Falling in Love with Karate

Wado Ryu Karate is a journey I started back in 2007 while living in Yokohama, Japan.  My son was 8 years old and I was looking for a physical activity for him to get him moving and active.  There was an advertisement on the Navy base for a karate class, so I decided to go check it out.  I expected to enroll him in the class and let the shuttling commence.  To my surprise, I found there was only one student.  My son joined the class and the sensei invited me to join them as well.  I "tried out" the class and found I really enjoyed it.  Being there to encourage my son was awesome and it felt like something we could grow in together.

The man who taught our class was Sensei Obuaki Ohta.  Ohta-sensei was only about as tall as me and was probably 55-65 years old.  He only spoke basic English terms, most of which were limited to "kick" and "punch."  He would model the kata movements and I would follow after him.  I spoke some Japanese and was able to ask him if I was doing it okay.  Invariably, I was certainly not doing it okay.  He would come over and move my arm, push me into a deeper stance, or adjust my hand or foot placement.  

One day, Ohta-sensei watched me run through my kata and he made a correction to one part.  Focusing intently on that one correction, I tried again.  When I got through, I had corrected that deficiency, only to have him come to me and slightly adjust my thumb.  At that moment, I realized I would never arrive.  Suddenly it became clear to me how a person could work their whole lives to perfect their craft and never fully master it.  This commitment to craft and perfection approached with humility, reached deep into my soul.  

I felt an intense connection and respect for my sensei.  Attending class excited me and I pushed myself.  He invited me to test on two occasions during my time in Japan.  Both times, my son and I were the only non-Japanese people in the whole auditorium.  We were not fluent, so we depended on non-verbal cues and our limited Japanese skills to follow the flow of the students and the guidance of the judges.  We were thrilled to be a part of the culture, both of the country and the sport.  

Unfortunately, our time was too short.  When I was 8 weeks pregnant with my twins, I took my 2nd test but was not allowed to spare for obvious reasons.  By 10 weeks, I had to stop my karate lessons and wound up moving to Okinawa to be near the neonatal intensive care unit in case I had pregnancy complications.  Leaving my training behind was difficult and I longed to return.  Trying to juggle the demands of twins, homeschooling my then 10-year-old son, caring for three dogs, and dealing with everything while my husband was deployed left little time for karate, so I wound up not returning to my beloved sensei and the sport I loved so well.  When the twins were 7 years old, we wound up moving back to the United States.

Back in North Carolina, I searched for a dojo in the Wado style, with no success.  There simply was no option anywhere near us.  I considered another school of karate and opted not to pursue that.  My heart was with Wado.  Children, family life, homeschooling, graduate school, and military retirement kept me busy.  Eventually, I became a working mom as well.  Like this, life continued, and ultimately we relocated back to Texas to finally be closer to family after 25 years away.  

Landing in Dallas, Texas, with twins who were now 9 years old, I began to wonder if we might be lucky enough that there would be a dojo near us that taught Wado.  A quick Google search revealed the Academy of Classical Karate in Plano.  With tremendous excitement, I dove into their website and made a plan to visit. 

Walking into the dojo felt a bit like going home.  I was beyond excited and as I stepped into the class, I felt some muscle memory dusting off the cobwebs.  Because the kids were in the youth class, I was able to join the parents' class and wound up surrounded by others who were equally invested in their kids and karate.  These were not your run-of-the-mill parents.  I had not trained with others my age and it was thrilling to be a part of a larger training group, though I honestly had no real idea of what I was getting us into.

Our dojo is the best dojo in the United States.  I didn't know it at the time but two of the twins' instructors were soon to be members of the first USA Olympic Karate Team.  From the excellence in athletes that the dojo produces, to the world-class coaches, to the opportunity to be a part of the WIKF Texas team, our dojo is firing on all cylinders.  All of this said, what speaks to me most is how committed the coaches are to developing athletes of character.  

The Academy of Classical Karate has 5 Traits of a Karate-ka: Humility, Integrity, Self-Control, Courage, and Courtesy.  I'm so grateful to have others reinforcing this in our kids as well.  We used to stop at the dojo door after every class and I would make the kids recite these principles before leaving for the day.  These are excellent concepts I know will continue to grow in them as they train and deepen their love of both karate and their dojo family.  Many of the people who have been training here have invested 20-25 years of their lives doing so.  The roots go deep and the branches are broad.  I'm thrilled to be a small part of such an incredible group of people.

Learning the True Meaning of Discipline

The subject of discipline recently came up in a friend's blog. Interestingly enough, I had just been thinking on this same topic. His question was posed within the framework of disciplining your children, however, my ponderings on discipline were taking a different course...

When I was a teenager, I spent a very short amount of time studying Tae Kwon Do. I'm not sure why I was pursuing that particular martial art, or any for that matter, except that I knew the instructor. As an adult in my mid twenties I returned to study the same art, but again it was short-lived as having children, going to college, and living life all provided me with lovely distractions.

Upon moving to Japan, and following my historical ten year gap in pursuing martial arts, I found myself once again drawn to its study. This time I decided to take on Karate. My initial motivation was my 8 year-old son. I thought it important to provide him not only a physical outlet, but an opportunity to receive discipline and focused instruction from another adult. We found an instructor through the Navy Morale, Welfare, and Recreation department and set out to try Karate on for size.

Our sensei's (teacher's) name was Nobuaki Ota. He was roughly 5'5", balding, ridiculously strong, easily old enough to be my father if not more, had an infectious smile, and didn't really speak a lick of English. Thank God that body language is easy to follow in martial arts. By the end of the first session with Ota Sensei I was exhausted - and hooked! Whether my son loved it or not would remain to be seen, but I needed to know more.

Sensei worked me to a bone. My crimson face and every pore of my body dripped sweat throughout every lesson. Each week I found myself more focused than the week before. I hung on his every word, dissected his every movement, and studied his Japanese in order to learn the correct terms. He gave me a DVD to use in studying the correct forms or "kata". I couldn't get enough.

Being an extrovert, I desperately wanted to know more about Ota Sensei. Knowing him compelled me even further to study the Japanese language. It was such a joy to us both when we could understand each other without the use of a translator. Eventually, I came to know more of him and his life. He had taught Karate for 30 years and still has a child who lives in the United States. We were even blessed to have a lovely evening among a group of Japanese and American friends where we all went to Japanese style karaoke and shared coffee afterward. Sensei can sing a beautiful Japanese ballad.

Seeing the smile cross his face when I would perform my kata correctly or when I performed admirably during our sparring brought me immense joy. That smile, along with one of his few English words, "good", made me want to work harder. In a sense, the feeling was similar to how I would feel if my dad expressed pride or an appreciation of my work. Eventually, the day came when Sensei said I was ready to take my first test. I was nervous, excited, and only sure I was ready because he was sure. I trusted his wisdom and guidance.

The day of my test turned out to be more than just a test of Karate skills. I was a fish out of water. Traveling to a sports facility south of my home in Yokohama - an area I was only vaguely familiar with - I had no idea what to expect. Simply walking into the building was a test of courage. I was surrounded by a sea of Japanese faces, none of whom I recognized. As it turned out, I was the only foreigner in the entire place and people stared. I must have been a strange sight. My anxiety was growing and I felt as if all my training was leaving me in a rush of adrenaline. Just as I was feeling completely lost, Sensei strode in with confidence. It was hard to contain my relief.

We stepped outside where he went over my moves and their Japanese terms. Since the whole test would be conducted in Japanese it would be critical for me to understand the judges as they gave instructions. All my movements were to be ordered from the initial bow to the last, with each kick, punch, and turn to be performed in concert with a command. I focused insanely on each person going before me, so that by the time it was my turn I found myself moving with relative confidence and fluidity with the judge's commands. Sharp, quick, controlled, focused - the whole room disappeared as I moved across the floor. Only afterward did I realize that it seemed the whole room was sizing me up.

The following week Sensei gave me a certificate written completely in Japanese and translated it as best he could. In essence, I had passed. There was no fanfare, no party, just back to work. After that first test, Karate took on a whole different meaning for me. I began to see the minutia of detail that went into every movement. The lifelong study of an art had never had personal significance to me until then.

One day during our practice I recall being pleased that I had finally conquered a movement that had given me difficulty. Over and over I had practiced and repeatedly I had stopped and gone back to the beginning with a heavy sigh. I was hoping for and maybe even expecting to receive the proverbial "pat on the back" when Sensei approached me and went straight to my hand. While conquering the movement with my legs and perhaps most of my upper body, I had lost focus on my hands. He reached and corrected my thumb, which had gone lazy and strayed from what should have been its perfect resting place. Finally, I understood the true meaning of discipline. According to the definition, discipline, in part, is behavior in accordance with rules of conduct; behavior and order maintained by training and control. In that moment with Ota Sensei is when it occurred to me that I would spend the rest of my life working to perfect this art and still never get it right! Wow, what a concept! Even more amazing to me is that I'm perfectly content to spend the rest of my life trying.