A Karate Story Page 8

Sensei Stan, as he liked to be called, assured me that he would look after me, and we agreed to meet at the dojo on Monday. He also promised that we would get together and have a chat over coffee at some point, which I hoped might be an opportunity to conduct the interview that John Cheetham had suggested. I resolved to keep a detailed diary of all the classes, which is something that I have done on many of my trips since then.

  I was delighted to find that the SA-JKA Honbu Dojo was only five minutes away from the apartment complex, although it was about thirty minutes from the office. When I finished work on Monday evening, I headed straight for the dojo, nervous and excited at the same time. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly put in my contact lenses when I parked the car outside the dojo. When I walked up the steps to the patio at the front of the building, Sensei Stan was seated comfortably at the top, already wearing his karate-gi and chatting with some of the students. As I reached the top of the steps he spotted me, and, guessing immediately who I was, jumped up to greet me, grinning from ear to ear. I bowed deeply and then shook his hand. He introduced me to the other students, and instructed one of them to show me around.

  The dojo complex was very impressive. We walked into the reception area first, which was spacious and comfortable, complete with a seating area. Then we went into the changing room. It was smallish, but big enough at a squeeze, and there were several showers. After I changed, we walked back through the reception area, where people were sitting and chatting while waiting for class to start, towards the main dojo. There was a full gym, complete with a fine selection of weights and exercise machines. Beyond that was the warm-up area, which was big enough by itself to hold a class of about fifteen students. In one corner hung a heavy punch bag, and along a wall were three makiwaras (striking pads) on wooden posts sunk into the ground. On another wall there were two large mirrors. It was more impressive than most dojos that I had trained in, and this was just the warm-up area.

  Then I saw the main dojo. It was large enough to hold a class of forty or fifty students with ease, and was matted wall to wall with interlocking foam mats. The front wall was panelled wood, with the dojo kun hanging in a frame. A second wall was covered entirely with mirrors. On the opposite side were glass panels and sliding doors opening out onto a beautifully kept zen garden. It was certainly the most impressive dojo I had ever seen. Just then, Sensei Stan came over to me. Without saying a word, he knew that I was awestruck. He just patted me on the back and said, ‘Let’s get started’.

  Sensei Stan had a relaxed approach to teaching the class, smiling all the time and joking frequently, but the discipline was maintained throughout, and the pace of the class was moderately intense. This was a general class, with coloured belts and black belts training together. By the end of the warm-up I found that my limbs were already beginning to get tired, but I did my best regardless. After the class, I was quite fatigued even though it was no more strenuous than many other classes that I had done. I knew then that Sensei Stan had been wise to advise me to take it easy for a while, until my body acclimatised to the altitude. Over the next couple of days, I spent my time figuring out what my role was at work, and getting to the dojo each evening for training.

  On the Wednesday evening Sensei Stan greeted me warmly as I arrived at the dojo. I already felt at home, and I could see why Sensei Stan was so well respected throughout the world. He was much in demand as an international instructor, not only because of his karate knowledge, but also because of his excellent communication skills. Obviously speaking English fluently was a help when teaching in English-speaking countries, but it was more than just that. He had a way of making a point that made it memorable, either with a story or a rhyme, or an explanation that everyone could understand.

  After class that evening he called me over to him, and told me he was inviting me to train in the Early Birds with him. I was shocked at this. The Early Birds takes place at the same dojo, but the classes are – as the name suggests – early in the mornings. Membership of the Early Birds is generally reserved for 4th Dans or above, and lower grades were only rarely allowed to train there, and only by invitation of Sensei Stan himself. I reminded him that I was only a 2nd Dan, but he brushed my protests aside, telling me it would be good experience for me.

  When my alarm woke me at 5:30 am the following morning I just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. But I knew I couldn’t. I had butterflies in my stomach with nerves and excitement. I had read about the famous Early Birds classes before, but I had never dreamed that I would actually get to train there. I was still half asleep as I put on my karate-gi and headed for the dojo.

  I arrived at the dojo about ten minutes before 6am. I was impressed to see that the car park was already almost full. I entered and saw that there were between thirty and forty senior black belts already warming up. There were only a couple of 2nd and 3rd Dans, and I was the most junior grade of all. Even in the changing room, the atmosphere was intense and serious, with people contemplating the difficult training ahead of us. I was quite intimidated, and was reminded of my very first karate class where I was too nervous and shy to speak in the changing room.

  If I thought it was difficult to cope with the thinner air during the regular classes, this was a different level completely. We started that morning with circuit training as the warm-up, followed by some kumite drills with partners up and down the floor. Next, we split into two groups: under-forties and over-forties. I was to learn that it was never a good sign when we split into groups like that. About three quarters of the class were in the over-forties category, which just showed how long most of these guys had been around. Our group went first, with fast jiyu kumite (sparring) for two minutes. Then we rested while the other group sparred for one minute. That way, we had two minutes of fighting with one minute’s rest, and they had one minute’s fighting with two minutes of rest. When they stopped, we went again, but with a different partner, and so it went for several rounds.

  Suddenly, Sensei Stan stopped the class. Because I was an ‘outsider’ my fighting style was a little different to their normal style, so he asked me to demonstrate my fighting with my current partner. This meant that everyone was resting while I had to keep fighting, but now it was even more difficult and intense because I was expected to showcase what I did. Sensei Stan stopped us and explained to the group that we should always try to learn from people who come in from different countries, organisations or styles, because they may have small differences that can be good to learn. Then he told all the under-forties to stay on the floor and try to fight ‘more like Seamus’. So I had to fight again, although I was gasping for air at this stage.

  Eventually Sensei Stan let us rest, and the over-forties went on the floor. I bent over, trying to get my breath, but after a few seconds I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Sensei Stan was coming towards me. I stood upright and tried to control my breathing. ‘Please spar with me,’ he said in a friendly but commanding voice.

  ‘Oss, Sensei!’ I replied, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  He stood in a high, narrow stance, completely relaxed, and easily shrugged off my attempts to attack. He seemed to barely move, but I couldn’t get near him with my fighting that had apparently impressed him so much earlier. Any time I did manage to successfully attack, he immediately hit me back twice with the same technique. ‘You touch, I touch,’ he said, as he smiled at me. Somehow I felt that my touches and his were not the same thing at all, because his touches seemed to go right through me. I knew he was going to do it, and I still couldn’t prevent it.

  As we continued to spar I began to rely increasingly on my favourite techniques. Without thinking, my left leg lifted up, feigning an ura-mawashi-geri (reverse roundhouse kick), but then switched to a mawashi-geri (roundhouse kick) at the last minute. This technique had worked for me a lot in competitions. My instep lightly touched Sensei Stan’s cheek.

  ‘Oss!’ He exclaimed. ‘Good technique!’ For once, he didn’t hit me back in
the same way – after a double hip replacement a few years earlier, he didn’t kick high any more. But he did hit me with a couple of low kicks immediately afterwards, still smiling.

  I felt it was more desperation than good, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. He was relentless in controlling the fight. Again, I frantically tried to gain some advantage with an ura-mawashi-geri, and then again with the feigned kick followed by mawashi-geri, and I caught him a second time. He complimented me again. And hit me again. Twice. I was getting increasingly tired, but every time I started fading he provided encouragement.

  ‘Restore your energy,’ he said at one point, while moving in to choke me with a stranglehold – still grinning at me. ‘That is what I want you to learn while you are here.’ I tried, but it was not easy. Restoring energy while still going is not the same as conserving energy. One is like trying to go at a steady pace in order to not burn as much fuel, while the other is more like refuelling in mid-air! I vowed to work on the concept over the next few weeks.

  Finally he called ‘Yame’. ‘You did very well,’ he told me as we bowed. I didn’t feel that I had done well at all. In fact, I felt like vomiting. He had thrown me around like a rag doll, and before I had even recovered my breath I realised that Sensei Stan had gathered the class around him and was talking to them about me.

  ‘Seamus has done something to me today that no-one has ever been able to do before,’ he was saying. There were some sharp intakes of breath from some of the seniors, and people started looking at me. I just looked confused, still trying to regain control of my breathing. What had I done? Succeeded in not throwing up? That had been an achievement in itself. Stayed on my feet? Survived the sparring without having to be carried off? It wouldn’t have surprised me if either of those were considered achievements too.

  Sensei Stan continued. ‘I have never been kicked in the head in my entire life before today, but Seamus did it not once, but twice.’ More gasps, and a couple of dirty looks as well. I suspected I might have to watch myself with some of the younger guys.

  ‘I don’t know how he did it. It was a clever technique. Maybe we can ask him to teach it to us.’ Everyone looked at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure what they wanted. I started to demonstrate the technique, but Sensei Stan interrupted. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Please take over the class and teach us.’

  For the next ten minutes, I – the most junior student in the room – was actually teaching the Early Birds class. That was the type of atmosphere that Sensei Stan encouraged, and was part of what made the Early Birds special. All the students were instructors in their own right, and they were encouraged to contribute when they had something to say. We would often be in the middle of an exercise and one of them would call Yame. Then they would explain something or correct something that Sensei Stan had not seen. Everyone would respond with a loud Oss, and then we would carry on again. Every training session was tough. Every session had new experiences. No-one went easy on anyone else, and yet everyone was there for everyone else at the same time. It was a fantastic atmosphere and culture of learning combined with incredibly hard training.

  After I had been training for about a week in the Early Birds, Sensei Stan told me that Sensei Keith Geyer was returning from a trip away, and would be there the next morning. Sensei Keith was Sensei Stan’s son-in-law, and was also the national coach. He said that Sensei Keith was going to invite me to train with the national squad.

  The following morning I arrived at the dojo as usual at about 5:50am. It still surprised me how many people were there before me. The place was always buzzing, even that early in the morning. Sensei Stan came over to me as soon as he saw me. ‘Sensei Keith is here’, he said. ‘I want you to meet him.’

  He called Sensei Keith, who lumbered slightly as he came over to us. He had a locked knee joint, caused by septicaemia after a motorbike accident some years previously, but he didn’t let that or anything else stop him from training. He was a big man, and looked like he punched brick walls for fun. I bowed when he stood in front of me, but he didn’t seem very friendly.

  Sensei Stan introduced us. ‘This is Seamus, the guy from Ireland I was telling you about.’ Sensei Keith didn’t respond.

  ‘Maybe Seamus could train with the squad sometime,’ suggested Sensei Stan. Sensei Keith just said ‘Maybe,’ and shrugged and walked away. Sensei Stan looked perplexed. For my part, I thought if he had been trying to intimidate me it certainly worked.

  After the warm-up, Sensei Stan told us to pair up for kumite. I turned and faced my fellow ‘youngster’, the only other 2nd Dan in the dojo, but saw a scary sight out of the corner of my eye. Sensei Keith was heading straight towards us. He physically pushed my partner out of the way, and started attacking me just as Sensei Stan said ‘Hajime’ (begin). I had never seen anything like this in my life, and I didn’t know how to respond. Sensei Keith was a big and powerful man, but his ferocious attitude made him seem even bigger. My youthful tournament-style ‘tip-tap’ techniques didn’t impress him at all, and my efforts just bounced harmlessly off him. He swatted my punches away as though they were no more of a nuisance than a fly. But when he hit me he landed every blow with his sledgehammer fists. I tried to slow him down by increasing the distance and using my favourite technique, mawashi-geri jodan (roundhouse kick to the head). BAM! My shin nearly exploded as he effortlessly swatted the kick away with his massive forearm. Now I could hardly stand on that leg. If it was difficult to face him before that, it was worse now because I was limping. Like an idiot, I somehow thought it would be a good idea to try the same thing with my other leg. SMASH! His forearms were like iron bars. Now both of my shins were throbbing with pain. At least I wasn’t limping any more – both legs were equally bad!

  We ended up standing toe to toe (because I couldn’t dance around any more), elbows tucked in to protect the ribs, and punching each other to the body. Again, my punches just bounced ineffectively off him, while his fists sank repeatedly into my ribs and torso. I could feel every one of his strikes bruising me. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Sensei Stan called ‘Yame’ and I got another shock. After being so gruff and tough, Sensei Keith stood back, bowed deeply and grinned from ear to ear at me.

  ‘You can come and train with me and the squad any time,’ he said warmly, and shook my hand. It had all been a test – an initiation of sorts. He wasn’t willing to be my friend just because Sensei Stan liked me. I had to earn his friendship and respect in the traditional way – on the floor in the dojo. I subsequently trained many times with him and with the national squad, and he is an instructor and a person that I greatly admire.

  Just to demonstrate that he had, in fact, been going easy on me during our sparring, Sensei Stan decided later in that class to get some of the ‘heavyweights’ to demonstrate their punching power. We got a strike shield, and one of the younger guys was told to hold it. Then the seniors – 6th and 7th Dans – took turns to strike it, and the poor guy holding the shield was winded every time, even though they were hitting through four inches of a heavy foam shield. When it came to Sensei Keith’s turn, his wind-up was almost like the backswing of a golfer, and then he released a punch that knocked his victim backwards several feet. Sensei Stan grinned at me.

  ‘Have a go holding the pad,’ he said. ‘I want you to feel Sensei Keith’s power first-hand.’ If I thought I had felt his power earlier I was sadly mistaken. I had seen how his punch had knocked the other student backwards, but I figured the student had not been in a proper stance and had not braced properly for the impact. I lowered my centre of gravity, sinking into a deep stance and locking my rear leg firmly into the ground behind me. I stood squarely in front of Sensei Keith holding the pad close to my body. BOOM! The punch seemed to go right through the thick pad and hit me hard in the chest. I was lifted clean off my feet, and landed on my rear end about ten feet away. Everyone was laughing as Sensei Keith strode over and offered his hand to help me up, grinning.

  True to his word, Se
nsei Stan invited me to go for breakfast with him after Early Birds training one morning. While we chatted, I broached the subject of interviewing him. He seemed surprised that anyone would want to interview him, but he agreed to do it.

  I had never interviewed anyone before, but I had invested in a little digital voice recorder for the purpose, and I had prepared a lot of questions to ask him. I also made notes of many of the things he said during his classes, and used these as subject material for the interview.

  In the end, we actually conducted the interview over several sessions, which was partly down to my inexperience at interviewing, partly due to Sensei Stan’s many fascinating stories, and largely due to my desire to meet up with him as often as possible. Although there was a gap of more than thirty years between our ages, and an even larger gap in our relative karate skills, we developed a close friendship during those conversations. I ate at his house on several occasions, and I was even invited out to dinner with him and his family.

  Towards the end of my visit, I was in the changing room earlier than usual one morning. There was only one other person in the room, a fatherly 6th Dan by the name of Dave Friend. He started chatting to me as we prepared for class, asking me how I was.

  ‘Sensei, I don’t get it,’ I confided in him. ‘I have been coming here to the Early Birds training for nearly six weeks now, but every morning I still feel sick with worry as I walk in the door. I never know what is coming next, other than another very tough training session.’

  Sensei Dave smiled knowingly at me, and put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Seamus, my boy,’ he smiled, ‘I have been coming here for over twenty five years, and I still feel exactly the same way.’

  In that simple sentence, my fear was put to rest. It didn’t disappear, but I realised it didn’t have to. I was supposed to feel a certain amount of fear going into those classes. That was part of the lesson, and part of the character development. Feeling the fear and doing it anyway was the challenge, so from that point on I relished it and embraced it. I have taken that simple lesson with me on many other trips around the world. I have visited many countries and trained at the local dojos. I never know what the standard will be like, or what attitude the locals will have to a stranger coming in. There is always an element of nervousness when I walk into a dojo for the first time, but I find that it generally works well to go in with a humble attitude and correct etiquette. Invariably, I leave the dojo with new friends.