6 posts tagged “judo”

This is an account of my fifth-ever judo session. see my previous entry
on learning to walk like a baby.

I went to my fifth Judo session after a week's break. I was
recovering from a 'discovered injury' - an injury that took a couple
of days to be felt. It seems I had pulled a muscle in my upper chest
area, above my heart (which is a muscle too - so what happens when
_it_ is torn slightly?). I did not go to see a doctor; I figured it
was an injury and time will sort it out. A cold came in too. So I
wasn't even sure if it was an injury or a really bad flu! I spent a
week living my usual low-activity life; then I pushed myself to go
to back to the one-hour session.

1. Why should you go to training when you're out of shape and out of
it?

To continue what you started. If you postpone for a couple more
sessions, going back will get harder and harder.

Our instructor on Saturdays likes to give us a good work-out. He
is also less tolerant of various forms of wuss behaviour. So, the
warm-up was particularly intense. We lugged random partners around
the dojo; did several rounds of push-ups; rolled, crawled, and got
ready to be mauled! But I was exhausted already.

This burst of intense physical activity (in fifteen minutes) really
just drained me: the injury felt bigger than it was. Besides, no one
had taught me the Judo-specific warm-up exercises we were doing, and
nothing puts you under more pressure than being the only one who
does not know how to do something.

2. Why should you carry on, when you already know you are very
tired?

To learn a few techniques. To test your physical fitness. To get
your money's worth! The moves you will train on are, after all, a
distillation of hundreds of years of fighting experience.

Our instructor called out for the (Japanese) names of certain
moves, and hardly anyone could answer. He demanded we memorise
the syllabus: names + steps. He didn't look like he was joking!

The next thing I know, a guy's sweaty buttocks were in my face. I
was flat on my back, and this guy was on top of me facing towards my
feet with his bum almost suffocating me. I found myself making an
anti-choke gasping sound. The instructor commended my partner:
"That's exactly how he should feel, excellent."

3. Why should you accept to have a man's sweaty ass in your
face? Isn't it enough that his entire weight is sitting on your
injured chest?

The answer is: To help him learn how to do the move properly.
Besides, when he's doing it right, you're not thinking "this is
disgusting", you're thinking "I want to breathe"! And also, it will
shortly be your turn to rub your sweaty ass into his nose.

When we started doing a new move (I don't know its name, I haven't
studied the syllabus yet), I felt scared. I just did not want to do
it. It involved throwing. And I had to try to throw my partner ten
times, and then my partner had to throw me ten times. My break-fall
technique is bad.

Sure enough, time and again, I fell badly, including one fall in
which I got very dizzy. The partners I trained with all told me to
relax; it seems they felt the tension in my body.

4. Why should you let yourself be shoved around and then thrown like
a sack of laundry over someone's back?

Because it is good for the ego!  It is after all a very weakening feeling:
to feel you're not in control, to feel your body give way, to collapse -
it happens so quickly and you cannot stop it.  And though it is scary and
quite unpleasant (especially when it is a good throw), you learn how to
break the fall, to lessen its impact.

A friend told me the other day: "it's something we've stopped doing
since our childhood, to fall." A grown man falling is good practice.

Substitute falling for failing (they are the 'same' somehow).
Shouldn't we all practice the art of failing?

Some nice clips Big hip throw in Judo

Randori - fights - followed. And by this point I was so tired, out
of breath, and disorientated, I dropped out of them. I regretted the
decision minutes afterwards. The fights are a different realm by
comparison to training; half the people are not exceptionally good,
most of the white belts (lower grades) instinctively revert to the
resist-strength-with-strength mentality. So, the fights test
different skills: how do you handle yourself under pressure, how do
you apply what you've just learnt, how do you parry?

5. Why should you not drop out of fights when you are tired?

Because if you do, you are admitting you are scared, weak and
your morale is low, and whereas there is nothing wrong with being
scared and weak, stepping up raises your morale. You can step up and
channel your fear into playing defensively, channel your tiredness
into quick, precise moves.  Step up, don't drop out!

This is my fourth blog post on my new journey into Judo. See the
previous entries: Rei!, My Understanding of the Philosophy of Judo,
and Strangled By Judo.

I have a baby niece who I had the pleasure of observing as she learnt to
walk. It was exciting - as well as funny. She would stand up, look like
she is drunk, flail her arms about, steady herself, and then take a
forward step, look like she is vewy, vewy dwunk, steady herself, ... and
so on. She fell flat on her face many times. But the beauty of the
"life" program coded in her DNA is that she did not stop trying.

Well, so it seems with Judo. It is now clear to me that learning Judo
consists of executing technical moves repeatedly; doing them over and
over; it is training. You stand and watch the technical steps of a move
being demonstrated to you, you get the rationale, you can even explain
why the move works, but this all means nothing if you do not execute the
move well. Execution is far more important than idea.

The beauty of proper technical execution is that it flows like an
overpowering current. You do apply some physical force here and there,
true, but because you are altering your posture ever so dynamically and
interactively, your partner finds he has no choice but to fall in line
with your plan. You are using the known weaknesses of your partner's
human frame against him.

Once you have executed your moves with grace and control, he has no
choice but to fall, roll over, or do what you intended for him to do.
It's like clockwork. Logic. Beautiful execution = Partner crumbling.
Only if your partner is quicker than you, can he disrupt and parry your
attack before you can complete your execution.

The technical moves allow our instructor, a woman shorter than most of
us and not as physically strong as some of us, to bring down a guy
bigger and stronger than her. She causes imbalance, remains in control,
sweeps her partner's leg from underneath him, and then gets out of the way
as he falls. The moves teach us how to take on someone considerably
stronger than us. We do not need to work out at the gym every day (not
at this stage). We just have to learn the moves - just like a baby
learns to walk.

A youtube Judo clip of an exercise similar to what we do in class.

And, a hip throw.

The downside, of course, is injury. The toddler learning to walk falls
flat over and over. Sometimes she hits something on the way down.
Sometimes, just the shock of falling flat on a hard floor causes her to
cry ("I'm disorientated, I might have been injured," she seems to cry).

Everywhere I turned today, my partners told me about injury. It is a
must; it's part and parcel of training. Someone broke his big toe seven
years ago, quit Judo, and now he is back but he still feels the occasional
pain in the toe. Another guy pointed at various spots on his body where
he's had injuries, and told me he visits a chiropractor regularly.

Do the falls stop the little toddler from trying to walk? You must be
joking! And so it came to be that I realised: this is a life-long project.

The art of falling is something, I am finding, I have to learn. Me,
someone tips me, and I fall flat on my back like a log of wood. Head,
neck, and back all hit the floor at the same time. Gravely unpleasant!
It turned out I had to keep gripping my partner with one hand, thereby
hitting the floor with one side of my back.

I have been musing about injury not just because I saw clumsy and
impatient novices in action, but also because I got injured! A week ago,
an exhausted novice yanked so hard on my jacket (as described in my
earlier blog post), it hurt; three days later, I woke up and found
myself wondering if I've had a heart attack. Every time I blew my nose,
sneezed, or yawned, my chest area seized up.

An experienced player told me today that I must have pulled a muscle. I
need to warm up very well and stretch all my muscles before I train, he
said. Muscle-pulls, 'getting winded' (feeling as if all the air has gone
out of your lungs), broken something or other, ... here I come.

A clip from the film "Fight Club" - a great movie and possibly an early
motivator to get involved in the martials arts world.

This session followed my second-ever judo session.

I turned up fifteen minutes late.

At the station, I discovered I forgot my jacket at home, and so had to
go back home to retrieve it. That ate up about fifteen minutes, and
Saturday traffic was bad too. I was almost at the point of not going in,
but making it all the way to the club obliged me to go in.

The instructor - a superbly fit former champ - told me to warm up for a
few minutes before joining class. Having warmed-up the class for about
fifteen minutes, he was now going through the same move I had seen a
couple of days ago. This involved the easy to describe, yet hard to
execute: choke and turn. You are taught to grip your partner in such a
way as to create a very uncomfortable choking sensation around his neck.
(As soon as he taps you - indicating discomfort, you stop.)

The execution of this move seems - when the instructor is explaining it
- perfectly easy, and natural. Yet, the grip must be tenacious, the
angles at which your arms confine your partner's neck must be tight, and
you have to cross your arms and use the weight of your body to twist
your "neck-lock" even tighter around his neck ... it is difficult. In a
competitive situation this move must be executed in split-seconds!

But - before you hurry away in horror - just think about this: I am
submitting myself to someone who is _strangling_ me, and I am not
getting worried about it - isn't that something! My coloured-belt (more
advanced) partner was even telling me how to strangle him better! "Now
is good, ya, tighter, yes, yes, okay, stop. Was good."

The instructor gathered us again and now taught us another move. What if
you are astride your partner and you are well on your way to counting
off the 25 seconds of put-down, but then he gathers enough energy to
push your chest off him? "Highly unlikely - but he's been bench-pressing
a lot. So what do you do?" It would seem you would try to force his arm
down or try to overcome him again. But, no.

"He's extended his arm. So, fine, I'll take his arm. He's given me his
arm, I won't resist it." Now the instructor demonstrates a move that
abandons the initial put-down in favour of a highly-uncomfortable combo
of push-pull on the arm, while smothering your partner's face with both
of your legs. When we tried it on each other, it was very uncomfortable.

After we had all practised the new moves for a bit, it was time for
_randori_. Fights! This is the customary twenty-minutes round of fights
between random partners. Each fight is about three minutes. You rest for
a bit while the higher belts do their own randori. Then it is off for
another random pairing. I ended up having three fights. I was fully
prepared mentally to lose them all.

The first fight was with a 19 year old lad who comes from a Karate
background. He was confident and moved quickly, but I discovered that
once I had parried his attacks, he was easy to try stuff on. Except I
did not know how to really use the advantages. And to be fair to the
guy, in true Judo fashion, whenever he felt I had made a good move, he
went with me and made my move backfire. That's exactly how it's supposed
to be done.

The next guy was way too good for me, and very gentlemanly about it. He
wanted me to try stuff on him and did not attack me at all. But I also
felt he was having a breather. (We were all panting and heavily sweating
by that point.)

I was worried about the third guy. He is one of those people who gets
clumsy when he is exhausted, and he was exhausted. He started off
catching his breath, waiting for me to attack. The instructor yelled
out: "Stop dancing around each other, this is not boxing. Get a grip on
each other and fight."

Sure enough, the guy went straight for my robe and yanked it so hard, I
feel the yank in my collarbone even as I type these words. Later, he
grabbed at my robe with such intensity, he scratched my chest. He tried
a move on me and it worked very nicely: yank with one arm, and push the
other arm-bone into my neck. He did it three times in a row. Each time, he
knocked me down. He clearly was too tired to think of anything else.

I knew what my question was going to be in the showers. I sought out one
of the more advanced players and asked him the defence for the
yank-and-arm-bone-into-neck move. He came up with two answers. "Think of
his weak spots - the elbow in this case. Try to hit him there." And also,
"Go along with his arm-bone and turn your head so that your neck
is not affected by his hit." Then he reassured me: "Don't worry, I got
knocked down 100, 200 times before I learnt a few things."

I had a little chat with the instructor on my difficulties with executing certain
moves. "Where do you live?" he asked. I told him.  "Well, if you can turn up
on time - that'd certainly be a start."

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.

I am on a southbound flight path low over Central London heading in
the direction of Gatwick. Heathrow is to starboard and I am passing
over Chelsea. I am travelling at an altitude of some twenty-two feet
above one of the many tributaries of Fulham Road, in the main dojo on
the first fooor of the Budokwai Judo Club. I am flying over someone's
shoulder. I am somersaulting in the air and am about to crash. It is
at around this time that I find myself concurring with the
proposition that it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive.

The Pyjama Game - A journey into Judo, by Mark Law.

*

I was at the Budokwai Judo Club in Chelsea earlier this evening. It
is the oldest Judo club in England, founded almost a hundred years
ago by Japanese masters. It runs courses in only Judo, and other
related martial arts. From the outside, it looks relatively big, a
bit like a community centre, or a church.

Inside, on the first floor, I sat crouching in a corner watching one
of the three weekly training sessions available for "seniors" (over
16s). As soon as I sat down, I could almost smell the 'manliness'
filling the air of the well-lit, mat-covered hall. Men of all ages
and sizes were clutching each other by the lapel or sleeve and really
going at each other. It was serious stuff. The thought of me getting
stuck in one of these full-body-contact games is almost scary.

I was planning to take part; but because I arrived just before class
and the club did not have a spare uniform handy, reception suggested
I just watch tonight. After watching a bunch of men sweat, throw each
other about, and hurl themselves into each other's ribcages, I wanted
to talk to somebody. The lad sitting next to me had pulled a muscle
and was resting. He said one of the great advantages of this game is
that you can train with a black belt. In fact, the next scheduled
session will be led by a UK Olympic silver medalist.

The colour of your belt shows your station. I will start with a white
belt, then there's blue, yellow, brown, and black. But people of all
standards train in the same hall and do the same exercises. The pros
always need target practice anyway, so they do not mind playing with
a total novice. In fact, the masters tend to be far more protective
of you than the guys your level. The sport forbids overtly violent
moves (for example, you are supposed to break your opponent's fall,
help him land softer); but the wannabes can over-excitedly smash your
hand or twist your ankle - without meaning to, of course.

I have always been interested in martial arts and yet never taken any
step in their direction. Over the years, I gathered that Judo was a
particularly special form of martial art: the only one you are
allowed to throw people around and whose explicit goal is to
immobilise and subdue your opponent. Kickboxing and Karate tend to
teach you fighting techniques but not to let you fight. Judo is a
fight - a Judo (meaning 'gentle') fight. I thought its philosophy of
respect for your opponent, and using his strength against him, worth
exploring.

Am I cut out for this? Can I handle it? There's only one way to find
out!

For now, I leave you with a modestly respectful bow. Rei!