No Snappy Title, it's just the: FIRST POST!

The Warrior Within—Be Like Water…


This blog will be about the martial arts… sort of. More precisely, it will be about the adventures of a half-century old man, as he stumbles his way back into the martial arts as a real, and hopefully life-long avocation, after years of flirtation, dabbling, and rejection of the same. That opening begs a number of questions, I know, so this first post is likely to be a long one. Nevertheless, I will endeavor to move beyond what may be considered the familial curse of unnecessary long-windedness, and attempt to give you some personal background without getting too verbose:

I am a musician, a teacher, a businessman, and rather importantly, a family man. I am 50 years old. In my time, I have been a pretty decent athlete (not world class mind you, or even all-county; just in good shape and somewhat competitive). I was also a soldier for quite a few years (a decade, to be more exact). After graduating high school, going to college (then dropping out, then going back), falling in love, and getting married, I kind of settled into the “adult” routine and let myself go a bit. I put on (what I thought at the time was) quite a lot of weight. I worked very hard to take it off, and for various reasons that are beyond the scope of our “need-to-know” here, I joined the US Army as a “late bloomer” (I was just shy of 30 years old), graduated basic training, and felt strong and back on top of the world again. If you can handle it, doing some time in the Army or Marines, and specifically finishing basic training, is highly recommended; you really do feel like you can do anything once you have met the challenges that they throw at you there. I spent ten years in the National Guard, and for the most part, really enjoyed my time there. Anyway, when I graduated basic, I said to myself “I will never put that kind of weight on again! I know how to do this now.” But when I got home, it was a lot harder than I thought to maintain a soldier’s on-the-go lifestyle and physical training regimen. Unless you are actively deployed, or hire your own full-time drill instructor (and for some reason you feel the need to get up at 4:00 am every morning), it’s pretty hard to keep that pace. I’m a night person, really, so 4:00 am and I have always been accustomed to a different relationship—I have often gone to bed later than that, but when it comes to trying to squeeze into a day-time world and get up that early…… Suffice it to say that it was tough. After a few years, and a protracted illness that put me on some steroid-based meds, I had put on the weight I had lost and then some. My “fighting weight” in high school was somewhere between 165 and 180; I eventually ballooned up to 265 (and I’m under 5’ 7” tall—not good). After years of thinking “I can take this off; I’ll eventually get motivated,” I kind of decided it might even be better to forget about the whole thing and just keep eating. Complications ensued—loss of energy, disinterest in playing with the kids, my difficult work schedule and long hours becoming even harder to bear (at times over the years, I was working up to 90 hours a week), and eventually the inevitable self-loathing. My beautiful wife had put a tiny bit of weight on as well for a few years (insignificant to me, but not to her, apparently); she took it off rather promptly and what seemed like pretty easily as well, which only made me feel worse. As I approached 50, and insurance premiums began to look pretty insurmountable if I didn’t do something, I decided I’d better make a positive decision, or live with the one I was making by default; which would likely lead to me checking-out from this mortal coil a little earlier than I had initially planned. I knew that there were still a lot of reasons not to have a heart attack and die young, so I set about making some important changes.

Flash back for a moment—Like every kid growing up in the US in the 70’s and 80’s, I knew about Bruce Lee, and I had watched David Carradine Qui-Chang-Caine his way across the Old West in “Kung Fu” (“Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting,” after all). As a youth, I was involved in Kempo Karate (earning the coveted orange belt), in high school, I did some boxing, and in the military, I trained a bit of combat Jiu-Jitsu (I found hand-to-hand a lot more fun than some of our other tasks). I always thought that “Some day, I’ll get back to seriously pursuing the martial arts; I really want to train hard and understand this stuff.” At the age of 48, I determined that it was time to get healthy and lose weight, and I needed something fun and engaging to focus on, or my workout program would never last. And, I finally realized that it was either now or never… If I didn’t start doing many of the things I’d been putting off until “someday,” someday it would be too late.

Other reasons I chose to focus on martial arts at my advanced age? A grab bag of the usual, I suppose—wanting to be able to better protect myself, my family, or others needing help; an interest in the art aspect beyond the utilitarian practical application, and the need to test myself with a new challenge. Also, and paradoxically, I suppose, it seems that studying martial arts makes one less likely to get involved in street fights. But if one comes my way without looking for it, I want to be able to put an end to it as soon as is humanly (and humanely) possible.

It’s not that I enjoy fighting per se; contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a pretty gentle, not-interested-in-conflict kind of guy. I’ve only had a handful of fights over the years that weren’t training exercises or kid stuff. I can remember four. One was between me and a high school buddy; drunk, stupid, and full of teenage hormones, we argued over something idiotic, let it escalate into fisticuffs and a wrestling match, and then finished off with heartfelt apologies and exclamations of life-long friendship. Another was later in life, as an adult, at basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. The “teaching process” at military basic training camps is to “break down the individual, and rebuild him or her as a member of the team.” Right in the middle of the “breaking down” part, things got a bit hairy and shall we say less than “team-oriented,” and I was provoked by a French Canadian private who always seemed to have an air of contempt for those of the nationality whose army he had decided to join (odd, right?). It was broken-up pretty quickly by concerned platoon-mates. Anyway, I was an adult, let my emotions get the better of me, and I was then and to this day ashamed of myself, due to the senseless nature of the conflict and the fact that I really should have known better. But never under-estimate what lack of sleep and constant pressure to achieve perfection can do to the human psyche.

The other two fights were also back in high school, and a bit more serious. Once, a few friends and I went to a late-night showing of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” At the time, my two friends were freshman, and I was a junior. As we were waiting for the movie to start, another group of three kids came in and sat right behind us. Two of them were freshman, and the other was a sophomore, but he was a well-known and greatly-feared hard guy/football-playing leather boy (and at least six feet tall and twice as wide as me), and the other two kids were his little toadie henchmen. My two younger friends had “had words” at school with the toadies, and since they were now emboldened in the presence of their hulking misshapen master, the toadies began assaulting us with insults. “No big deal, they’ll shut up when the movie starts,” I thought. But the lack of a response goosed their newfound bravado even more, and small items (I’m not even sure what, spitballs?) began sailing over the seats towards our heads. I had a hoodie on, so I put it up. And then, my friends, came the sound that nobody wants to hear coming from behind them. It was the guttural, deep-in-the-throat, scrock-generating sound of a loogey being prepared for launch. I heard the accompanying “phht,” and I felt my hood respond to some slight pressure from behind. In a second or two which seemed to freeze time, I mulled my options. I decided that if my hoodie was clean, all was well. But if I put my hand back there, and there was anything gooey, then someone was going down, and pre-figuring the fight scene in “Jack Reacher,” I decided that it might as well be the biggest guy back there, whether he was the culprit or not. Prevent him from getting involved by pre-emptively involving him, and send a message to the toadie boys as well, right? At least, that was the best I could come up with on short notice. Without turning around, I touched the back of my hood, and indeed, it had been summarily scrocked upon. Without hesitation, I turned in my seat, dove over the row behind me, and began burying my fists into the leather boy’s face. At this point, I was a bit beside myself, as I remember him beginning to cry (a la Ralphie’s beatdown of bully Sid Farkus in “A Christmas Story”), and yelling “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it!” to no avail. When the off-duty police officer that was acting as security finally pulled me off of him, he had to take out his billy-club and let me know that he would help me calm down if I wasn’t able to do it myself. As I was led out of the theater, I could hear the tough guy proclaiming through his tearful sniffles, that “If I don’t have a bruise, he’s safe, but if my face is bruised, he’s dead! ” (insert child-like crying and sobbing sounds here)… Of course, at this point his threats rang hollow, as I had shown a theater full of high school kids that leather boy was really a wus. I guess you could say that I don’t like being spit on.

The other more serious fight was also in high school. A group of friends and I (this time all older and bigger than me) went to Putt Putt to play some video games and a round or two of mini golf. There were probably seven guys there, all pretty well-known and respected jocks (and a few larger, more athletically inclined brains) in our district. There was no reason to think that anyone would mess with us. Then, some bikers with about the same number of guys showed up. Mind you, being a musician, since then, I have spent a lot of time with bikers, and despite their reputation and gruff exterior, they are often some of the nicest, community-oriented people you’d ever want to meet. But not these guys—they were out looking for trouble. I was just there hanging-out; I had no issue with anyone in my group or theirs, but somehow, the biker dudes chose their littlest guy (he was short, but a wild-eyed, crazed-looking individual for sure; let’s call him “Mad Dog”) to “call out” our littlest guy (me)—they basically “sicked him” on me. He marched towards me, did the usual two-handed push, then tried to take a few swings, while I was still dealing with disbelief of my newfound surrealistic situation. I don’t remember him connecting, but I do remember grabbing him and putting him in a head-lock. As I was trying to calm him (and myself) down, I could feel his desperate punches fly all around me, but he really couldn’t do much due to his mobility-challenged circumstances. He must have truly feared for his life; either that, or he really was a crazy-#%* Mad Dog, but I must have left just a bit too much slack in the head-lock, and the next thing I felt were his giant mandibles (he had a large, melon head that was rather out-sized for his body) clamping down on my arm between the shoulder and bicep. Human teeth really hurt! I’m not sure who broke it up or how it ended, but I remember his teeth marks making an impression in my right arm that lasted several weeks before healing.

So I guess it’s situations like that, where you are just trying to live your life, when trouble seeks and finds you, that I want to be even better prepared for. Even so, I shied away from the martial arts for a very long time, because I had become a Christian in my early 20’s, and I had a very hard time reconciling brutal techniques that I knew of (temple smashes, eye gouges, groin kicks) with the peaceful, inclusive message of Christ. But living in this imperfect world, and knowing that many times, trouble may be looking for us, rather than us looking for it, and knowing that there were times and places where the Bible does seem to allow for necessary violence, I eventually came to understand that having as much control of a violent encounter as possible would be the best way to quickly return circumstances to a state of peace. More on this later, as I think this might make a pretty important and entirely separate blog post, but suffice it to say that having a wife and children depending on you tends to focus your perspective.

So here I am, a half-century old and just re-entering the warrior’s path, hopefully, not only older but also wiser. The Bible tells us that “As much as it is up to you, live at peace with all men,” while the code of Bushido (paraphrased) says that you have nothing to prove, so stop worrying about proving it. This is sound wisdom, and it’s amazing how much confidence and peace one can garner from a workout well done, or a training session fully engaged in.

I started on the path of better health a few years ago, and I had a plan to begin some kind of program, and then add to my martial explorations a bit at a time, while focusing on developing a life-style of exercise and training that would be sustainable for the long term. To that end, I have been working pretty hard for about two years now, and exceptionally hard (training in one way or another 6-7 days per week) for 6 or 8 months. While that pace is probably not sustainable in the long run, and I do need to be mindful of “over-training,” I have been rewarded with more vitality and energy, but even better, I’ve lost about 30 pounds. I still have about 35 to go, and a lot of muscle building, before I reach my short-term goal of a more ideal weight and physique, but I have a life-time to pursue the journey that is proficiency in the martial arts. I am currently studying European fencing (and tried a bit of Iaido), Judo, Systema, and FMA (Pekiti-Tersia and Arnis). I’m also doing a lot of my own boxing and Karate workouts. I have plans to eventually take up BJJ. I have a lot of coaches and teachers, so I’d like to thank Coach Rob S. at Forge Saber Academy, Brian and Casey at Buffalo Systema, Sensei Eric, Guro Jack, Datu Tim H., Lakan Tim P., and also Sensei Mike at Hamburg Defensive Arts Dojo, who has been extremely welcoming and supportive of my efforts. Also Mr. Corey N., and Sensei George at Millman’s Martial Arts Academy in Scotsville have been very helpful. I would also like to thank my awesome wife and family for their love and support. It’s nice to have cheerleaders…

(Copy the link below and paste it into a new browser window to hear Bruce Lee's advice... I can't get the embedding to work!):

www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsavc5l9QR4

This blog will be about the process of awakening the warrior within me, while seeking to follow Bruce Lee’s advice to “Be like water” (adapt and be fluid); it will also document my general “journey to fitness.” It will not only chronicle the highs, lows, and any insights gained in that journey, but I hope it will also be an inspiration, and lend support, to your journey as well. I also am open to learning whatever I can from whomever I can, so feel free to comment. Bowing out for now…

White Belt