3 posts tagged “fulham road”

In my first Judo training session, I had dropped out of some of the
exercises. Using the "my first class ever" excuse, or the "can't find
a partner" excuse, I watched. So I never quite managed to work a
sweat. But earlier tonight, in my second ever session, I sure did
work a sweat.

Ten minutes into the class, I was panting so hard, I had to bend over
and drop out of proceedings for a few seconds. I was not the only
one. Fit 19-year-olds who have come to many classes were equally
spent in under ten minutes.

Our first exercise was to carry a random partner over our shoulders
and run around the dojo (the exercise hall) a few times.
(Fortunately, I did not have to carry the 100 kilos guy.) Then, we
tried to slap each other in the face for a few minutes: I hold my
partner's right wrist with my left hand to try to stop his hand from
touching my face, and he does the same to me. Resist and attack, at
the same time.

Then we were on to hitting each other's knees (and then ankles) -
again you have to avoid getting hit and at the same time try to score
a hit.

But all of this just was exercise. Stuff to warm you up and get the
blood circulating. It was down to the mat next: your partner is on
all fours and your job is to try to topple him. I was allocated an
experienced partner. He was well nigh impossible to topple. He taught
me how to do it.

When it was my turn, he toppled me over, flat on my back, in a
second. He locked my arms around my chest, then plopped his full
weight on my chest. It did not feel nice. My arms were bound in an
extremely tight position under his weight. What most concerned me was
hearing one of my arms click underneath his weight.

He had done what orthopedists do: they stretch your limbs in awkward
positions and then apply pressure to release tension. On this
occasion, I could not complain, but what if the next guy is not so
smooth?

I raised this with one of our instructors, who is a woman - the only
woman instructor in the club, and she replied: "It's a full contact
sport, you _are_ going to get bashed."

The philosophy of Judo as far as I can make out, is to attempt to
create imbalance in your opponent, but also it is about speedy
execution. For example, today we were taught a move that uses choking
to create temporary immobilisation in your opponent, which then
allows you to fling him very quickly and lock him down.

When you execute it, your partner seems heavy and the whole thing
does not work as the instructor demonstrated. But when the partner
executes it on you correctly, he grips you around your neck (both
hands clutching bits of your robe) and the rest follows easily. His
grip is very uncomfortable; it makes you instinctively feel that you
may start choking. Your body freezes.

Your partner is not just trying to choke you. You are on all fours,
if one of your arms is shoved into your body, you lose your balance.
Combined with the choking, this creates a very short-lived sensation
of collapse of control. He executes the rest of his moves during this
one-two seconds of temporary incapacitation - when you do not offer
any resistance. He comes in underneath you, and pulling you by the
neck, rolls you over and then headlocks you. That's why he has to do
it quickly, because otherwise you're back to resisting him.

Another Judo principle is to not attempt to overwhelm with strength.
This invites your opponent to instinctively resist, which makes it
harder for you. One good strategy as soon as he matches strength with
strength is to give in to him, to go along with him: pull him down
with you. Use his strength against him. Much easier said than done!

I wish our instructors would talk to us about judo principles and
philosophy. But there is very little high-minded talk, mostly a lot
of action. The guys are eager to learn moves and execute them, not
listen to lectures. I have seen a few young guys show exemplary
dedication to executing moves exactly as taught. It's great.

After the session, I brought up the topic of injury with the
instructor. "Listen," she told me, "everything that happens to you in
a car accident in one minute, happens to you here in an hour. That's
why you're going to wake up tomorrow feeling like you were in a car
crash."

And so it was that we stood in a line and took turns to throw each
other onto the floor. You grab the guy by the lapel, yank at his
sleeve, pull him towards you, step with your right foot and place
next to his, lock your arm around his armpit, transport your left
foot next to his, bend your knees, stick your hip into his, and
whack, flick him over your shoulder. You do this with a dozen guys;
the instructor is yelling out: "quicker, white belts, quicker, we are
not doing it in slow-motion here."

There's something appealing about flicking someone over your shoulder
- until you experience it and fall like a sack of bones a few times.
You land on your arm and it hurts. Some guys are so inexperienced and
so pushy, they execute the moves so badly you know it is a matter of
time before they cause you injury. They're sweating like pigs,
they're not looking you in the eye, they're panting like they've been
running for miles.

You get paired with a brown belt: a man in his forties, very muscular
and fit, he could be a bouncer. He looks you in the eye. He puts
himself at your disposal. His eyes are kind and his voice is husky.
"Don't worry about me, do anything, I will handle it." You're at a
loss: how do people fight? Where do you begin? You clutch on to his
robe, trying to figure out a way to do something to this guy - an
observer may think you are his tailor, fitting his judo jacket. You
get a feel for his centre of gravity: it is low.

You suggest trying to throw him, to practise the move you just
learnt. "Yeah, go." You execute it clumsily. You try again, and
again. Then he shows it to you. And by God, it's a world of a
difference. He doesn't have to do anything almost: you're yanked one
side, then another, you lose your balance slightly, his bum juts into
your body, almost breaking it in two, and the next thing you know you
are flying in the air. You try that on him, and it is not the same.
"Don't worry, I've got experience," he says.

Next you're wrestling on the floor. Purpose: pin your opponent and
immobilise him for 25 seconds. You're paired with a brown belt again.
He is coated in sweat, his hair is like a mop, and he smells of
coconut - the shower gel he uses, probably. The mixture of coconut
and sweat is odd; but perfectly fitting for a nice middle class
Chelsea lad. He shows you how to yank at his lapel, grab a hold of
his arm, then the other arm, and roll him over . You feel you might
damage his spine. He lets you do it a few times, then bows and shakes
your hand and tells you to come back and not give up.

You're paired for some more floor-wrestling with an 17-18 year old
kid who you kind of feel sorry for. He's totally at loss like you and
you feel you can crush him. But the bastard's strong and he resists
valiantly: it is a question of who lifts more weight in the gym
(answer: he does). You think smart, you think Judo, you think
"balance": you try to swing him around.

But he is wise to it and never weakens. He tries his hand at your
game, and now it is you who's resisting and trying not to lose your
balance. Then you pull back a little, just to give yourself more
space, and unwittingly you've opened a new line of attack for him. He
pushes you backwards. You instantly lose your balance. He's on top of
you, pinning your arms down and fixing himself over you. The
instructor is delighted: "excellent, try to get him off you". You
can't, you tap him, he's won. It is on to another fight.

Only a couple of hours ago I was in Fulham Road, Chelsea, London.
I found an intense appreciation for the area creeping up on me.  I left
Fulham Road for the Clapham Junction area.  Clapham Junction was
cemented in my mind as a busy, functional area. Some parts of London
can fill you with monotony, while others can recharge you, especially
when you have not been there for a while.

This in celebration of Fulham Road, Chelsea.  These are pictures I took
at 8pm with my mobile. Not very high-res, not very clear, but they convey
the atmosphere, I hope.

Chelsea has the wonderful independent library Daunt Books. I loved
being inside Daunt Books; it was very well lit, the selection of
books made my mouth water (or is it mind?). I crave the day when a
similar bookshop opens in Cairo. (Whether it would be profitable is a
different story.)

Fulham Road's Cineworld cinema is still a key landmark, along with
the antique shops.  The restaurants change, but always fashionable.

Sainsbury's and Marks & Spencers - a must.  And the estate agents.
No economic downturn here!