. Of course if I had taken their advice my life, at least as far as my training in the martial arts, may have turned out very differently.

Now I don’t want to give the reader the wrong impression. My father didn’t have a farm, nor was he a farmer. However, he always had a variety of animals on his property.

Most of the time he kept rabbits and several types of chickens. But every now and then he would decide to raise something bigger, that he would eventually use to fill his deep freeze.

One particular summer, when I was about 14 years old, that larger animal turned out to be a male Holstein calf I named Peanut.

Now, for those of you not well versed in the various breeds of cattle, a Holstein is a fairly large breed. It is one of the most common breeds found in the US and Holstein’s are famous for their unique black and white patterns (no two Holsteins have the same pattern). Calves are often born weighing a hefty 90lbs or more, and by the time they are adults a bull can weigh over 2000 pounds, stand 58 inches tall, run at over 25 miles per hours, and have a vertical leaping ability of over 6 feet. Fortunately, they are fairly mild-mannered; but if provoked, threatened, or agitated they are a force to be reckoned with.

Now when I first met Peanut, he was about four months old. He still had the oversized ears, big brown eyes, and lanky awkward gate of a calf. But he was already at the point where he was maturing into a little bull—or should I say, a “big Bully.”

Peanut was definitely king of his pen. He made it clear to all intruders that their presence would only be tolerated for a certain period of time. That time was normally no more than what it took to feed him and change his water bucket.

Intruders out-staying their welcome were confronted with snorts, aggressive head swipes, and mock charges. If that wasn’t enough to make the intruder leave Peanut then went into head-butt mood. At that point, the intruder had a choice: either run or do your best impression of a Matador.

Now for those who have read some of my other postings, you may already be aware that I have somewhat of a stubborn streak. That was even truer when I was younger. Certainly, I was of the mindset that I wasn’t going to let some little bull boss me around or chase me out of his pen. The battle of wills was on.

Round one definitely went to Peanut. I learned that getting a full on head-butt to the back and legs is quite painful. I also leaned that bulls don’t stop once their target is down. No, Peanut wasn’t about to stop hitting me until I was out of territory. To say I got my butt kicked that day would be an understatement.

Of course it was also a learning lesson. I first learned that calves can move really quickly, and can turn on a dime at full speed. I also learned that they have the uncanny knack to move one part of their body in one direction while the other seems to go in a completely opposite direction. In other words, bulls can move in a really deceptive ways.

Well, after our first encounter, I made it a point to be in charge of feeding Peanut. Twice a day I would enter his pen, and twice a day he would go through his routine of posturing, mock charging, and ultimately attacking at me.

At first Peanut would win and I routinely had to run out of the pen. However, battered and bruised I vowed, “Tomorrow was another day.”

A few weeks later, as I caught on to Peanut’s tactics, our clashes became more dance-like. Peanut would charge and I would evade by turning or stepping out of the way at the very last instant. Ole’!

Within weeks I finally started applying the aikijujutsu skills I had been learning back home against Peanut. At first, my movement wasn’t efficient enough nor was my timing accurate to always get off line enough to avoid being hit. Initially, I was also unable to do follow up evasion movements that would counter Peanut's ability to turn or twist as he realized he missed me. I also had to watch out for his ability to kick with his hind legs—in almost any direction he wanted to—which at first caught me by surprise.

If I learned anything at this time it was that tension really can kill; the more tense I was the harder it was for me to react or flow with the impact. In addition, I discovered that thinking about what to do didn’t work. I had to let my instincts and natural survival skills direct my actions.

By the end of my second month of vacation, Peanut and I were “playing” more equally. He would get his shots in, but more often than not I was evading, blocking or blending with his movements. His attacks, however, became slower and more calculated. For anyone who thinks animals don’t learn, Peanut slowly discovered what I was up to and made adjustments.

These adjustments were a good thing though, since they forced me to make my own adjustments and develop the mindset not to react until I really processed what was happening. In other words, I learned a certain level of zanshin, calmness when confronted with a potential threat.

As I learned to relax, my reactions became quicker, and more precise. I started thinking less about what I should do and stared just doing things reactively as Peanut went about his various charges, twists and turns.

I would still be hit from time to time, but that happened less often, and even when it did the force was greatly reduced. I didn’t get knocked to the ground as often, and normally our sparring matches would end because Peanut would get bored and trot off to chase something else. He was, needless to say, a poor sport when he didn’t get his way.

As my summer vacation drew to an end Peanut became less interested in sparring with me. We had developed a certain understanding, and he was happier to show his superior physical prowess by head butting other objects (tires, big 55 gallon buckets, chickens, etc) in his enclosure and making sure I knew he had the ability to destroyed these items.

Of course being partially ignored lend to another lesson in the life-protection arts. NEVER TURN YOUR BACK on your enemy or any potential threat.

Now, I’m not sure how a 500-pound plus bull sneaks up on a person, but he managed to do just that. Out of nowhere Peanut charged at me full out. If I hadn’t rolled to my side he would definitely have gored me, which I’m sure was his intent.

Flustered, all the lessons I had learned went out the window. All I wanted to do was run, and run I did. Bull bearing down, I ran at full speed until I hit the electrified fence, which fortunately wasn’t on at full power. Ricocheting back towards my charging adversary, I did a back roll—basically rolling under Peanuts legs.

My actions must have startled poor Peanut because he went crashing into the fence also. Laying there on the ground all I saw was a bull tumbling back towards me.

Now I can’t say just what I did to avoid Peanut from landing on me, but just as he hit the ground I moved out of the way.

Now just imagine this picture, a bull and a boy lying on the ground looking at each other both knowing what the other was thinking. It was a look that said, “What the hell just happened here, and I hope no one saw that.” If Peanut had been a person I’m sure we would have shared a momentary laugh; but Peanut just got up, snorted, and walked off like nothing happened, or as if he had meant to do it.

I was a little more stunned, so it took me a while to get up and leave. In addition, by the time I came back to my senses, my father was already present. He was yelling about the damaged fence, and how it happened. I’m not sure at that moment what I was more scared of, my father or another sneak attack from Peanut.

This sneak attack marked one of our final battles, and a few days later I was on a plane returning to San Francisco.

Returning to my teacher’s house, I was exhilarated to tell him about how I had used my evasion techniques and blending skills to avoid Peanut's attacks. I also couldn’t wait to tell him how our summer long sparring match had given me new insights to relaxing when threatened. All aspects he had been trying to instill upon me during our daily practice.

I’m not sure just how my teacher reacted to my story, or felt about the fact that I had spent my summer bull fighting, but he did notice the changes in how I reacted to being attacked. I now flinched a lot less, reacted more instinctively, and focused less on the attacking object and more on my whole surroundings.

Whatever the pros and cons were in spending my summer sparring with Peanut, that period when I returned to San Francisco became the turning point of my training. It was the point when I went from just doing basics to learning the more in-depth elements of the martial art I now teach.

I owe that little bull a lot of thanks.

Now I would love to end this story saying that Peanut lived a long full life, but that was never his fate. While it’s true that I would have loved to believe the story my father contrived to spare my emotional ties to Peanut, I will never be able to forget the fact that my father’s deep freeze just happened to be bursting with beef when I went there the next year.

Sure there were other bulls in the area to spar with, and since Peanut’s time I’ve even had the chance to interact with some major Rodeo bulls that weighed in at over 1800 pounds. However, none of these other bulls had the same zest Peanut had when it came to attacking me.

These full size bulls might have hit harder and moved quicker, but they lacked the delightful smirk Peanut had when his attack was successful. They didn’t seem to revel in the pleasure of the battle. They didn’t seem to have the same tenacious personality that made them attack me daily or with the same intent.

No, battling these bulls, never felt the same. I stilled learned valuable lessons about how to move my body, blending, and relaxing when threatened, but it never felt the same as my summer with Peanut.

Why Judo

Now that I’ve completed eight of the top ten principles used in the system of martial arts I teach, I would like to answer a question asked by one of my students, which I’m sure has also been asked by other readers of this “blog.”

That question being why I often use judo techniques to illustrate our principles instead of techniques used in Aikido. After all, our techniques, the art that I teach, must have more in common with Aikido than Judo.

Well, yes and no!

Of course, the simple answer is I’ve never trained in Aikido, so I have no idea how their techniques are explained. All I know about Aikido is what I’ve learned at a couple of seminars and from books. That is clearly not enough knowledge to discuss Aikido principles or applications.

There is no doubt that we use similar methodologies akin to Aikido, however I know for a fact our intention and focus behind our techniques is worlds apart from those taught in most Aikido schools.

Yes, it’s true we also believe in the ideals of peace, love and harmony, as sermonized in various Aikido literature. However, we only think that way if the other person has the same intention. When attacked, and forced in a situation where force is necessary, the gloves come off, and our techniques are designed to stop the aggression. If that means serious bodily injury and/or death then that’s what we will do. That’s what we train for, and the intention behind every technique we do. The samurai did not fight to lose, and they used whatever means necessary to accomplish their objective.

While I’ve never formally studied Aikido, I did on the other hand, train in judo for several years. I still keep in touch, and sometimes even practice with, some of my old judo training/coaching partners. (Though I must admit, as we get older we communicate/meet less and less, and unfortunately some have already passed away.)

Since I actually trained in judo, and have read a lot on the topic, I have some actual firsthand insight on how judo techniques work and how they are taught. This allows me to make informed commentary. And no, I don’t claim to fully understand all the intricacies that make up the art of judo. I’m no more than a passer-by, a casual observer of that martial art.

Fortunately, when I trained in judo I was taught techniques by several excellent judoka, some of whom were, or had been on the US Olympic team. I have to assume that if they reached that level they had to know what they were talking about. Many are nationally known and widely respected. Some of my teachers included:


Duke Moore – (seminars only) He made it all look so easy, and had so much technical insight to share. Though better known as a jujutsu practitioner, he was well versed in grappling.


Tim Delgman – (college years and seminars) I knew Tim before he became Soke (inheritor) of Mr. Moore’s system. In college his skills were good, but over the years have even become better.

Willy Cahill – (seminars as well as a few months at his school – right before college) As a teen, I remember Mr. Cahill as a giant of a man who moved with grace and speed. A few years ago, I ran into him again. While he no longer appeared to be a giant, he clearly still has all the skills, maybe even more, that I remembered.


Wally Jay - (Before college and several seminars up until his retirement.)
While known more for his jujutsu skills than judo, he did teach judo skills when I trained with him.


Mitchell Palacio (college) I think he does the best tai-otoshi throw I’ve ever seen. It is so smooth and effortless that you don’t even feel it until you hit the mat.


Neil Laughlin (college) (Promoted me to 1st Dan) (My main judo instructor) He was the first true heavyweight I had the chance to work with. He proved to me that even if you’re a large person, you should still use technique rather than rely just on muscle and speed. I learned a lot about mat work from him, and owe much of my ground skills to his training.


Mike Swain (seminars)


Bill Paul (college) I didn’t know who he was the first time we did randori (free sparring) and he just played with me for a full half an hour. I mean, no matter what I did he countered me instantly and effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat in the process. It was a totally humbling experience, until I learned who he was.

Phil Porter – (seminars) (Offered to promote me to 4th Dan, which I declined out of respect to those that actually practice judo on a regular basis.) I realize Mr. Porter, (I refuse to call him O’sensei) doesn’t have the best reputation in the martial arts community because of his policies regarding issuing rank and his organization's politics, but he is an excellent judo practitioner with a lot of knowledge to offer. His technical skills are amazing as is the openness in which he teaches them.


Victor Anderson – While not an instructor of mine we have spent many hours discussing judo, judo theory, and judo techniques. He has also been invited to teach at several of the Budo seminars I have hosted.


So what is the answer to the original questions and why did I answer “Well yes and no?”

The truth is that many of our projections are very similar to judo. We just do them slightly different, with an intention of breaking our opponent, rather than pinning him. Our projections are clearly designed to snap necks, break shoulders, and damage vital organs.

On the other hand, we use the principles of aiki, (those found in Aikido) to set up these projections, and make them easier to do.

In other words we utilize the best of both approaches. Or, as I tell prospective students, we’re the type of martial art that Judo and Aikido were founded on.

A Brief School History Part 1 – The First Seven

Like I’ve said many times before, when I was younger I never had any intention of operating my own martial arts school. Running a school just kind of started on its own, basically due to an Internet chat I had almost thirteen years ago.

Basically, I was on some chat forum in the old “Prodigy,” when someone asked if they knew a place where they could learn some self-defense. At that time of course I wasn’t teaching, so I almost didn’t say anything. But something about his story regarding his necessity to learn, and his sincere request to learn some basic self-defense techniques prompted me to write back.

This person turned out to be Julian Ibanez, who I guess is technically the very first student I ever formally taught. If nothing else he is basically the one who started the ball rolling, and if I hadn’t been teaching him, I doubt I would have ever taught the others who came after him.

I don’t think I was teaching Julian for more than three weeks when he asked if he could bring his friend Rudy to class. At the time I didn’t think much about his request, and figured it was better for me if he used his friend as a punching bag instead of me.

All of a sudden I now had two students.

Several weeks passed, and one day while training Julian and his friend a lady passing on the street stooped and inquired if I would be interested in teaching her teenage son.

Now I had never thought about training any kids other than my own, but after talking with her for a while, and finding out why she wanted me to teach her son, I agreed to give her son a chance.

Her son turned out to be Gonzalo Padilla, who would train at my school for the next 4 to 5 years. Long after Julian and his friend quit.

Shortly after I started teaching Gonzalo, more parents approached me about teaching their kids, and within a month I was teaching Erika, Carolina and Ana Almanza, their cousin Zayda Bermudez, and Lily and Carolina Blanco. “THE FIRST SEVEN.”

Gonzalo Padilla
Erika Almanza	Carolina Almanza	Ana Alamanza
Zayda Bermudez	Lily Blanco	Carolina Blanco

I consider these seven students my first real students, and the reason there is a school today. Through their hard work and determination, and the fact they wouldn’t quit no matter what hell I put them through during those first two months, I became a martial arts teacher.

Of course these seven were just the start and within another month I had a total of 21 students.

Like I said, the idea of teaching kids wasn’t something I had planned on. To be honest I never thought any of these kids would last more than a few weeks. The truth is that initially I tried my very best to get them to quit by making each class as hard as I could.

However, no matter what I did or what I asked them to do, these seven tried their best and never complained. They never gave than less than 100% effort.

To be honest, in many ways they reminded me of when I first started and how eager I was to learn. The reminded me how I had never wanted class to end, no matter how worn out and sore my body had been, no matter what my teacher had asked me to do.

To say these kids trained hard would be an understatement. Since it was summer and they didn’t have regular school, classes started at 12:00. While they were supposed to end at 2:00, classes often went to 8:00 or later with no breaks. Furthermore, this schedule was daily--by their choice--and lasted from late June to the beginning of school in September. I figure that in their first two and a half months they trained more than most students do in half a year.

Of course, once school started I figured their interest would stop, but it didn’t. In fact they asked for more, and we continued to have daily classes that lasted about 3 to 4 hours each.

By this point, I was spending more time teaching than I was at my real job as a private investigator. Fortunately my work schedule was very flexible and the two jobs didn’t interfere with each other, which was a good thing since I didn’t make any of the first twenty students pay for classes.

That might sound like I’m a lousy businessman, but that was the promise I made to these kids, most of whom had families that lacked the financial resources to pay for extracurricular activities for their kids.

While I didn’t ask for money, I did have certain expectations. First of all, each student had to buy his or her own equipment. They also had to maintain good grades at school (“C” or higher), stay away from the local gangs, and attend class regularly. The would be suspended for any breach of this agreement.

During the next four years my core of seven basically remained the same. While others came and went, it was the first seven students who made me strive to make the school better. They made me strive to make myself a better instructor.



Over the years we shared birthdays, holidays, family outings, teenage traumas, and all other aspects of life. We were like a family, and I really cared for them.

It was really great was to see the positive change I made in some of these kids lives, especially those that were considered “at risk.” Watching these kids mature, graduate, and discover that they had the potential to achieve anything they set their minds to made all those long days of teaching worth while.

I will not and can not take all the credit for their accomplishments, and their increase in self-esteem. But I know I played a part, just as they played a part in my life. They truly enriched my life, and made me a better person. They definitely made me a better teacher, since I really didn’t know what I was doing those first few years.

None of these kids train with me any longer, nor have any trained with me in years. When each one left it hurt; to this day I still miss them. However, their memory, how they helped build the school, the good times we shared, and their legacy will live on.

Looking Back – Don Angier Seminar 1994

With the upcoming Yanagi Ryu seminar on April 29th/April 30th 2006, I find myself reminiscing about the first time I met Mr. Angier.

That day was April 16th 1994. It was a day that would change a lot of things for me, especially in regards to how I teach, and the direction I would take my school from that period on. You could say it was a turning point in my martial-arts career.

When my teacher left to return to Japan in 1989, he left a void. I no longer had a teacher, nor was I sure what to call what I had been doing for all those years. My teacher had no name, no style label, for what he taught.

All I knew was that it was Japanese, and that we used swords, spears, naginata, various other polearms, jutte, tessen, tanto, jo, and lots of empty-hand techniques that focused on vital point strikes and joint locking techniques. I also knew from his stories that this was not karate or aikido, two arts he had little respect for.

I also knew it was related to the Samurai, (low ranking samurai) though my teacher always downplayed that connection.

The problem for me was that in 1989 there were few if any Japanese-style martial arts being taught in the San Francisco Bay Area other than judo, aikido, kendo, and jujutsu. If there was an iaido school, I wasn’t aware of it. And although I heard rumors of a school that taught naginata, I could never find it. (Remember the Internet wasn’t what it is today in 1989.)

So there I was without a teacher or a clue what to look for. My search began.

For the next two years I investigated numerous schools throughout my area. I tried karate schools, aikido schools, kenpo schools, various styles of jujutsu, and a few Chinese systems.

I approached each with an open mind, but I knew what I was looking for, and didn’t want to settle for anything less. The longest I lasted in any of the schools was four months. Long enough to form a legitimate opinion whether the school was what I was looking for, and could meet my expectations.

To say that after a few years I became discouraged is in an understatement. Not just because I couldn’t find another teacher like my old one, but also because all these schools taught so differently. The training was nowhere near what I was used to.

In many schools no contact was ever made between students when doing techniques. In others all we did was sparring. Then there were schools where the uke would fall before you ever even did anything, and worse yet the uke couldn’t even attack realistically.

Then of course there were those styles (mainly the Chinese ones) where everything was so foreign to what I had done all my martial-arts life. They were interesting, and gave me a new perspective on how the body can be used, but they still weren’t what I was searching for.

Lastly, few if any (except the Chinese ones) did weaponry, besides the staff and various assorted Okinawan weaponry. Few, if any, had ever heard of, or knew how to use the jutte, yari or tessen. And don’t even get me started on what I thought of the sword work many of these schools passed off as traditional.

After searching for a school for several years my mind started to play tricks on me. No one taught the way my teacher had, nor did anyone teach the things he taught.

Sure, the aikido and jujutsu schools taught similar things. But there were still some major differences between the execution of the techniques, and the intention behind what they taught. Some were too sporty, others to spiritual. In many cases they just simply lacked realism.

There was the additional fact that in several of these schools my abilities were better than the instructors. I’m not saying these instructors didn’t have things to offer, or that my skills were superior, but it was clear I had more experience and many more hours of training than many of these guys who were now teaching me. That was very frustrating.

Yes, I know that when you start at a new school, you are suppose to start with an “empty cup” and a willingness to learn their way. But doing things you know are simply wrong, and you can prove are wrong within a few seconds is hard to do. It went against everything I had been trained to do. Keeping my mouth shut, and going with the flow, especially when something is wrong is not my strong point. Ask anyone who knows me.

Of course I tried to be a good boy, and do what I was told, but the more I relinquished my old ways the more I started to dislike the martial arts. There was even a point I almost stopped completely.

I’m very sad to say this, and I apologize to my teacher forever feeling this way, but I actually reached a point where I started to question what I had learned in the past. I started to think I had wasted my time, and what I learned wasn’t real. After all, everyone else did things so differently. How could they all be wrong?

Fortunately, these doubts were all about to change.

Now, I have no idea how I obtained the seminar flier for Don Angier’s seminar in Concord, California, and I can’t remember why I decided to attend it. At that point in my life I had never heard of Mr. Angier, or Yanagi Ryu.

I arrived on the morning of April 16th having no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Mr. Angier was the inheritor of a traditional Japanese system of martial arts, and that according to the flier his knowledge of the history, rituals, and secret teachings of traditional Japanese martial arts was “unparalleled in or out of Japan.”

Interesting enough billing to make me go, but I had still had reservations about whether anyone could live up to such hype. Of course I went in hoping for the best.

I’ll never forget my first impression of Mr. Angier as he greeted me coming out of the changing room. He was short, stocky, and walked with a limp. He was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and looked less like a martial artists than just about anyone I had ever met, though I learned early in my life never to judge a book by its cover.

While outward appearances rarely have anything to do with skill, what I remember most was that Mr. Angier was also very friendly and unassuming--another trait that immediately separated him from many instructors I had met at seminars, or in schools with well known head instructors.

The truth was that while Mr. Angier was the guest instructor, and people had come to see him, he still made it a point to greet everyone, and in my case to learn a little about my background.

Like I said, I didn’t know Mr. Angier or his history, so I’m sure he must have found my story of how I got involved in the martial arts quite amusing. After all, there are several parallels to our stories. Of course he didn’t say anything at the time, and I wouldn’t discover these commonalities until years later.

Now I’m not saying that my teacher and Mr. Angier have the same abilities--technically or in their methodology of teaching--or even do the exact same style of martial art. That wouldn’t be true. However, watching Mr. Angier that day I couldn’t help but think of my teacher, and the fact I had finally found someone who did things that were so closely related.

After all these years of searching I had finally found someone who could put a name to what I had learned, and remove all doubts about what my teacher had taught me. What I learned from my teacher was real, and there were others practicing the same things. I wasn’t wrong and my teacher wasn’t wrong--we were just different than the other schools in my area.

It would be an understatement to say I learned a lot during the two days of training with Mr. I learned years' worth of information, some of which I’m still working on today. However, the techniques he taught were just the icing on the cake for me.

The real value to me was all the concepts, ideas, and scientific principles Mr. Angier shared so openly and freely. Many of which I knew already, but he managed to put into a different context. Or should I say, reminded me of things I hadn’t explored in a long time, or had taken for granted.

Another important thing Mr. Angier did for me that weekend was renewing my desire to further investigate my art. He reminded me to value what my teacher had taught, and put aside my self-imposed desire to find a new school and start over.

Basically, he instilled in me a belief that I should practice and explore what I had already been exposed to, as well as search for the intricacies within the techniques I already knew.

Lastly and most importantly of them all Mr. Angier instilled the ideal to “be true to my art and myself.” This is something I had clearly wandered away from trying to cater to so many other people, and their opinions.

My first seminar with Mr. Angier was a major steeping stone towards the direction I now take when practicing and teaching others. It had such an impact on me I’ve made it a point to train with Mr. Angier whenever he is in my area. I’ve also made it a point to encourage all of my students to attend.

I never go to Mr. Angier’s seminars to learn techniques, and with some of the techniques he teaches I have a strong belief he has no real intention of anyone actually learning them. I think his goal is deeper, and his true intentions are to get martial art practitioners to “think” differently about what they do, how they do it, and why things have to be done a certain way. I truly think his goal is to inspire those who attend to search for the science behind techniques, and why things work so they can grow as martial artists and reach a level thy didn’t think possible beforehand.

So if I don’t go to Don Angier seminars for the techniques, why do I go? I go to a Don Angier seminar to be reminded of my past training, and to have my objectives as a martial artists renewed and invigorated. I go there for the explanations on how techniques work, and the martial science he shares. I go there to explore things I never thought of before, or to have theories of mine confirmed or contradicted.

I even go there to be “yelled” at when Mr. Angier corrects me over and over again for not being relaxed enough, or for using too much power. And yes, he corrects me a lot.

Most importantly of all, I go there to educate myself, mentally and physically--mostly mentally--so I can be the best martial artist I can be. The best teacher I can be.

I may never have Mr. Angier’s skill, or possess his knowledge about samurai history and traditions, but each year he pushes me to better than the year before. For that, and for helping me see the value of what my teacher gave to me, I am forever grateful.

The Gym

“True enjoyment comes from activity of the mind and exercise of the body;
the two are united.”
Alexander von Humboldt

Okay, so body and mind are united. I got it! Deep down I know that’s a fact, but even being fully aware that going to the gym is in my best interest, I still find it hard to motivate myself to go: especially in the last year or so.

It wasn’t always like that though. There was a time I loved going to he gym, and spent hours there each and every day. I may not have the body of a muscle builder to prove it, but I spent hours and hours working hard, trying my best to maintain a certain level of fitness, and of course fighting the never-ending battle of the bulge.

Believe it or not there was a time I could bench over 300 pounds, run mile after mile on the treadmill without effort, and had the demeanor where I would scoff at the petty stacks of weights attached to most muscle building machines. However those days are gone. Long gone.

I don’t know what happened, or exactly when my love affair with the gym started to dwindle, but methodically over time I’ve found it easier and easier to make excuses why I didn’t need to go rather than remembering and reinforcing the positive nurturing benefits I received from actually going.

Don’t misunderstand me, it’s not that I don’t ever go to the gym any more it’s just I don’t go as often as I should. Especially with my weight issue, my injuries, and the fact I have really high cholesterol levels. These are all factors which should clearly make working out an essential part of my life, especially if I want to continue living life with some degree of quality--or just continue living period.

In my defense, it’s not just a case of being lazy. Once I’m at the gym I work out with intensity. I don’t go there to socialize, or make friends, though I will admit I have stopped to watch some of the more attractive women as they workout.

It’s sort of a joke, but I found the best way to run on the treadmill was to always pick a treadmill closest to the cutest girl and pretend I was running with her. That not only served as a distraction from the mind numbing drudgery of running on a stationary machine, it also helped me maintain a certain pace. I always tend to run too fast on my own.

Of course now that I’m married I never look at other women (my wife reads this “blog”…), so those days are over, and I’ve had to learn to pace myself.

Okay you can all stop laughing now.


The first gym I ever went to was called “The Sports Palace,” a name that definitely conjures up a certain perception this place couldn’t live up to. It was clearly no palace.

The equipment, what there was of it, was antiquated, the place reeked of old sweat, and if they had a heater it was never turned on. It was clearly the type of place you see in a Hollywood movie; run-down, impoverished, and poorly lit. Don’t even get me started on the condition of the locker room or showers.

However, it was a place for the “serious” body builder. No frills, no thrills, just lots of free weights, and enough testosterone to fuel a high level of machismo.

Plus they had a super heavy bag I could punch to my hearts content.

For all its shortcomings the Sport Place was the kind of gym that saw its share of professionals. There were not only professional body builders, but off-season football players, and professional wrestlers.

As a kid I watched Saturday morning wrestling, and the first time I saw a group of these guys at the gym I was semi-star struck. Of course I was even more amazed that the likes of Pat Paterson and Ray Stevens were working out with their archenemies. Enemies they had vowed to beat to a pulp any time, anyplace just a few days ago.

And people say wrestling isn’t fake.

Another thing I learned from watching these wrestlers was they are tough, very big, and very strong. Anyone who says they are not athletes has no idea what they are talking about.

More importantly to me, especially at the time, was that besides their athletic prowess I endeavored to emulate, they were also some very nice guys. Though I was a kid (13) they treated me with respect. Even “The Baron,” who while being a notorious bad guy on TV and a character I always hated, never hesitated or became annoyed when I asked him for instruction on how to do a particular exercise.

The thing I appreciated the most about going to the Sports Palace, was the level of experience people had there. Since I was just starting out, their knowledge was invaluable, and because of these men I never picked up a lot of the bad habits I now see when I do go to the gym.

Unfortunately, the Sports Palace closed when I was about 15, and I only spent a couple of years there. In the end the Sports Palace just couldn’t compete with the likes of “Gold’s Gym” or “24 Hour Fitness.”

I don’t even remember the name of the next gym I tried. Like the Sports Palace it was tiny, poorly equipped, and poorly maintained. However, it was the best gym I’ve ever gone to.

Unlike most gyms where you have to pay extra for a personal trainer this gym offered the service for free. In fact you couldn’t work out there without seeing a trainer at least once a week. It also offered free massages once a month, though I was too young for that service.

I figure I saved thousands of dollars going to this place because of that one feature alone, and I know I benefited from having someone there to train me. This was especially so with the trainer I picked since he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and wouldn’t let me take any shortcuts.

Sometimes with is training, I felt as if I had joined the military. But it taught me that the body is capable of doing a lot more than it wants to and that in order to get results you have to push yourself beyond your limits, or what you perceive are your limits. (Sort of the same things you learn if you do martial arts.)

Another cool thing about this gym was that is was located next to the local F.B.I. building, and a lot of agents worked out there, as well as federal prosecutors and local government employees.

Sometimes I think people don’t realize that others can hear their conversations, because some of the things these F.B.I. guys discussed most likely wasn’t intended for the public to hear. Though for someone like me who wanted to be police officer it sounded oh so exciting.

I should note that I had wanted to be a police officer since I was five years old. However, after listening to these guys and their stories I did consider applying for a job with the F.B.I. for a long time. At least I did until I discovered that their job is actually 80% paper work. No thanks!

Like the Sports Palace, this gym was also forced to close due to competition. I wonder what ever happened to Yaroslav (my trainer).

Come to think of it, and looking back, it was funny how many of the personal trainers at this gym were of Russian decent. Could it have meant,….Nah! I’m sure it was just a coincidence.

The next gym I trained at was located on my college campus. Like the previous gyms, it wasn’t great,,but they had the basics.

By this point in time, I already had a few years of experience, and basically knew what I needed to do to meet my fitness objectives.

However, college would be the fist time in my life I actually trained for a competitive sport: judo.

It would also be a point in my life that that exercising would turn out to be very frustrating. Not because of the work involved, I enjoyed the exercise, but because of the lack of perceived results.

While this hard to explain in a few paragraphs I will try.

When I entered the Judo program I started with two other guys. One guy was a short Chinese guy named Ken. The other guy was a medium built Latin guy named Pablo. Then of course there was me a 190-pound lanky Caucasian.

When we started our training we were all given individual programs for cardio, calisthenics, and for the weight room. While some of the exercises were different, essentially the workouts were the same.

Now I know for a fact we all followed our workout programs. I also know we were all overachievers, and did even more exercise than required by the coaching staff. However, it was clear we didn’t experience the same results.

In the first year Ken gut huge, and started to look like the poster boy for a body building competition. His results were amazing: eight-pack abs, bulging biceps, and a massive chest. Even his legs grew in size, no easy feat considering how hard putting mass on legs is to accomplish.

And this was done without the aid or steroids, an all too common practice during that time, and definitely something we all had ample access to.

As for Pablo he also had outstanding results, though nowhere in compassion to Ken. Cleary Pablo had a six-pack, his pectorals had grown considerably, and he was in better physical shape. I think the term is “sculpted.”

Then there was me. Poor me. I didn’t have a six-pack, and the rest of me barely looked as if I had done any exercise at all during the year. Sure I was stronger, quicker, and had lots of stamina, but outwardly you couldn’t see any changes.

Trust me, I was scrutinized by the coaching staff, and almost labeled as a slacker. That label wouldn’t stick with since the coaches saw me train daily, and knew I was trying my best. The fact is, I normally pushed myself more than the others, just because I wasn’t getting the same results.

Now I know a lot of these results has to do with genetics, but it’s very disconcerting. It’s really enough to make one want to throw in the towel and give up. However that’s not my personality.

Needless to say I tried for years to get that stupid six-pack and “sculpted” look. I worked and I worked and I worked, but it never happened. Now after all these years I just don’t care.

Of course given my current state of physical fitness and workout regime, six-pack abs are not in my future.

After college, my gym days ended--not because I didn’t want to go, but because I started a career as a police officer. That meant the graveyard shift. A shift that left me in a constant state of fatigue. A shift I worked for almost 11 years straight.

Then came the kids, and so on and so on.

While I did find time to exercise during these years, it was nowhere near the level I once had done. As a result my body changed. Since I failed to maintain a certain standard of fitness I’m sure these changes were one of the reasons that led to my injury at work. And that injury that led to almost two years of total inactivity.

After two years of being inactive, I once again hit the gym with a passion. I had to for the sake of my own mental health and self-esteem. I was up to almost 300 pounds, divorced, and angry at the world. Angry at myself.

The gym was my only outlet. There I could workout the frustrations and uncertainty that was now my life. It was the place I could focus on something other than what was going on in the other aspects of my life, most of which I wasn’t happy with. It was the clam in the storm so to speak.

To be honest if it hadn’t been for the gym I don’t know where I would be at this point in my life.

Today I’m a member of “24 Fitness.” I joined this gym for two reasons; it was close to my house, and they have a lap pool. I also joined right after they built the place so I got a fantastic deal. Now, my sons, my wife, my mother, and I are all members, and I think we pay less in total, than a single person would pay if they joined today.

“24 Fitness” is not what I consider a “real” gym, but they have everything one needs to get the job done. Certainly, they have more equipment than any other gym I went to previously.--if one goes there to work out.

There are definitely enough people there who have different agendas. However, my gym isn’t as bad as some located in the East Bay, which are notorious for being “pick up clubs.”

Of course, I can’t remember the last time I ever saw a professional body builder at my gym, or a professional athlete, or even a wrestler. Not saying it couldn’t or hasn’t happened, I’ve just never seen it. My guess is that guess is that these guys go to Gold’s, which in my area has more of a reputation for the serious athlete.

Then again, when I’m there I now I mainly focus on what I’m doing. I may spend two hours working out, but none of that time is wasted. Who’s around me, what they’re talking about, or what they are or are not doing isn’t my business. I’m there for me. It’s my time.

As selfish as this may sound I truly dislike going to the gym with someone else. That’s because I always tend to end up being the coach, instead of doing my regular routine. Or I end up doing bits and pieces, which in my opinion, is just a waste of time for me.

Like I said, when I go to the gym it’s for me. It’s my time to focus on myself, to better myself. I like pushing myself, and I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I’ve lifted a little more than the day before, ran just a bit longer or faster, or taken time off my mile swim.

I don’t exercise to put on muscle mass, (at least not any more), to pump my muscles up so I can flex them in the mirror, or to see a change on the weight scale. Those are not my goals.

When I go to the gym, it’s to move my body, in ways that energize me mentally and physically. I go there to strengthen joints that have been injured, abused and worn. I go there to increase my heart rate in order to improve my overall endurance. I go there so that I don’t feel as guilty about the food choices I make.

Going to the gym may be a pain, but dieting is pure Hell. After all, if God hadn’t meant for us to eat cheesecake he wouldn’t have created it.

So with all that said, why do I still have such a hard time motivating myself to go to the gym now-a-days.

I wish I knew.

Maybe part of the reason is that after all these years I’m just a little burned out, though like I said once I’m there I truly enjoy myself. I remember all the reasons why my time spent at the gym had meaning. How it healed me. How it still relaxes me.

Maybe its because my body no longer works like it used to, and I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I can no longer be as athletic as I was when I was twenty. I can no longer lift the stack, bench 300 pounds, or run without feeling the effort in my shins and knees. What once was fun is now work.

Maybe my outlook on my life is a lot better, and I don’t need the release the gym once afforded me. In other words I’m a lot less stressed than I used to be. I’ve learned to relax in other ways. Things I used to stress about are no longer an issue, or just a bad memory buried deep inside my psyche.

Maybe its just boredom.

Whatever the reason is, or reasons are, none of them are good ones.

In the future is there a chance I’ll return and renew my love affair with the gym? Surely the answer is yes. After all, I’ve slumped before and returned with a vengeance.

Will it be tomorrow, most likely not, though one never knows?

The only exercise some people get is jumping to conclusions, running down their friends, side-stepping responsibility, and pushing their luck! ~Author Unknown

Training is a “Beach”

I’ve been told that some people would be interested in learning more about the way I was taught the martial arts, and my experiences over the years visiting other schools and trying other styles. For those people who share this interest, here goes one story.

I would say that over fifty percent of my training, especially in my teen years, was spent at the beach.

Now for those of you who do not live in the San Francisco Bay Area, this may sound lovely, but its not. Our beaches are cold, and the water is freezing. There are only a few days each year that people go there to actually sun themselves, and even fewer days when people actually frolic in the water--except for little kids and dogs, which the temperature of the freezing water never seems to bother.

Fishermen, dog walkers, diehard romantics, and joggers who are able to withstand the fog, heavy mist, and unceasing winds, as well as the surfers who wear protective wetsuits are mainly the people you will find populating our local beaches on any given day.

Of course if the freezing temperatures aren’t enough to keep one away, there are always the deadly undertows, and the occasional shark attack to consider.

Oh did I happen fail to mention the sewage pipe that empties into the ocean not more than a few hundred yards out from shore? Yes the stuff expelled is “treated,” but it’s a nasty thought, and one that’s hard to overcome, especially when that unidentified brownish sticky foam washes ashore.

Clearly our local beaches are not paradise, but for some reason my teacher had affection for them, and even in his eighties never missed his daily walk along the shore. For him, the beach was the place he could contemplate his life, as well as find the inner peace to meditate without distraction.

It was also the place he elected to use as a training ground, since he felt the sand was a safer place to take falls than the concrete in his garage. I thank him for this, since this one of the few “safety” precautions he actually took when training his son and I. After all, he didn’t seem to have any apprehensions about us swinging live blades (swords, spears, or knives) at each other.

Training at the beach could take place in the morning or after school. After school wasn’t so bad, but mornings could be terrible: not just because it was even colder, but also because there was no time to shower and get cleaned up before going to school. That meant one had to spend the day full of sand, sometimes in wet clothes, and with that salty feeling on your skin. Yuck!

To say I trained on the beach, in the sand, is only half the story. I spent almost as much time in and under the water. Freezing water that made our limbs go numb, and drained our energy.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there were many times that while I was in the water I had to wear weighted vests, leggings or backpacks that were meant to simulate samurai armor. These could weigh sixty pounds or more, and once you fell down were not buoyant. Actually they made you sink like a rock.

Of course the whole lesson was how to swim with the extra weight, and how to control one’s breathing. I think at one point I could hold my breath for over four minutes, though that was not the objective, just a bonus--a life saving bonus, especially when you had to wait for assistance while lying helpless face down under the water.

If swimming with wannabe simulated armor wasn’t hard enough, there were many times one had to hold a weapon in his hands. A weapon one wasn’t allowed to let slip under the surface of the water.

I believe the term for these swimming arts is called suieijutsu, which basically translates to combative water skills. However the more exact name for these techniques may be oyogijutsu (refers to swimming in armor) and/or katchu gozen oyogi (refers to swimming in heavy armor).

For example:
“Kobori ryu was used in the province of Higo, and specialized in methods of crossing rapid streams. The "Tosui" aspect of Kobori ryu involves a circular leg movement technique that allows the proponent to tread water while keeping their upper body above water (while wearing armor). This enabled the Higo bushi, if necessary, to fight with swords, fire arrows (termed tachi oyogi shageki), and fire muskets while positioned in or while crossing a river. Kobori ryu is sometimes referred to as Katchu Gozen Oyogi, or, swimming in armor while in the presence of highly ranked officials or nobility, because it was this tradition that was selected to demonstrate suijutsu to certain officials based upon its established reputation as a refined and graceful art.”
By Nathan Scott – “Kobori Ryu Tosuijutsu”


Now before the e-mails come pouring in, I fully realize this is a very rare martial art, and I don’t claim to know it. I certainly don’t teach it, and I haven’t practiced any of it since my early twenties.

I also won’t make any claims concerning the skill level of my teacher in regards to these techniques, since he didn’t own any Japanese armor he could swim in, and I haven’t ever seen a demonstration perform by someone known to be knowledgeable in the art.

In other words I have nothing to compare what my teacher did or taught, to those techniques developed and passed on in schools such as Iwakura Ryu (specialized in combat while swimming), Kankai Ryu (specialized in swimming in the open sea), Shinden Ryu (specialized in long distance swimming), or Suifu Ryu (specialized in techniques designed to cross swift running streams) all schools reputed to have preserved samurai swimming traditions.

However, with my disclaimer stated, my teacher weighed about 100 pounds, and would use almost 60 - 75 pounds of weight to demonstrate what he wanted us to do. He made it look easy. Its not!

In addition, he was still practicing his various swimming techniques in his seventies. I have a hard enough time swimming a mile three times a week nowadays, and I’m only in my forties. And I do my laps in a heated pool, without wearing weights.

For those of you still yearning to send me e-mails on this topic, I’m will fully concede that there are most likely major differences between what I learned and what the schools listed above teach. Once again I don’t claim any affiliation or technical knowledge related to the above listed schools.

One major difference I can think of immediately is that weighted vests, backpacks, and leggings, can’t compared to a suit of traditional samurai armor. First the weight distribution of a suit of armor is different. Secondly to say one knows how to swim in armor, one must have at some point actually swam in armor. Something I have never done.

Nonetheless, given our financial resources at the time weighted vests and other weighted materials was the best we could do.

Naturally swimming techniques were just a small part of what we practiced. A lot more time was spent practicing various projections. This was done in the dry sand, the wet sand, and in the water.

Falling in the water is a strange feeling, but rarely hurts. It’s actually harder to do the projection than take the projection. Stability is really affected. In many ways being thrown in the water is fun, and often practicing there would end up being more of a game than actual training--much to the chagrin of my teacher I’m sure.

Falling in dry sand means sand gets everywhere, but unless you take a bad fall there is enough cushion to normally keep you from getting hurt. Stability is a little better than in the water, but there are times you tend to lose your footing. Of course learning to maintain your posture and balance in terrain that is not level or firm is part of the lesson. After all, you can’t always choose where you might have to defend yourself.

The worst of the three is taking falls on wet sand. Falling on wet sand is great when things go well, however it will cut you like a knife when you fall wrong. I mean it will literally split you open. I know this from first-hand experience. The good news though is that due to the danger, you learn to do things properly very quickly.

Stability is of course is still an issue in the wet sand, but the cool thing is that once a projection is over you can see exactly how one would be damaged if the projection had been done for real. Just picture the outline imbedded in the sand, and you can see how the neck is torque, or how the base of the spine makes contact with the ground. It’s actually very interesting, and a great learning tool.

Several years ago I hosted a beach training day, for those students who were interested in seeing how I was trained. Okay it was an excuse to have a barbeque. Sue me.

However, we did actually train and I did demonstrate several projections in the wet sand. Projections one can’t practice in the dojo, at least not safely.

All the projections I demonstrated were specifically designed to snap the attacker’s neck, and when examining the outline in the wet sand it was clear exactly how the head and shoulder hit the ground. If my uke (person who receives the technique) hadn’t sunk into the wet sand as he did on impact he clearly would have needed an ambulance or a hearse. To my uke’s credit, all he needed in the end were a few Advil and a thorough neck massage.

Our day of training at the beach surely brought back a lot of memories for me. Some good, some bad, and several that were extremely painful.

While I definitely suffer from “selective” memory syndrome, one thing I can remember the most is how we would always attract spectators.

The funniest group was a bus full of Japanese tourists who must have spent a half an hour or more watching us practice and taking pictures of us doing various techniques. I would love to know what they thought about us that day, and what they told their friends when they showed them the pictures back in Japan.

Then of course there were always the younger children who would always have mixed reactions. Some would just stare in awe, but there certainly were others who couldn’t get past the fact we guys were wearing what appeared to be skirts (hakama). Of all the questions kids will ask, and they always had a lot of them, I think our clothing was always on the top of their list.

Of course practicing outside in front of the public has its share of problems. The main one being that it leaves one open for confrontations and challenges, and we had our share of those also. Unfortunately not just from vagrants who were either drunk or just in a fighting mood, but sometimes from young adults who trained in other martial art styles and thought what we were doing wasn’t “real” or effective.

In most cases these people were ignored, or we just moved to another part of the beach. However, there were a few times I witnessed my teacher in action. In those cases it was a matter of blink and you’ll miss it, but he never lost, never was hurt, and he never seriously hurt anyone else. He just made his point that we were to be left alone, and that it was time to take your attitude somewhere else.

Okay, he may have seriously injured some egos. After all, losing a fight to frail man in his 70’s has to screw with you mind, and your manhood. I know from my own experience that when I was in my late teens it frustrated the hell out of me how easily he could beat me. I came close to winning on a few occasions, but it seemed just as victory was mine, it was snatched away from me. Of course giving your opponent a false sense of victory, or a perceived point of attack is part of the aiki arts.

To be honest, seeing someone who preaches never to fight really fighting screws with your mind. However, it does teach one that sometimes violence can’t be avoided no matter how much you try. It also teaches you that you don’t have to beat the crap out of someone to prove you’re the better man, and make your point clear.

For the most part spectators where polite, and just inquisitive about what we were doing and where the art was from. I know my teacher hated the distraction, but he tolerated their intrusions with patience he never afforded us. I guess he realized we were in a public place, and that these occurrences were part of being in public.

Of course there were those who asked if he would teach them, and even though many of these people would visit us often, he would never take them on as fulltime students. I guess one gaijin (outside person/foreigner) in his life was enough for him to deal with.

In any case, few ever lasted for more than a couple of training sessions. If I haven’t made it clear by now, beach training was rough, very vigorous, and hard on the body.

While the techniques taught at the beach weren’t very different than the ones we did while training at my teacher’s house, the wide-open space and natural obstacles added a certain amount of realism to what we were learning. It is a type of realism that can only be learned once practitioners step out of the dojo (school) and into the real world--a real world with out padded floors, and leveled surfaces.

What I mean by that last statement is that when we practiced at the beach we had to be aware of our surroundings. We had to watch our footing, where we placed our steps, and how we shifted our weight.

Sometimes you would fall, unexpectedly, but have to keep fighting or get killed in mock battle. The technique you were doing had to be completed and/or adjusted based on your position whether standing, falling, or prone on the ground. This forced you to learn to keep fighting no matter what the circumstances were.

You also had to learn to use your surroundings to your best advantage. Force your opponent to step into a hole, take the high ground, use an obstacle for defense, or retreat until the other guy is too tired to chase and then turn and cut him down. These are all things one can only learn when practicing in a real world environment.

When falling, we had to watch for rocks and glass, as well as pieces of wood that would wash up onto shore. Falling on those objects hurt, but you quickly learned that in a real altercation you have to overlook the pain and keep on going.

More importantly we had to watch for other people, who for some reason would tend to walk right by us, instead of walking around us. This of course also teaches awareness, since in the real world any passerby could be a potential threat.

Finally, training at the beach teaches one how to use improvised weapons. Rocks, sand, sticks, or any other objects in reach have the potential to be used both offensively and defensively--by you or your opponent. It’s all about seizing the moment, trusting your gut instinct, and learning not over analyzing every decision.

Reminiscing about my days training on the beach brings back a myriad of emotions. Everything one can think of from borderline hypothermia to sunburns. From ingesting imponderable amounts of salt water and sand that should have made me ill to vomiting my guts out from over exertion. From the all the pain of strains, bumps, bruises, and pulled muscles to all the laughter and camaraderie when things went wrong but were oh so funny, one thing is clear; I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Clearly, training at the beach is not for everyone, nor would I recommend it for every martial art practitioner. The truth is I rarely if ever go there anymore to practice myself. However, when I walk along the beach, whether with the family or just my dog, I still can picture a young man cutting at waves with his sword, thrusting at the dunes with a spear, and feinting death in simulated battles.

And on some special days, when I’m caught in retrospection as I walk the shore, I can see an old spear wielding man strolling the beach, who on occasion stops to scan the horizon and ponder life’s mysteries and his very existence.

The Wisdom of “Mr. Miyagi”

Title: The Karate Kid
Starring: Pat Morita, Ralph Macchio
Directed by: John G. Avildsen
Date of Release:1984

Daniel: Hey - you ever get into fights when you were a kid?
Miyagi: Huh - plenty.
Daniel: Yeah, but it wasn't like the problem I have, right?
Miyagi: Why? Fighting fighting. Same same.
Daniel: Yeah, but you knew karate.
Miyagi: Someone always know more.
Daniel: You mean there were times when you were scared to fight?
Miyagi: Always scare. Miyagi hate fighting.
Daniel: Yeah, but you like karate.
Miyagi: So?
Daniel: So, karate's fighting. You train to fight.
Miyagi: That what you think?
Daniel: [pondering] No.
Miyagi: Then why train?
Daniel: [thinks] So I won't have to fight.
Miyagi: [laughs] Miyagi have hope for you.

This is one of the few movies my teacher and I went to see together at the movie theatre. Most of the other movies were Japanese films, some of which were my first introduction to “adult cinema.” “Realm of the Senses” still haunts me to this day.

Since my teacher’s English was limited, I’m not sure how much of the dialog he understood; but he did like the movie. That’s not to say he thought the movie was well done, he just found the premise pretty funny. Entertaining, but funny.

He also made it clear he didn’t like Daniel, and that if I had been like “Daniel-san” he never would have accepted me as a student. Being stubborn like me was one thing, but he found Daniel irritating and very whiny. I guess that was his way of complimenting me, and with the few positive comments he ever gave me; I’ll take what I can.

Of course my teacher was no Mr. Miyagi either. He never me made do, “wax on, wax off” or “paint the fence,” but he clearly wasn’t as nurturing as Mr. Miyagi. Not to me, or even his own family.

Though he disliked Daniel-san, he did like Mr. Miyagi. He said Mr. Miyagi reminded him of several people he had known in Japan, and he liked his philosophy-- especially the quote above.

No, it wasn’t the part about learning martial to avoid fighting, though that is a good philosophy, and one he agreed with. The part he liked was the idea that no matter how good you may be there is always someone who knows more.

My teacher said he could really relate to that statement, and that was something that was true in all facets of life. He also made it clear that I should never forget this sentiment as I progressed with my training.

So far I haven’t forgotten, though over the years I’ve often been reminded of that lesson the hard way.

My teacher told me many times that he was not a fighter, and as teenager avoided fights whenever possible. However, as a teen he had his share of free-for-alls, some of which he won, and some that he lost. Of course win, lose, or draw, he always learned something. Most of all, he learned that fights hurt, even if you walk away the winner.

Of course for my teacher nothing was worst than coming home after a fight, because win or lose, he would be punished, beaten, and forced to do “extra training.” This training was often harsher than normal, and intended to send the message that fighting in public would not be tolerated.

My teacher once told a story of his brother who, after getting into a fight, was beaten by his father. He was beaten so badly that he missed school the next day. If that wasn’t bad enough, a few days later, the “extra training” became so intense his brother was permanently injured: an injury that was debilitating enough that it affected him the rest of his life.

My teacher was also very strict with his son and I about getting into fights. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. Short of defending our very lives, we were told never to fight, or we would suffer the “circumstances” when he saw us.

Unfortunately, there were a few times I discovered what those “circumstances” were. Trust me, no fight is worth the punishment an angry sensei can dish out.

I’ve always stated that I am not a fighter, and avoid conflict whenever possible. However, I’ve had my share of altercations, as a teenager, in competition, and professionally as a police officer.

Some I’ve won, some I’ve lost, and in some cases the “Calvary” came and helped subdue the bad guy before things got to out of hand. Just like my teacher, I’ve learned from all these altercations.

Of course I’ve learned that win lose or draw, there is pain involved in any fight, and that no matter how much it appears you may have the upper hand things can go bad instantly.

However, the main thing I have learned is that no matter how good I think I am, there is always somebody just a little better, a little quicker, and/or a little stronger than me--even among those individuals that have no martial art training.

The “Karate Kid” movie may have been silly, and unrealistic. Surely, there are parts of it that could have been left out, and were just part of the Hollywood formula. Fortunately, and why some find the movie so endearing, are the gems of wisdom within it. Clearly words to live by.

How it All Started

Whenever people hear that I’ve been training in the martial arts for over thirty years one of the very first questions they have is how I got started. What motivated me?

While I wish I had some great story to tell them, my motivation wasn’t that interesting. I didn’t start taking martial arts to learn to defend myself, because I was bullied, or to find enlightenment. I also didn’t start doing martial arts because I was looking for a method of physical fitness; I was already busy playing basketball and soccer on my school’s team.

No, my motivation was based on two simple things; the first, dumb luck, and the second a James Bond movie titled, “You Only Live Twice.”

Title: You Only Live Twice
Date of Release: June 12, 1967 Odeon Leicester Square, London
Running Time: 116 Minutes
Starting: Sean Connery, Mie Hama, Akiko Wakabayashi, Donald Pleasence, Teru Shimada, Tetsuro Tamba, Desmond Llewelyn, and Bernard Lee
Producers: Albert R. Broccoli and Harry Saltzman
Director: Lewis Gilbert
Budget: $9.5 million
Plot: SPECTRE hijacks American and Russian space capsules in a bid to start World War III for their clients, the Red Chinese.
* * *

To be honest, “You Only Live Twice,” not only started my desire to learn Japanese martial arts, it also started my fascination with Japan, Japanese culture, and Japanese history.

The movie, or I should say soundtrack, also had a profound influence on my outlook on life. In the soundtrack there is a passage that states:

“You only live twice,
Or so it seems.
One life for yourself,
And one for your dreams.”

Though I may not have fully understood what that meant when I was 10 years old, I have to some degree lived my life by that philosophy. I guess I’ve been fortunate since even with many setbacks in my life I have been able to fulfill and live many of the dreams and desires I’ve had.

Now I’ll admit, basing an entire life on a movie is a little extreme, and for the life of me I can’t even start to explain why this movie had such a profound impact on me. I’ve thought about that a lot, but there is just no answer. I guess I just have to settle on the belief that was just how things were meant to be. Maybe there is a thing called, “Fate.”

I mean, it wasn’t like I had any interest in Japan prior to seeing this movie. In fact all I really knew about Japan prior to the movie was that it was close to China, Tokyo was its capital, they were the enemy of the US in WW2, and that they had a funny writing system.

The fact is that prior to this movie I was much more interested in Greek/Roman mythology, walking other people’s dogs, bone collecting (I had whole skeletons of cats, dogs, turtles, etc.), Donald Duck/Uncle Scrooge comics, soccer, and stamp collecting. (Yes, basically I was a Nerdy Kid!)

Training in the martial arts wasn’t even a thought in my mind when I was ten. I’m sure if you asked anyone who knew me then they would have never pictured me doing martial arts at all.

So why did “You Only Live Twice” have such an effect on me? Watching the movie today, I’m not sure. But I’m no longer watching the movie with the eyes of a ten year old. Today I see how certain plot elements are plain silly, that the movie drags at certain parts, and that even the effects are not very well done. At least not done well compared to today’s visual effects, though I’m sure in 1967 they were considered cutting edge.

However, with all that said, there are the action sequences, and the martial arts. And don’t let me forget, there is also one very beautiful leading female, which I had a crush on for many, many years.

Mie Hama	Mie Hama, Sean Connery, and Akiko Wakabayashi

Some movie reviewers have claimed that the martial art sequences, especially the ninjas depicted in the film, were the first mainstream introduction of Japanese martial arts to the west. I won’t argue the merit of this statement, but I can honestly say it was my first introduction.

Prior to this movie all I had seen were a few Chinese kung fu films, none of which were worth mentioning, or made me any more interested in exploring martial art classes.

Watching this movie was the first time I saw sumo wrestlers, judo-ka, kendo, and the art that captured my imagination the most--kenjutsu.

I will never forget watching the swordsman in the movie. His moves were strong and decisive. He fought like a demon, yet there was something graceful and elegant in his movements. I knew in a moment that learning to use a sword in this manner was something I had to know.

Unfortunately, I was ten years old at the time and didn’t have the first clue where to look for someone who could teach me how to use a sword like that. Back in the 70’s there was no Internet, and the martial art listings in the phone book weren’t very extensive. Finding traditional Japanese martial arts in my area is still extremely hard today.

What’s even clearer is that I wouldn’t have even known what to look for. I knew it was Japanese, that it involved a sword, but that was all. Even if I had found a school that taught Japanese martial arts, I wouldn’t have known what the art was called; so I might have ended up taking something totally different.

For almost a year I mimicked the movements I had seen, with all the ardor I could muster. Fortunately, and by sheer dumb luck, a year later I did meet someone who could teach me such an art: the art of swordsmanship, and so much more.

It’s been 34 years since I first saw “You Only Live Twice,” but each time I watch it I still feel the thrill I experienced the first time. I still think Mie Hama is gorgeous. I still mimic the movements, though now, after all these years I’ve been taught to do them correctly.

While I may have started my training due to a movie, I stayed because I had a passion for it. It was something I guess I was meant to do.

In Memory Of

As I sat writing my last entry about why I teach I couldn't help but think about one very special student who died Dec. 24th 2005. His name was Michael Schneps, and though he was only a student for about six years, I definitely considered him to be a true friend, who touched my life on many levels.

Michael was diagnosed with brain cancer, and though the outlook was bleak he faced his illness with a positive unyielding spirit. Throughout his treatment, throughout the pain and uncertainty he looked to the future. He saw the positive, where others would have succumbed to their misfortune and drowned in self-pity. Even in the end, when he was placed in a hospice unable to talk, or move most of his body, he had a smile on his face and an aura of peace and serenity.

I'll never forget the look on his face, the peaceful calm he projected, especially when he knew that it was only a matter of time before he would die. I hope, when it comes my time to face such adversity, or I know my days are numbered, I face the storm with the same strength and courage as Michael.

I learned a lot from Michael, both during his life and how he faced death. However, I will remember him most of all as one of the few people who was there when I faced heartache and needed someone to hear me vent my feelings, and as someone who helped me see things would get better, and that I had to take an active role to see that they did.

I will also remember him for his wit and wisdom, his mischievous smile, and his ability to make perfectly timed snide comments that would make us all laugh.

As a student I will remember Michael as someone who really help guide me and support my effort to promote the school. He was responsible for the school's first web site, as well as helping me formulate a partial curriculum for the weapons portion of what I teach. He will also be remembered as the man who chipped my skull with a bokken (partially my own stupidity), for a Matrix style sword toss across the length of the school, and for sustaining the first and most bloody sword related injury in the history of the school--an injury that wasn't totally his fault, which could have been a lot worse, and that he fully recovered from.

I will also remember him training with his son, (also one of my students), and how proud he was of his son's accomplishments both in and out of the dojo.

I truly feel fortunate for the time I was able to share with Michael, and will always remember our conversations on subjects ranging from the philosophical to the absurd. Most of all I enjoyed his stories regarding his life growing up in Japan, and his career as a professional photographer. Michael was an intelligent, articulate, unassuming person who will truly be missed by all those that knew him. He lived a full rich life, a life that was cut way too short.

In Memory of Michael Schneps 1944 - 2005 May his positive and unyielding spirit be an inspiration to all.