When I was a low rank, the longer forms grew to a magical or legendary status and I longed for the day when I would finally learn them. I mean, more of a good thing like forms is a good thing right? Yoo-Sin, Moon-Moo, and So-San are all amazing forms for their own set of reasons. I've written about some of these forms, but I've been reluctant to write about So-San since it is my highest and newest form. It's been almost a year now of working on this one as my highest and I finally feel ready.
To start out I must admit that So-San is my favorite form. While many students say that their highest form is their favorite, this isn't the case for me. There is just so much nuance in this form, that a person could spend five years working on just this form, and probably feel like they were finally getting the hang of it. I've been working it for one year now, and I feel like I am starting to get a good enough handle on the form to finally start to explore that nuance.
A good friend described So-San to me (before I learned it) as the form of little forms, and if there is a piece of advice I have for anyone about to tackle the form it is to keep the mindset of a bunch of little forms. So-San's 72 movement construction is completely unique. In Yoo-Sin for instance, you fire off 1/3 of the form ( the first 23 movements) from just 11 stance changes. What this means for the less visualizing capable is that you are doing multiple hand techniques from the same stance in Yoo-Sin, which in my opinion makes its 68 movements much easier to manage from a memorization stand point. To reach the 1/3 mark in So-San (the first 24 movements) you have already hit 18 different stance changes. You are almost changing stance on every single technique in the first third of the form. Although all of these early moves are symmetrical in both forms, I believe So-San to be the harder form to wrap your mind around, unless you break it into manageable parts.
The many stance changes early in the form is a lead in to another one of the things I love about So-San. The form has a "block, counter attack" kind of feel to it that almost pays homage to the first ten forms and feels so very satisfying to execute. In addition to being a form of smaller forms, it could also be described as a collection of one steps performed as a form. This can be seen in the first eight moves in a row, and then frequently in the second and third portions of the form.
Further making this form stand out is the prominent slide stepping into certain techniques. In my opinion, more than in any form, the slide stepping feels natural, and adds a dimension of power to the form that punctuates the block and counter strike make up. It's like the form was intended for self defense (hosinsul) break down.
Finally, the form features the three basic kicks, and a jumping front kick. For this form it is fitting. There is a sense of no nonsense with the kicks in this form. There is no question that the only demonstration of the art in this form is of the damage capability of TKD's kicks.
If forms are really supposed to be fights against imaginary opponents than this is the form to hang that entire argument on. It's just a pity that it comes so far down, and that many people will end their TKD careers before ever getting to learn this. It's a terrific form.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Update on Absence
It's been a while since I posted. My family welcomed our second child, a healthy baby boy on August 3rd. Much of my absence from writing can be attributed to the responsibilities of preparing for a new baby, and then actually caring for a new baby. It's been a great time period, filled with many joys and many challenges and it is now, thankfully starting to settle back to what feels like every day life again.
In addition to that, I'm working on some writing that is actually much bigger than the blog. It is an ambitious project, unlike anything I have ever worked on. I'm excited to share more details on this, in the near future. It is martial arts related, and it is writing related, but that's all I feel comfortable saying at the present time.
Finally, I got hit (from a blog point of view) with a pretty serious case of writers block. I haven't had much to say that felt compelling to me recently. I want to write about So-San, but I'm still finding my voice on that form. Being the longest form in the Chang-hon set, there are many things I'd like to say, but saying them in a concise voice has been eluding me. I'd also like to address U-Nam some more. When I wrote my post on U-Nam, I had just learned it, and didn't really have it down. I would eventually end up teaching it to about 40 members of our org, and that gave me a great perspective on what the art meant for others. I'd also love to do a Q&A type of post, but as there are so many things I am reluctant to opine on, I often find that I come away with no answerable questions when I solicit for them.
So I am not gone, the blog is not dead...please stay tuned for future content.
In addition to that, I'm working on some writing that is actually much bigger than the blog. It is an ambitious project, unlike anything I have ever worked on. I'm excited to share more details on this, in the near future. It is martial arts related, and it is writing related, but that's all I feel comfortable saying at the present time.
Finally, I got hit (from a blog point of view) with a pretty serious case of writers block. I haven't had much to say that felt compelling to me recently. I want to write about So-San, but I'm still finding my voice on that form. Being the longest form in the Chang-hon set, there are many things I'd like to say, but saying them in a concise voice has been eluding me. I'd also like to address U-Nam some more. When I wrote my post on U-Nam, I had just learned it, and didn't really have it down. I would eventually end up teaching it to about 40 members of our org, and that gave me a great perspective on what the art meant for others. I'd also love to do a Q&A type of post, but as there are so many things I am reluctant to opine on, I often find that I come away with no answerable questions when I solicit for them.
So I am not gone, the blog is not dead...please stay tuned for future content.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Sparring and the Philosophy of Control
I've been reluctant to write about fighting in any capacity. Sparring was always something that I found the hardest time detaching from my own romantic ideals of what it should be and what it actually is. I think I have finally found the words to write about sparring in a constructive way for my readers. Control is something that for the most part, I've always had a great deal of confidence in talking about. My students are going to be familiar with a lot of this, but this is the first time I've decided to write about it and put it all in one place.
To me sparring is a collaboration of the art at its most dynamic and should be a give and take between two practitioners -- with control being the highest priority. In my opinion, I believe that everyone who walks in the door of any martial arts school already has the ability to beat up another human being. Though they may not realize it, and may not believe it; striking another human being with their fist or foot is really not that difficult. Chances are if you have ever sparred with a white belt you've found that they've hit you too hard at some point, usually in the arms, or sometimes low. They lack control, but they can hit you after one or two classes, and they can hurt you if you are not careful. Conversely, when I sparred in my first ever tournament, it didn't take but a few seconds to learn that I could hit someone as hard as I wanted to, even though I was trained to have good control. I view my real job with sparring to be to teach people to have control -- which is something no one has when they walk in the door.
Control is a lot of things, but contrary to the oversimplification, control is not hitting soft, or being able to miss on purpose. To have control at the physical level means to be able to stop any technique, at any time, during its flight path. With true control comes the realization that I can hit someone to any degree of power that I choose. This is an important distinction, because many can only hit people hard. This can cause them many problems if they go to hit someone too hard and miss. Conversely, some who are taught control improperly may have a hard time ever hitting someone who is a threat to them.
Control encompasses many layers of a given martial art and is not just a physical ability. Control is what allows you to continue to spar when you are being outclassed and should be exercised when you are outclassing a person. People without control, when being outclassed, will sometimes resort to either indifference or to anger. Neither of these lead to a good place, as the former often ends with students not wanting to fight at all, and the later leading to any number of negative attributes including potentially criminal behavior outside of the school. For the fighter that has the ability and experience to outclass another fighter, having a lack of control can lead to mocking, embarrassing and or overwhelming of the lesser fighter, which can in turn create a systemic pattern of bad, or negative control. Control, is thusly, paramount to a healthy student body and effective program.
Control starts with trust. If a practitioner trusts their partner will have control, then that practitioner can relax. A relaxed martial artist doesn't force technique, and can find finesse and finesse, is the nursery of real skill. In a relaxed state, a martial artist is able to draw entirely from the art and should be able to use any technique they are familiar with to make appropriate contact, and they should be successful if all other things are held equal. This is the pathway to being a great fighter, because the more relaxed fighting you can do, the bigger the palatte of moves you can convert to instinct and the more you can do, the harder you are to fight against.
An abundance of trust will also lead to fighters being able to comfortably fight harder and longer. If two fighters know they can go all out together and not end up in an emergency room (barring anything unfortunate) then they can really take their sparring ability to higher levels. This is also where the training starts to be able to transcend the classroom, and leads to proficiency in self defense matters. Additionally, a fighter with good control should be able to push a lesser fighter to the peak of their ability and hold them there. So that they can grow comfortable fighting at higher levels.
If there is no trust, then a fighter reverts only to what they know by instinct. In a case where control is bad, the amount of techniques a person has to use at their disposal is going to be smaller. In the case of someone who really isn't picking sparring up, they could find themselves with a palatte of techniques that they find completely ineffective and can lead again, to bad performance, low confidence and an eventual unwillingness to even fight.
The above though is where I slip into my own romantic ideas of fighting and are why I still have my own struggles with fighting to this day. There are fighters who are super, highly effective with a small number of techniques in certain regards. Those fighters swear by it, and shun people like me, who want more than a good reverse punch, side kick and ridge hand. I don't think there is a right and wrong, as sparring is the art in motion - it stands to reason that there is more than one possible way to be an effective fighter. If I were into guns though, I'd be the guy with a basement arsenal, as "just in case" is my motto when it comes to fighting. I want to be prepared to use anything I've learned, after all, I didn't get into this to be really good at three techniques, but I realize that my mindset may be the very reason I didn't have a very successful tournament fighting career.
Your fighting circumstances are going to dictate a lot of what you get good at and what tool set you are looking to make (classroom, tournament, street). I've been called a good fighter by many, but yet, I never had much success in tournament fighting. The times I've won, I've kept a very business like mindset - "this is what I have to do to win" - and thus, I followed very stringent guidelines. I never found it fun to fight that way though, and a plastic trophy won by stopping a charger with a perfectly timed reverse punch was no where near as satisfying an experience as scoring in class with a spinning hook kick to the head -- a move I would probably never throw in a tournament. At the end of the day though this is control also. To control yourself and stick to a plan is something that I could definitely get better at myself. The best tournament fighters in our school show an amazing amount of self control and patience. I could learn from them and their example if I wanted to be a better tournament / point fighter. At the present time though, that doesn't align with my goals.
Mastering control is what the martial arts are all about in my opinion. By trying to master your physical body, under proper guidance, you learn to master your inner self as well. There isn't mention of a lot of spirituality to Taekwon-Do, but it is there, in this simple form. Whether you call it spirituality, or just a relationship, control cuts across the physical with sparring as the bridge to the mental. Having good control is a keystone to having the ability to fight proficiently in any capacity.
To me sparring is a collaboration of the art at its most dynamic and should be a give and take between two practitioners -- with control being the highest priority. In my opinion, I believe that everyone who walks in the door of any martial arts school already has the ability to beat up another human being. Though they may not realize it, and may not believe it; striking another human being with their fist or foot is really not that difficult. Chances are if you have ever sparred with a white belt you've found that they've hit you too hard at some point, usually in the arms, or sometimes low. They lack control, but they can hit you after one or two classes, and they can hurt you if you are not careful. Conversely, when I sparred in my first ever tournament, it didn't take but a few seconds to learn that I could hit someone as hard as I wanted to, even though I was trained to have good control. I view my real job with sparring to be to teach people to have control -- which is something no one has when they walk in the door.
Control is a lot of things, but contrary to the oversimplification, control is not hitting soft, or being able to miss on purpose. To have control at the physical level means to be able to stop any technique, at any time, during its flight path. With true control comes the realization that I can hit someone to any degree of power that I choose. This is an important distinction, because many can only hit people hard. This can cause them many problems if they go to hit someone too hard and miss. Conversely, some who are taught control improperly may have a hard time ever hitting someone who is a threat to them.
Control encompasses many layers of a given martial art and is not just a physical ability. Control is what allows you to continue to spar when you are being outclassed and should be exercised when you are outclassing a person. People without control, when being outclassed, will sometimes resort to either indifference or to anger. Neither of these lead to a good place, as the former often ends with students not wanting to fight at all, and the later leading to any number of negative attributes including potentially criminal behavior outside of the school. For the fighter that has the ability and experience to outclass another fighter, having a lack of control can lead to mocking, embarrassing and or overwhelming of the lesser fighter, which can in turn create a systemic pattern of bad, or negative control. Control, is thusly, paramount to a healthy student body and effective program.
Control starts with trust. If a practitioner trusts their partner will have control, then that practitioner can relax. A relaxed martial artist doesn't force technique, and can find finesse and finesse, is the nursery of real skill. In a relaxed state, a martial artist is able to draw entirely from the art and should be able to use any technique they are familiar with to make appropriate contact, and they should be successful if all other things are held equal. This is the pathway to being a great fighter, because the more relaxed fighting you can do, the bigger the palatte of moves you can convert to instinct and the more you can do, the harder you are to fight against.
An abundance of trust will also lead to fighters being able to comfortably fight harder and longer. If two fighters know they can go all out together and not end up in an emergency room (barring anything unfortunate) then they can really take their sparring ability to higher levels. This is also where the training starts to be able to transcend the classroom, and leads to proficiency in self defense matters. Additionally, a fighter with good control should be able to push a lesser fighter to the peak of their ability and hold them there. So that they can grow comfortable fighting at higher levels.
If there is no trust, then a fighter reverts only to what they know by instinct. In a case where control is bad, the amount of techniques a person has to use at their disposal is going to be smaller. In the case of someone who really isn't picking sparring up, they could find themselves with a palatte of techniques that they find completely ineffective and can lead again, to bad performance, low confidence and an eventual unwillingness to even fight.
The above though is where I slip into my own romantic ideas of fighting and are why I still have my own struggles with fighting to this day. There are fighters who are super, highly effective with a small number of techniques in certain regards. Those fighters swear by it, and shun people like me, who want more than a good reverse punch, side kick and ridge hand. I don't think there is a right and wrong, as sparring is the art in motion - it stands to reason that there is more than one possible way to be an effective fighter. If I were into guns though, I'd be the guy with a basement arsenal, as "just in case" is my motto when it comes to fighting. I want to be prepared to use anything I've learned, after all, I didn't get into this to be really good at three techniques, but I realize that my mindset may be the very reason I didn't have a very successful tournament fighting career.
Your fighting circumstances are going to dictate a lot of what you get good at and what tool set you are looking to make (classroom, tournament, street). I've been called a good fighter by many, but yet, I never had much success in tournament fighting. The times I've won, I've kept a very business like mindset - "this is what I have to do to win" - and thus, I followed very stringent guidelines. I never found it fun to fight that way though, and a plastic trophy won by stopping a charger with a perfectly timed reverse punch was no where near as satisfying an experience as scoring in class with a spinning hook kick to the head -- a move I would probably never throw in a tournament. At the end of the day though this is control also. To control yourself and stick to a plan is something that I could definitely get better at myself. The best tournament fighters in our school show an amazing amount of self control and patience. I could learn from them and their example if I wanted to be a better tournament / point fighter. At the present time though, that doesn't align with my goals.
Mastering control is what the martial arts are all about in my opinion. By trying to master your physical body, under proper guidance, you learn to master your inner self as well. There isn't mention of a lot of spirituality to Taekwon-Do, but it is there, in this simple form. Whether you call it spirituality, or just a relationship, control cuts across the physical with sparring as the bridge to the mental. Having good control is a keystone to having the ability to fight proficiently in any capacity.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
On Romanticizing the Art - Master
I've wanted to write a post like this almost for as long as I have been writing my blog. Romanticizing the art is in my mind a huge topic and I'll post from time to time on different aspects as they come into focus. My audience for this foray into romanticization is going to be narrow but I've learned some hard lessons from romanticizing the art and my hope in writing this post is to better understand those mistakes and pitfalls and to hopefully prevent others from making the same mistakes I made.
Let's take a look at the word romanticize - and be clear on its meaning. To romanticize something is, according to Google to: "deal with or describe in an idealized or unrealistic fashion; make (something) seem better or more appealing than it really is." Nothing in Taekwon-Do is more romanticized as the title and rank Master, save potentially by the title Grand Master.
The problem with "Master" is that it is a word full of connotation and in Taekwon-Do is both a rank and a title - so in a way it has double the amount of connotation as it normally does. It is rank, in that the title comes at a specific dan ranking. This is problematic. First, not every individual who gets to a dan rank is the same. Of course the same can be said about 1st dan, but the title of "black belt", I would argue has a compartmentalized connotation that is unique to the martial arts. Its main origin and meaning stems from the martial arts, so it is insulated from external connotation. "Master" carries a connotation from the non martial arts world and more importantly, means many things that the founders probably did not intend. Let's not forget that Sabeom-nim is correctly translated as "honored instructor" which contains nothing regarding a proficiency level. Gwanjang-nim or school owner / highest rank (note, not grand master) is also lacking in a proficiency level on the language of origin side. Yet here many of us are, getting hung up over what amounts to be a mistranslated title. To come full circle, Master is simply a title - since it is given arbitrarily with a rank, but this is where the connotations come in. Some see Master as being fully proficient in a thing. Some go so far as to see a true "Master" as being someone who can make no mistake in the art. In some cases, people genuinely believe that even if they have achieved the rank of master they should shy away from it. They exude a humility that is saintly. That's ok with me, even if I don't agree, I ultimately believe that you can never be too humble. Others though take the rank of Master and wield it like a weapon, oppressing students and committing any number of wrongs in the name of being top dog. This is unacceptable and is clearly a romanticization of the term Master.
My personal experiences with the romanticization of Master saw me lose one of the most influential martial artists in my life to the romanticized notion of Master. Here was a man I would come to learn didn't want to test for 4th because he felt that no one would put the effort in that he would to attain the rank of master, but yet they'd be promoted to the same rank as him. He was exceptional, and maybe was accurate about his abilities and potential training regiments, or maybe was an ego maniac; regardless he was operating from a romanticized concept of Master, and one that was sadly, not at all accurate. He left, a martyr to his own imagined cause. I have no doubt that he wasn't the only black belt ever to fall victim to their own sense of rank and title.
Years and years later when I would find myself late in my time as 3rd dan with the green light to test, I found myself with all kinds of doubt - in my eyes I was no where near as good at TKD as this person who shunned testing and walked away entirely. How could I possibly be worthy of potentially having the title when he didn't test? It wasn't easy; I tormented myself and held myself to a standard which was so high -- too high, but thankfully in the end, I came to my senses. I realized many things were wrong with my outlook on the art, and over time, my thought process changed and I could embrace the challenge of my 4th dan test (in front of our patriarch) and the title it held. Later I realized that it was the deeper self awareness that was the true accomplishment of the entire ordeal. In thinking about this post, I spoke to another friend and master who had a similar tale of self awareness as his indicator that it was time. There is nothing unworldly about a 4th dan and above, in my organization or any org for that matter, with exception for those absolute top members that date back to Korea and the art's inception. I feel pretty confident in saying that my peers and the instructors that came before me would say that the title of master simply means that we put in a lot of hours, and a lot of dedication to both the physical and mental aspects of the art. It means that the art resonated with us, and we found a way to keep coming back, to keep practicing and to keep refining and to keep thinking. Finally we give back, we share our love of the art and our knowledge of it.
This isn't a post to diminish the significance of any rank (be it 4th for my group, or 7th or 8th for others), but rather is an attempt to view the title without romanticization. There is nothing wrong with accepting the title of master and it should be a huge source of pride if you have made it in the art for that long. Just don't make it out to be something bigger than it is, some impossible position which grants incredible powers -- because it isn't that. In the end you're always still a student of the art, no matter how good you are and no matter how long you have practiced it and that equalizes us all.
Let's take a look at the word romanticize - and be clear on its meaning. To romanticize something is, according to Google to: "deal with or describe in an idealized or unrealistic fashion; make (something) seem better or more appealing than it really is." Nothing in Taekwon-Do is more romanticized as the title and rank Master, save potentially by the title Grand Master.
The problem with "Master" is that it is a word full of connotation and in Taekwon-Do is both a rank and a title - so in a way it has double the amount of connotation as it normally does. It is rank, in that the title comes at a specific dan ranking. This is problematic. First, not every individual who gets to a dan rank is the same. Of course the same can be said about 1st dan, but the title of "black belt", I would argue has a compartmentalized connotation that is unique to the martial arts. Its main origin and meaning stems from the martial arts, so it is insulated from external connotation. "Master" carries a connotation from the non martial arts world and more importantly, means many things that the founders probably did not intend. Let's not forget that Sabeom-nim is correctly translated as "honored instructor" which contains nothing regarding a proficiency level. Gwanjang-nim or school owner / highest rank (note, not grand master) is also lacking in a proficiency level on the language of origin side. Yet here many of us are, getting hung up over what amounts to be a mistranslated title. To come full circle, Master is simply a title - since it is given arbitrarily with a rank, but this is where the connotations come in. Some see Master as being fully proficient in a thing. Some go so far as to see a true "Master" as being someone who can make no mistake in the art. In some cases, people genuinely believe that even if they have achieved the rank of master they should shy away from it. They exude a humility that is saintly. That's ok with me, even if I don't agree, I ultimately believe that you can never be too humble. Others though take the rank of Master and wield it like a weapon, oppressing students and committing any number of wrongs in the name of being top dog. This is unacceptable and is clearly a romanticization of the term Master.
My personal experiences with the romanticization of Master saw me lose one of the most influential martial artists in my life to the romanticized notion of Master. Here was a man I would come to learn didn't want to test for 4th because he felt that no one would put the effort in that he would to attain the rank of master, but yet they'd be promoted to the same rank as him. He was exceptional, and maybe was accurate about his abilities and potential training regiments, or maybe was an ego maniac; regardless he was operating from a romanticized concept of Master, and one that was sadly, not at all accurate. He left, a martyr to his own imagined cause. I have no doubt that he wasn't the only black belt ever to fall victim to their own sense of rank and title.
Years and years later when I would find myself late in my time as 3rd dan with the green light to test, I found myself with all kinds of doubt - in my eyes I was no where near as good at TKD as this person who shunned testing and walked away entirely. How could I possibly be worthy of potentially having the title when he didn't test? It wasn't easy; I tormented myself and held myself to a standard which was so high -- too high, but thankfully in the end, I came to my senses. I realized many things were wrong with my outlook on the art, and over time, my thought process changed and I could embrace the challenge of my 4th dan test (in front of our patriarch) and the title it held. Later I realized that it was the deeper self awareness that was the true accomplishment of the entire ordeal. In thinking about this post, I spoke to another friend and master who had a similar tale of self awareness as his indicator that it was time. There is nothing unworldly about a 4th dan and above, in my organization or any org for that matter, with exception for those absolute top members that date back to Korea and the art's inception. I feel pretty confident in saying that my peers and the instructors that came before me would say that the title of master simply means that we put in a lot of hours, and a lot of dedication to both the physical and mental aspects of the art. It means that the art resonated with us, and we found a way to keep coming back, to keep practicing and to keep refining and to keep thinking. Finally we give back, we share our love of the art and our knowledge of it.
This isn't a post to diminish the significance of any rank (be it 4th for my group, or 7th or 8th for others), but rather is an attempt to view the title without romanticization. There is nothing wrong with accepting the title of master and it should be a huge source of pride if you have made it in the art for that long. Just don't make it out to be something bigger than it is, some impossible position which grants incredible powers -- because it isn't that. In the end you're always still a student of the art, no matter how good you are and no matter how long you have practiced it and that equalizes us all.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
States of Learning and Forms
I'd like to talk for a minute about what I call
the three states of form execution. I am hoping that this will drum up
some good discussion on what is actually going on in our minds when we do
forms. It is my sincere hope that if you find this insightful, that it will help you understand how to really get better at forms. The original draft of this article featured my own names for each phase. I need to thank my wife who suggested that there probably is academic naming for these phases and that I seek them out. I'd also like to thank Deb Waterman; a fantastic psychologist in West Chester Pennsylvania for cluing me in to the right keywords to get my research started.
In this post I want to share my ideas on what exactly goes on in the mind of a forms practitioner. There is a consistency within the mental process when a martial arts practitioner starts to learn a form, learns a form, and "masters" a form. I am going to use two of the most popular learning theories to describe the process that we learn and execute our form.
Essentially what I see is a blending of the Fitts/Posner (1967) paradigm of learning with The Learning Hierarchy (Haring et al 1978). Fitts and Posner wrote a book describing how the human mind learns physical skills. They break the learning down into three parts, cognitive, associative and autonomous phases. They argue that in the cognitive phase, performing the skill is slow, and inconsistent. In the associative phase, some of the skill is automatic, but some of it still requires heavy manual cognition. Finally the autonomous phase has the performer doing the skill automatically, with no cognitive thought necessary. They further state that as you move through the phases your accuracy and skill at executing the skill increases. The learning hierarchy is an academic theory that seems to take the Fitts and Posner theory and breaks it down further. The key distinction is a fourth level granting a more granular look between the associative and autonomous phases in Fitts and Posner. The Learning Hierarchy's adaption stage takes the cognitive stage of Fitts and Posner and adds that it is here, after the skill has been automatic, that the user can then adapt the skill to do other things.
This blending of a physical and academic theory makes sense to me, because although the forms and the martial arts themselves are physical art, the forms specifically act as a kind of a building block of the art, in much the way letters act as the building blocks of language. Because of this, there are aspects that the more motor learning oriented Fitts and Posner paradigm overlook that are actually covered in the more academic Learning Hierarchy. I was not able to find Fitt's and Posner's actual writings, but there were tons of websites dedicated to the paradigm so I am stating up front that I have only read other people's summaries of the actual piece - for the most part though, those summaries are consistent. I will include the sources of my research at the end of this post.
The first phase is the cognitive / acquisition phase. Everyone, no matter how good they are at forms and no matter how aware they are of the phases of the forms, goes through the cognitive phase when they are learning a new form. During this phase, you are working on the gross motor skills of the form and trying to memorize it in a listing. By that, I mean that you are just trying to get through from start position to end position and you are concerned with little else. Your mind is simply focused on getting from point A to point B. During this time, students will perform all kinds of "tells" that prove they are in this state. They will look at their feet, or look up as if a picture of the next move is on the ceiling. Another tell of the cognitive stage is frequent freezes - because the course of the form - the sequence of the movements have not been solidified in the mind. I find that a student spends an amount of time in the cognitive phase based on how comfortable and experienced they are with forms in general. I have seen learning phases last about an hour, and I've seen them last a few months. This phase typically ends for everyone at some point though and leads to the next phase.
The second phase of form execution is the associative / fluency stage (though, I believe that in regards to the Learning Hierarchy fluency and generalization occur too near to each other to be notably different). I believe associative is where most people are with their known forms at any given time (given they have left the cognitive stage). In associative mode, the focus changes from "what are the moves" to "what is going on" in the form. Kiaps, stances, techniques, become more pronounced and better executed and accurate, and head and eye movement come into play during the associative mode. It is during the associative mode that most people will suddenly ask "what is this move supposed to be doing" even though they have been doing that move for some time! Although some people will ask these sorts of questions during the cognitive phase, my experience is that these questions come later more often than not. It makes sense, once we get past the anxiety of forgetting the moves we free up the space in our minds to focus on what exactly it is we are doing. A good tell of the associative mode is what I consider the "lost form" phenomena. Lost form is akin to driving somewhere and realizing that you don't remember the actual "going". You remember getting in your car, and you remember aspects of your trip (the guy who cut you off and the slow dump truck you got stuck behind for a few lights) but ultimately there are entire portions of your trip that you have no memory of "seeing". When I used to compete, this was how I performed my forms in competition. If I was lucky, I'd remember executing the first move - but I really never remembered anything after that. Instructors also know that a student is in associative mode when they give a correction on something very specific (like a low rank chambering wrong) and on the very next instance the student continues to make a mistake. There is a misconception, I believe that corrections are hard after so many passes of a form because the form has become "ingrained". I believe this is just the associative phase doing its job. Nothing is really ingrained - if it were, people wouldn't ever forget their forms after a hiatus. Associative stage is like auto pilot and we're used to putting our mental feet up, and letting it do the flying.
Associative mode is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing, because it is where most of us are, at any given time with a form we "know". We're able to execute based on our actual ability in associative mode, so if you are good at forms, you are going to be good when you are in the associative phase. The very nature of associative mode though makes it a hard phase to improve in.
There are two primary pitfalls that occur in associative mode and those are distraction and complacency. Since associative mode allows us to do our form with a freedom from heavy thought and gives our mind room to think - it can be filled with things you are not supposed to think about during your TKD training. Paying the bills, homework, "what game I'm going to play on my game system when I get home" - these are all possible distractions that can invade your associative mode.
Complacency itself comes in two forms. First, you have the totally empty mind. This isn't necessarily bad, but is more of a loss of the "heartbeat" of the form - and often times is place where a person suddenly converts one form into another. As we are operating in auto pilot in this phase, it makes sense that if our mind is totally clear we have the potential to go from one form's transition to another form's because complacency has made us unaware of where we are. The classic example of this is the end of Dan-gun being executed at the end of To-San. For a high yellow, To-San isn't as practiced as Dan-Gun is and in associative mode with complacency, it is easy to slip from one similar transition to another.
The second complacency is a lot worse though and is sadly the place that forms go to die. Associative mode with complacency is sometimes the end all of forms for a practitioner. In their mind they have the form "down" and only need to perform the form for maintenance of memorization. This is form death, as there is never any improvement in the form, and rarely is there any actual progress to the next phase, which is where adaptation of the skills from the form create the basis for fluency in the art.
The associative phase isn't inherently bad - quite the contrary, it's the normal place for forms. It's just that within the normal, there is risk of bad habits. Where I disagree with both of my researched learning methods is that you progress, naturally, to the final stage of actual learning. In my experience as a martial arts instructor most people do not progress past the associative level naturally - as both methods seem to suggest. It is my opinion that you have to actively push back against the "auto pilot" feeling that comes in the associative mode to actually break through to the third phase. “Am I deep enough in my stance”, “do I have timing and power” and questions like this will help you unlock access to the third level of forms execution which is what Fitts and Posner call the Autonomous stage and what the Learning Hierarchy calls the adaption stage.
The autonomous stage is to go one step further beyond the associative. In my experience the autonomy stage is simply the associative stage with a heightened sense of self awareness. In autonomy you move through a form like you are in auto pilot from a listing stand point. Although you are not thinking about "what" in regards to the moves - you are thinking very strongly about the "how" of every move and contrary to the position of Fitts and Posner - these thoughts actually power you into doing a good form, instead of distracting you. I don't believe being in auto pilot is ever someone's maximum potential, because I believe there is too much that requires complete, manual control when it comes to a martial art form.
I made a mistake on my 5th dan test on my first form (the first thing I had to do for my test). I was exhausted as my son had picked the night before my test to start teething. I inadvertently let myself fall into associative mode and I made a simple mistake. Instead of turning 180 degree to execute the 2nd move of Choi-Yong I stepped forward. I did every technique of the form correct, but because of this mistake I ended facing the wrong direction. I was furious with myself and I instantly realized that I did not remember actually executing any of the movements of Choi-Yong seconds earlier. My next form was Ul-Ji, a form that until that moment I didn't like very much. As I was furious and aware of that fury, I knew I was opening myself up to a complete meltdown as fury is no way to handle a stressful test. I formed a plan, to let all the fury out on the first move of Ul-ji, because there is a natural kiap point there. I was also aware that I would not make another mistake by lapsing into auto pilot. I ended up doing what I felt was the best Ul-Ji of my career to that point. I've also never looked at Ul-Ji with the same lack of confidence after my performance on my test. To this day, I remember executing every move of that form. I remember throwing what felt like an absolutely amazing side kick early on, and I remember over spinning on my jump back kick. All of it - is clear in my head.
My findings on Fitts's and Posner's autonomy were not clear on whether actual adaptation of the skill take place in the autonomy section. Some of the summaries I read suggested that Fitts and Posner include adaptation of a skill in their third step but some were less clear. The Learning Hierarchy does account for this phenomena in their "adaption" stage. It makes sense then to me that people who learn to push against the associative phase and access the autonomous stage make vast improvements in their form execution quickly. They begin to see the applications of the moves, because they aren't just moving through a sequence of martial arts techniques but are blocking attacks and striking opponents in their minds. Unlike the person who feels they know their form in the associative phase, the self awareness of the adaptation stage is where the real mastery is. In my opinion the autonomy stage is not always sustainable, but when you get there, you know it, and it tends to be memorable. As one martial artist once described it to me "the adaption stage is like a higher state of mind". That is really how the adaption stage feels.
This is the progression that I go through when I learn a form. A lot of my practice time is spent at autonomous level, but I drop down to associative mode more than I'd like. I think it is important for us to understand where we are in our own personal learning when it comes to each form. I think in doing so we can unlock a higher (autonomy / adaptation stage) of performance and that - is the precise way to get a true understanding of the form and the art in general.
Sources:
http://www.humankinetics.com/excerpts/excerpts/learning-process-when-acquiring-motor-skills-similar-for-all-individuals
http://www.interventioncentral.org/academic-interventions/general-academic/instructional-hierarchy-linking-stages-learning-effective-in
http://www.topvelocity.net/3-stages-of-learning/
http://psydog.com/the-learning-hierarchy/
In this post I want to share my ideas on what exactly goes on in the mind of a forms practitioner. There is a consistency within the mental process when a martial arts practitioner starts to learn a form, learns a form, and "masters" a form. I am going to use two of the most popular learning theories to describe the process that we learn and execute our form.
Essentially what I see is a blending of the Fitts/Posner (1967) paradigm of learning with The Learning Hierarchy (Haring et al 1978). Fitts and Posner wrote a book describing how the human mind learns physical skills. They break the learning down into three parts, cognitive, associative and autonomous phases. They argue that in the cognitive phase, performing the skill is slow, and inconsistent. In the associative phase, some of the skill is automatic, but some of it still requires heavy manual cognition. Finally the autonomous phase has the performer doing the skill automatically, with no cognitive thought necessary. They further state that as you move through the phases your accuracy and skill at executing the skill increases. The learning hierarchy is an academic theory that seems to take the Fitts and Posner theory and breaks it down further. The key distinction is a fourth level granting a more granular look between the associative and autonomous phases in Fitts and Posner. The Learning Hierarchy's adaption stage takes the cognitive stage of Fitts and Posner and adds that it is here, after the skill has been automatic, that the user can then adapt the skill to do other things.
This blending of a physical and academic theory makes sense to me, because although the forms and the martial arts themselves are physical art, the forms specifically act as a kind of a building block of the art, in much the way letters act as the building blocks of language. Because of this, there are aspects that the more motor learning oriented Fitts and Posner paradigm overlook that are actually covered in the more academic Learning Hierarchy. I was not able to find Fitt's and Posner's actual writings, but there were tons of websites dedicated to the paradigm so I am stating up front that I have only read other people's summaries of the actual piece - for the most part though, those summaries are consistent. I will include the sources of my research at the end of this post.
The first phase is the cognitive / acquisition phase. Everyone, no matter how good they are at forms and no matter how aware they are of the phases of the forms, goes through the cognitive phase when they are learning a new form. During this phase, you are working on the gross motor skills of the form and trying to memorize it in a listing. By that, I mean that you are just trying to get through from start position to end position and you are concerned with little else. Your mind is simply focused on getting from point A to point B. During this time, students will perform all kinds of "tells" that prove they are in this state. They will look at their feet, or look up as if a picture of the next move is on the ceiling. Another tell of the cognitive stage is frequent freezes - because the course of the form - the sequence of the movements have not been solidified in the mind. I find that a student spends an amount of time in the cognitive phase based on how comfortable and experienced they are with forms in general. I have seen learning phases last about an hour, and I've seen them last a few months. This phase typically ends for everyone at some point though and leads to the next phase.
The second phase of form execution is the associative / fluency stage (though, I believe that in regards to the Learning Hierarchy fluency and generalization occur too near to each other to be notably different). I believe associative is where most people are with their known forms at any given time (given they have left the cognitive stage). In associative mode, the focus changes from "what are the moves" to "what is going on" in the form. Kiaps, stances, techniques, become more pronounced and better executed and accurate, and head and eye movement come into play during the associative mode. It is during the associative mode that most people will suddenly ask "what is this move supposed to be doing" even though they have been doing that move for some time! Although some people will ask these sorts of questions during the cognitive phase, my experience is that these questions come later more often than not. It makes sense, once we get past the anxiety of forgetting the moves we free up the space in our minds to focus on what exactly it is we are doing. A good tell of the associative mode is what I consider the "lost form" phenomena. Lost form is akin to driving somewhere and realizing that you don't remember the actual "going". You remember getting in your car, and you remember aspects of your trip (the guy who cut you off and the slow dump truck you got stuck behind for a few lights) but ultimately there are entire portions of your trip that you have no memory of "seeing". When I used to compete, this was how I performed my forms in competition. If I was lucky, I'd remember executing the first move - but I really never remembered anything after that. Instructors also know that a student is in associative mode when they give a correction on something very specific (like a low rank chambering wrong) and on the very next instance the student continues to make a mistake. There is a misconception, I believe that corrections are hard after so many passes of a form because the form has become "ingrained". I believe this is just the associative phase doing its job. Nothing is really ingrained - if it were, people wouldn't ever forget their forms after a hiatus. Associative stage is like auto pilot and we're used to putting our mental feet up, and letting it do the flying.
Associative mode is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing, because it is where most of us are, at any given time with a form we "know". We're able to execute based on our actual ability in associative mode, so if you are good at forms, you are going to be good when you are in the associative phase. The very nature of associative mode though makes it a hard phase to improve in.
There are two primary pitfalls that occur in associative mode and those are distraction and complacency. Since associative mode allows us to do our form with a freedom from heavy thought and gives our mind room to think - it can be filled with things you are not supposed to think about during your TKD training. Paying the bills, homework, "what game I'm going to play on my game system when I get home" - these are all possible distractions that can invade your associative mode.
Complacency itself comes in two forms. First, you have the totally empty mind. This isn't necessarily bad, but is more of a loss of the "heartbeat" of the form - and often times is place where a person suddenly converts one form into another. As we are operating in auto pilot in this phase, it makes sense that if our mind is totally clear we have the potential to go from one form's transition to another form's because complacency has made us unaware of where we are. The classic example of this is the end of Dan-gun being executed at the end of To-San. For a high yellow, To-San isn't as practiced as Dan-Gun is and in associative mode with complacency, it is easy to slip from one similar transition to another.
The second complacency is a lot worse though and is sadly the place that forms go to die. Associative mode with complacency is sometimes the end all of forms for a practitioner. In their mind they have the form "down" and only need to perform the form for maintenance of memorization. This is form death, as there is never any improvement in the form, and rarely is there any actual progress to the next phase, which is where adaptation of the skills from the form create the basis for fluency in the art.
The associative phase isn't inherently bad - quite the contrary, it's the normal place for forms. It's just that within the normal, there is risk of bad habits. Where I disagree with both of my researched learning methods is that you progress, naturally, to the final stage of actual learning. In my experience as a martial arts instructor most people do not progress past the associative level naturally - as both methods seem to suggest. It is my opinion that you have to actively push back against the "auto pilot" feeling that comes in the associative mode to actually break through to the third phase. “Am I deep enough in my stance”, “do I have timing and power” and questions like this will help you unlock access to the third level of forms execution which is what Fitts and Posner call the Autonomous stage and what the Learning Hierarchy calls the adaption stage.
The autonomous stage is to go one step further beyond the associative. In my experience the autonomy stage is simply the associative stage with a heightened sense of self awareness. In autonomy you move through a form like you are in auto pilot from a listing stand point. Although you are not thinking about "what" in regards to the moves - you are thinking very strongly about the "how" of every move and contrary to the position of Fitts and Posner - these thoughts actually power you into doing a good form, instead of distracting you. I don't believe being in auto pilot is ever someone's maximum potential, because I believe there is too much that requires complete, manual control when it comes to a martial art form.
I made a mistake on my 5th dan test on my first form (the first thing I had to do for my test). I was exhausted as my son had picked the night before my test to start teething. I inadvertently let myself fall into associative mode and I made a simple mistake. Instead of turning 180 degree to execute the 2nd move of Choi-Yong I stepped forward. I did every technique of the form correct, but because of this mistake I ended facing the wrong direction. I was furious with myself and I instantly realized that I did not remember actually executing any of the movements of Choi-Yong seconds earlier. My next form was Ul-Ji, a form that until that moment I didn't like very much. As I was furious and aware of that fury, I knew I was opening myself up to a complete meltdown as fury is no way to handle a stressful test. I formed a plan, to let all the fury out on the first move of Ul-ji, because there is a natural kiap point there. I was also aware that I would not make another mistake by lapsing into auto pilot. I ended up doing what I felt was the best Ul-Ji of my career to that point. I've also never looked at Ul-Ji with the same lack of confidence after my performance on my test. To this day, I remember executing every move of that form. I remember throwing what felt like an absolutely amazing side kick early on, and I remember over spinning on my jump back kick. All of it - is clear in my head.
My findings on Fitts's and Posner's autonomy were not clear on whether actual adaptation of the skill take place in the autonomy section. Some of the summaries I read suggested that Fitts and Posner include adaptation of a skill in their third step but some were less clear. The Learning Hierarchy does account for this phenomena in their "adaption" stage. It makes sense then to me that people who learn to push against the associative phase and access the autonomous stage make vast improvements in their form execution quickly. They begin to see the applications of the moves, because they aren't just moving through a sequence of martial arts techniques but are blocking attacks and striking opponents in their minds. Unlike the person who feels they know their form in the associative phase, the self awareness of the adaptation stage is where the real mastery is. In my opinion the autonomy stage is not always sustainable, but when you get there, you know it, and it tends to be memorable. As one martial artist once described it to me "the adaption stage is like a higher state of mind". That is really how the adaption stage feels.
This is the progression that I go through when I learn a form. A lot of my practice time is spent at autonomous level, but I drop down to associative mode more than I'd like. I think it is important for us to understand where we are in our own personal learning when it comes to each form. I think in doing so we can unlock a higher (autonomy / adaptation stage) of performance and that - is the precise way to get a true understanding of the form and the art in general.
Sources:
http://www.humankinetics.com/excerpts/excerpts/learning-process-when-acquiring-motor-skills-similar-for-all-individuals
http://www.interventioncentral.org/academic-interventions/general-academic/instructional-hierarchy-linking-stages-learning-effective-in
http://www.topvelocity.net/3-stages-of-learning/
http://psydog.com/the-learning-hierarchy/
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Respect and the Unwritten Rules of the Dojang
Those of you that like my analytical writing needn't worry. I'll be returning to that soon, and in quite a way. I'm working aside from this post on a a rather large post that will very likely turn into a series of posts about the same theme or idea. I've been doing some research on the forms as a whole, and I'm hoping to bring a fresh perspective to the 24+1. With that being said, I want to talk more anecdotally and give a little more advice. While this article is going to be aimed at the students I know, I hope my insights prove to be universal a bit.
I saw something tonight, and after all my time training it is something I have sadly seen countless times. Tonight I saw a learner question not one but two clearly more experienced practitioners as they tried to help that learner get better at his trade. As a teacher I've given someone advice before and instead of a thank you, I've been given a reason why they were doing something different than my advice. Excuses, explanations, these are all things that go against the militaristic nature of Taekwondo. Could you imagine a private telling his boot instructor that his pushups were sloppy because "Lt. Dan lets him do them that way"? No that private would probably be treated harshly (I envision the scene in the movie Heartbreak Ridge where the soldier has to run circles around his fellow troops as they march for miles).
At my school, such breaches of military protocol happen, not frequently, but enough that upon my experience tonight, I got to thinking about it. It reminded me, in both a good and a bad way about my time as a rank student.
Once upon a time, my school had some pretty harsh unwritten rules. Those rules don't really exist anymore, and that is probably for the best for a lot of reasons. It wasn't uncommon, back in the mid 90s for a student who offered one of these "explanations" to find themselves picked first in free sparring by the black belt they explained themselves to. That student often times found his or herself on the receiving end of some sore ribs or a sore face. You see, there was an etiquette to be followed, one that was never really spoken explicitly, but that would sometimes get broken, and when it did, the price was always some method of pain.
I related all of this (my experience tonight and the reminiscence of unwritten rules) to my wife who trained for a very long time in a different type of TKD. She related that a person who spoke back when being corrected, or offered advice had better have just said "thank you" lest they face pushups, often times while everyone looked on - or - corporal punishment as it is better known.
Once I heard of a student getting his nose broken by one of my favorite instructors of all time because the student wouldn't take a gold chain off. Whether it happened for real or not (totally a hear-say story) stories like this have a way of becoming legend and driving behavior. My feelings on these methods are complicated and not appropriate in the context of this post. Ultimately I reside on the against these practices, for the most part.
This post is in a way my penance because I've been guilty of this. It took me a disproportionately long time to learn to just shut up and say "yes sir" or "yes ma'am". Be it pride, or ego or a combination of both - it would have been better of me to just affirm, and to keep an open mind and to try things that were suggested to me. I have no idea how many doors I have had locked on me because of this behavior, since physical or corporal punishment isn't the norm anymore.
Tonight, as I witnessed breach of protocol, I wanted to intervene and make an example. I wanted to slip back into the past and take on the role of those tough black belt heroes and lay the smack down. It wasn't my place to do so though and we don't live in that world anymore. For better or for worse, that world has moved on. Reflecting back I invite my students to understand that an instructor or even a classmate or peer that offers insight, they are sharing their art with you. When you offer explanations on why you can't do what they suggest, you reject their art -- and this is rude. Be mindful of this, ask for clarity if you must but try not openly dismiss...you won't get pummeled for it, but understand that in a different time, it could have led to a very bad night for you. You run the risk nowadays of being cut off from what could potentially be a source of needed insight.
I saw something tonight, and after all my time training it is something I have sadly seen countless times. Tonight I saw a learner question not one but two clearly more experienced practitioners as they tried to help that learner get better at his trade. As a teacher I've given someone advice before and instead of a thank you, I've been given a reason why they were doing something different than my advice. Excuses, explanations, these are all things that go against the militaristic nature of Taekwondo. Could you imagine a private telling his boot instructor that his pushups were sloppy because "Lt. Dan lets him do them that way"? No that private would probably be treated harshly (I envision the scene in the movie Heartbreak Ridge where the soldier has to run circles around his fellow troops as they march for miles).
At my school, such breaches of military protocol happen, not frequently, but enough that upon my experience tonight, I got to thinking about it. It reminded me, in both a good and a bad way about my time as a rank student.
Once upon a time, my school had some pretty harsh unwritten rules. Those rules don't really exist anymore, and that is probably for the best for a lot of reasons. It wasn't uncommon, back in the mid 90s for a student who offered one of these "explanations" to find themselves picked first in free sparring by the black belt they explained themselves to. That student often times found his or herself on the receiving end of some sore ribs or a sore face. You see, there was an etiquette to be followed, one that was never really spoken explicitly, but that would sometimes get broken, and when it did, the price was always some method of pain.
I related all of this (my experience tonight and the reminiscence of unwritten rules) to my wife who trained for a very long time in a different type of TKD. She related that a person who spoke back when being corrected, or offered advice had better have just said "thank you" lest they face pushups, often times while everyone looked on - or - corporal punishment as it is better known.
Once I heard of a student getting his nose broken by one of my favorite instructors of all time because the student wouldn't take a gold chain off. Whether it happened for real or not (totally a hear-say story) stories like this have a way of becoming legend and driving behavior. My feelings on these methods are complicated and not appropriate in the context of this post. Ultimately I reside on the against these practices, for the most part.
This post is in a way my penance because I've been guilty of this. It took me a disproportionately long time to learn to just shut up and say "yes sir" or "yes ma'am". Be it pride, or ego or a combination of both - it would have been better of me to just affirm, and to keep an open mind and to try things that were suggested to me. I have no idea how many doors I have had locked on me because of this behavior, since physical or corporal punishment isn't the norm anymore.
Tonight, as I witnessed breach of protocol, I wanted to intervene and make an example. I wanted to slip back into the past and take on the role of those tough black belt heroes and lay the smack down. It wasn't my place to do so though and we don't live in that world anymore. For better or for worse, that world has moved on. Reflecting back I invite my students to understand that an instructor or even a classmate or peer that offers insight, they are sharing their art with you. When you offer explanations on why you can't do what they suggest, you reject their art -- and this is rude. Be mindful of this, ask for clarity if you must but try not openly dismiss...you won't get pummeled for it, but understand that in a different time, it could have led to a very bad night for you. You run the risk nowadays of being cut off from what could potentially be a source of needed insight.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Points of Wisdom from All Valley
Greetings my appreciated readers. Today is a wonderful day, because today I get to share with you the wisdom of an old colleague. Today's post is being guest written by Master John Kreese.
First and foremost, cut off the sleeves on your uniforms, you want your students to see your guns.
The most important lesson I must share with you is that here, in the streets, in competition, a man confronts you, he is the enemy and deserves no mercy. Mercy is for the weak and we don't train to be merciful here.
We practice the way of the foot here - STRIKE FIRST, STRIKE HARD, NO MERCY
When in competition always remember the JK method of point fighting. First you win a point, and then you lose a point. Keep the match at zero to zero - pulverize your opponent for a full two minutes, then in sudden death, score the point, and win the match. Make your opponent suffer; and then suffer some more.
Never hesitate to instruct a lower level student to injure the other team's best player - and always, always sweep the leg.
This post has been brought to you by Master John Kreese, owner of the Cobra Kai karate studio in Reseda CA.
This post has also been brought to you by April Fool's day.
First and foremost, cut off the sleeves on your uniforms, you want your students to see your guns.
The most important lesson I must share with you is that here, in the streets, in competition, a man confronts you, he is the enemy and deserves no mercy. Mercy is for the weak and we don't train to be merciful here.
We practice the way of the foot here - STRIKE FIRST, STRIKE HARD, NO MERCY
When in competition always remember the JK method of point fighting. First you win a point, and then you lose a point. Keep the match at zero to zero - pulverize your opponent for a full two minutes, then in sudden death, score the point, and win the match. Make your opponent suffer; and then suffer some more.
Never hesitate to instruct a lower level student to injure the other team's best player - and always, always sweep the leg.
This post has been brought to you by Master John Kreese, owner of the Cobra Kai karate studio in Reseda CA.
This post has also been brought to you by April Fool's day.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Tournament Forms
Spring is almost upon us, and with spring comes tournament season. I don't get to work specifically on tournament style forms any more, but I watch the footage my students put out and I'm a frequent youtuber of forms and ultimately end up seeing other school's tournament forms attempts. As I've been dealing with a bit of writers block, I thought it might be a nice change to take a vacation from forms analysis and actually write a bit about tournament forms.
Before we go any further, the advice I give is going to be general and more suited to traditional "karate" style tournaments. Your mileage may vary in regard to strict ITF or WTF style tournaments as they tend to be judged on slightly different criteria. In particular though, my intensity section is not going to apply to those of you into sports karate. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I understand the allure of that genre of martial arts or its rule set. Based on watching it I can tell you that the judges are looking for things that are vastly different than what I would look for at a local or even national level tournament that I might judge at.
Ultimately every martial artist has their own strengths and weaknesses, but there are a few fundamental areas where everyone can improve, and thus can improve their scores in tournament forms. These three categories are hip turn, reaction force, and intensity.
Hips do not turn on their own. This is something that many martial artists - especially physically strong ones fail to realize. I've judged more tournaments than I'll ever compete in, and if there is a universal truth it is that many black belts don't understand that the hips must be turned manually and it is only with very few exceptions that a movement forces the hips to turn. The hip turn is what is going to generate snap of technique and uniform to give the best audible presentation to your form. Unfortunately many men (and some women) rely on the strength of their arms and legs alone, and neglect to get their hips involved in the movements of their forms. They rely on a starched heavyweight uniform to generate sound, which is good, but getting the hips involved can make a lightweight uniform sound heavyweight. Learning, and drilling and forcing myself to get my hips involved have changed my execution of techniques and although I do not compete anymore, when I look back on the footage of me at second dan I can only shake my head and wish I knew then what I know now. With proper hip turn you look effortless -- you will look powerful and extremely fast, without looking like you are trying to be fast and powerful. This is good.
The reaction force is something I recently talked about in my Tuesday night class. Of course by reaction force I am referring to Newton's third law, that states roughly that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. We understand opposite quite well in the martial arts. We know that when we execute a stepping straight punch that we leave the previous hand out there, and that we move it opposite to the punch we are throwing, back to our hip. Everything is supposed to stop at the same time, but it rarely does. More often we get an illusion of timing. We must be careful not to create an illusion of timing. Since we as humans are focused on the action, we tend to only notice the punching hand and the landing foot. Those things that are moving towards the action. If we focused more attention on the hand traveling away from the action, I believe we'd find that in a lot of cases two things are happening. First, we'll see a hand that stops short, and then sneaks into position at the hip. Second, we see a hand that doesn't even try to hide being late. I call it the illusion of timing because the action parts stop at the same time, but to have full good timing everything must stop at the same time, and stop at the right places.
The lack of real reaction force causes a reverb in the body. This reverb is a slight balance shift because one incredibly forceful move was not counter balanced and there is excess movement.
When a technique is performed with with proper reaction force it attains a stillness. The move will be fast, but when it stops, it stops completely and looks cleaner. In a tight competition, where you are equal on all counts, it is a subtlety like stillness that will win the trophy for you.
Finally there is intensity. I used to be a firm believer that there was no such thing as too much intensity. I've come to realize though, maybe even a bit grudgingly, that there is such a thing as too much, and too much intensity happens frequently. Intensity is to forms what condiments are to food. Too little intensity, and a form or food can be considered bland. Too much intensity can ruin a dish or form, because the object is to enhance what is already there, and should not be a featured part of the food or the form. To put it another way, by saying (forgive me) dumb words like "ICE", "Oss", "HA!" or any other almost English, Japanese or Korean word, you are not practicing what a kiap actually is. A kiap is an audible strike. Like any other strike it should be quick and hard, and you shouldn't see it coming if possible. It also shouldn't linger as you wouldn't leave your punch out for a disproportionately long time, so don't drawl out your kiap either. I've seen black belts who kiap well completely stop fighters in their tracks with a well timed kiap and open up enough time to hit that frozen fighter several times over. To think of a kiap as only "gamesmanship" is to be completely short sighted and deficient in actual martial arts knowledge. I admit, it is a bit subjective but I can assure all of my readers that no one has ever said to me "I really like how that guy kiaped for a sustained 5 seconds, it really added something to the form" or "the way that guy said ICE, really made that form more intense". Most of the time people say things like "how ridiculous was that guy's kiap?" or "that person really overdid it". No one ever says anything bad about a nice, sharp, loud (but not screamed) kiap in appropriate places. Let your intensity enhance your form and not be strictly what you are known for.
As I said at the beginning of this article, everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. Assuming you have solid technique execution, and decent stances (areas that entire books could be written on) then the next level of improvement must come by improving the fundamental attributes that make up your forms. The hip turn, reaction force, and intensity are three good starting points to focus on and take your form to the next level.
Before we go any further, the advice I give is going to be general and more suited to traditional "karate" style tournaments. Your mileage may vary in regard to strict ITF or WTF style tournaments as they tend to be judged on slightly different criteria. In particular though, my intensity section is not going to apply to those of you into sports karate. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I understand the allure of that genre of martial arts or its rule set. Based on watching it I can tell you that the judges are looking for things that are vastly different than what I would look for at a local or even national level tournament that I might judge at.
Ultimately every martial artist has their own strengths and weaknesses, but there are a few fundamental areas where everyone can improve, and thus can improve their scores in tournament forms. These three categories are hip turn, reaction force, and intensity.
Hips do not turn on their own. This is something that many martial artists - especially physically strong ones fail to realize. I've judged more tournaments than I'll ever compete in, and if there is a universal truth it is that many black belts don't understand that the hips must be turned manually and it is only with very few exceptions that a movement forces the hips to turn. The hip turn is what is going to generate snap of technique and uniform to give the best audible presentation to your form. Unfortunately many men (and some women) rely on the strength of their arms and legs alone, and neglect to get their hips involved in the movements of their forms. They rely on a starched heavyweight uniform to generate sound, which is good, but getting the hips involved can make a lightweight uniform sound heavyweight. Learning, and drilling and forcing myself to get my hips involved have changed my execution of techniques and although I do not compete anymore, when I look back on the footage of me at second dan I can only shake my head and wish I knew then what I know now. With proper hip turn you look effortless -- you will look powerful and extremely fast, without looking like you are trying to be fast and powerful. This is good.
The reaction force is something I recently talked about in my Tuesday night class. Of course by reaction force I am referring to Newton's third law, that states roughly that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. We understand opposite quite well in the martial arts. We know that when we execute a stepping straight punch that we leave the previous hand out there, and that we move it opposite to the punch we are throwing, back to our hip. Everything is supposed to stop at the same time, but it rarely does. More often we get an illusion of timing. We must be careful not to create an illusion of timing. Since we as humans are focused on the action, we tend to only notice the punching hand and the landing foot. Those things that are moving towards the action. If we focused more attention on the hand traveling away from the action, I believe we'd find that in a lot of cases two things are happening. First, we'll see a hand that stops short, and then sneaks into position at the hip. Second, we see a hand that doesn't even try to hide being late. I call it the illusion of timing because the action parts stop at the same time, but to have full good timing everything must stop at the same time, and stop at the right places.
The lack of real reaction force causes a reverb in the body. This reverb is a slight balance shift because one incredibly forceful move was not counter balanced and there is excess movement.
When a technique is performed with with proper reaction force it attains a stillness. The move will be fast, but when it stops, it stops completely and looks cleaner. In a tight competition, where you are equal on all counts, it is a subtlety like stillness that will win the trophy for you.
Finally there is intensity. I used to be a firm believer that there was no such thing as too much intensity. I've come to realize though, maybe even a bit grudgingly, that there is such a thing as too much, and too much intensity happens frequently. Intensity is to forms what condiments are to food. Too little intensity, and a form or food can be considered bland. Too much intensity can ruin a dish or form, because the object is to enhance what is already there, and should not be a featured part of the food or the form. To put it another way, by saying (forgive me) dumb words like "ICE", "Oss", "HA!" or any other almost English, Japanese or Korean word, you are not practicing what a kiap actually is. A kiap is an audible strike. Like any other strike it should be quick and hard, and you shouldn't see it coming if possible. It also shouldn't linger as you wouldn't leave your punch out for a disproportionately long time, so don't drawl out your kiap either. I've seen black belts who kiap well completely stop fighters in their tracks with a well timed kiap and open up enough time to hit that frozen fighter several times over. To think of a kiap as only "gamesmanship" is to be completely short sighted and deficient in actual martial arts knowledge. I admit, it is a bit subjective but I can assure all of my readers that no one has ever said to me "I really like how that guy kiaped for a sustained 5 seconds, it really added something to the form" or "the way that guy said ICE, really made that form more intense". Most of the time people say things like "how ridiculous was that guy's kiap?" or "that person really overdid it". No one ever says anything bad about a nice, sharp, loud (but not screamed) kiap in appropriate places. Let your intensity enhance your form and not be strictly what you are known for.
As I said at the beginning of this article, everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. Assuming you have solid technique execution, and decent stances (areas that entire books could be written on) then the next level of improvement must come by improving the fundamental attributes that make up your forms. The hip turn, reaction force, and intensity are three good starting points to focus on and take your form to the next level.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
A Critical Look at Breaking
I recently saw a video posted on a TKD discussion group showing a 10 year old who was testing for 2nd degree black belt who had to break a 2 inch thick stone paver. The video runs for about nine minutes and eventually at the end, the child does break the brick. The video is downright appalling, as the child hits the brick again and again and comes up clutching his hand several times. He clearly wasn't up to the task, and being made to do it in a pressure situation is an excellent way to tear that child down. At one point someone even comments "you have two hands" as if the pain in one didn't matter.
If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I haven't written in a while. Life...it happens sometimes, but this snapped my writers block and allowed me to find my voice again. This video got me thinking about breaking, and about why we do it in the martial arts. I have a lot of strong opinions about breaking, and along with sharing them, I'll probably take out a few sacred cows in this post. Since many of my students read my blog, I will try to make it clear when I am speaking about my opinions, and know that my opinions are just that -- opinions -- not the law, or the rule. I'll always teach the way my instructor wants me to, so long as I am teaching in the house he built.
So why do martial artists of almost all denomination break wood and bricks (and in some extreme cases any other manner of crazy objects)? Well, the textbook reasons are to demonstrate the power of the technique that we focus and practice. The textbook will also usually mention how it is important to know what we are capable of doing with our skills. This is important for our own training, so that we can be confident, that yes, all that practicing can be an effective defense measure, but also, so that we realize the damage we can do to the human body, should we need to.
There's another benefit that I am not sure if it is ever explicitly spoken about - one that I think is equally if not the most important benefit to any previously mentioned. Breaking is our opportunity to override the safety protocols that are inherent in all humans. It's not natural to ball up the fist and punch or to kick solid objects. There is a very strong, very real mental block that all students who ever break anything must overcome. It's important to overcome this, because I believe it lends itself to overcoming the fight or flight reaction when faced with the choice of defending yourself. I'd like to think, that a student that can override those mental safety protocols and can punch through 3 inches of wood, can override their own fear and defend themselves if they have to. It's not a perfect comparison but it is close. This is important because it would be unethical to attack our students for real when they least expect it with intent to harm them to see if they really can defend themselves. Since we have no perfect test for that, we must come as close as we can with other methods.
I don't have a problem with breaking at all in the gup levels. All the breaking in tests and in instructional classes I've been a part of feel right to me. At these levels focus is on proper technique, without which injury can occur. It's often a one station break, or maybe two stations at most (where I come from anyway it is). Here, these mental blocks are weakened, and hopefully eventually broken. As a student transitions into black belt the stations increase, sometimes obstructions are added, and while there is still that fundamental practice of turning off the safety protocols, I have some concerns with the execution.
Before looking at the areas of breaking that I do have concerns about, I want to expose a few myths that some people think about breaking. First, breaking has a lot to do with the holder - sometimes it has more to do with the holder than it does the actual breaker of the boards. I've seen people break boards in their "practice" kick (where they pick up their foot and measure their distance to the target). On two separate occasions I saw a single board break on these practice touches, and once I saw someone crack their first board on a two board brake. Conversely, I've seen first hand what a bad hold can do. I've seen people throw perfectly timed technique and hit square in the middle of a board and watched in horror as the boards don't break because a holder flinched or had their arms bent. I find the people who take the stance of "if the technique is good the holder is irrelevant" highly ignorant. My school doesn't use any contraptions to hold for breaking, we always use human holders and thus even when everything is correct, the break can go wrong.
Another myth that bothers me is the famous cliche "boards don't hit back". This is true, but isn't what is really important. What is more important, is that people don't stand still to get hit, and they certainly don't let you take practice swings at them, before unloading with a kiap and all of your power. This leads me into my biggest problem with breaking, which lies at the black belt and master levels. Breaking is, by and large one of the most practical things a martial artist can practice, but often it is practiced in the most impractical ways.
Setting up elaborate breaks, measuring every step, taking 3-4 deep breaths. It's great demonstration and it's very entertaining to the untrained eye. The hush that falls over the crowd, be it of spectators at a demo or a test, or even of classmates and instructors in a classroom setting is an awesome feeling. But the practice lends itself only to demonstration, as practicing the exact movements over and over again, by measuring your kicks and punches precisely, and pausing for dramatic or "necessary" focus time eliminates all the practicality that kicking a hard but breakable target gives. Setting aside purposeful use of this format for demonstration and entertainment purposes, I'd rather see these practices end at 3rd dan level. Your target is very rarely going to be completely stationary, and you will never have the "warm-up" time when you have to hit someone for real that you have in these breaking scenarios.
When you attach the title of master, there should be, (in my opinion), no need to measure your steps. By the time you get to this point you should know with a glance what you have to do to hit something clean and hard. Furthermore you should be able to move from target to target striking with impunity and without the need to stop along the way. Finally, you shouldn't have to take deep breaths, gather your will, your chi, your focus or what have you. If you are a master, you should be able to see your enemy, strike it with full potential, with maximum effectiveness with no hesitation. A master of the art should be able to handle this, and a master of "the self" should also. It's possible I have an over inflated idea of what a master should be able to do, but at this time, I stand by my opinion.
Instead of the things we do to make breaking more difficult at the higher dan level, things like adding obstructions and adding stations and advanced techniques - I think an unrehearsed, presentation of wooden targets to a candidate with the goal being for that candidate to quickly and effectively break all of the targets to be the ultimate test in actual understanding of the practical side of the art. Imagine a blindfolded candidate, who has his holders move around him and set the boards. When the candidate's name is called they pull of the blindfold off and attack. This would be a true test of power, and understanding of positioning and technique. When discussing sparring and fighting we always talk about the impracticality of spin kicks, and high kicks - yet in advanced breaking there is a stigma to keeping it simple.
Of course it would be very hard to pull off in a logistical sense. It would require holders that not only were excellent holders as they themselves would not know what is coming, but also they would have to understand fully the goal of the exercise and not set up in a way that was illogical. In my mind though, it would unlock breaking's potential to be one of the ultimate practicality tests.
Sparring, prearranged, and by design forms all require levels of control - breaking is the one place we have to and should practice at full power, but we under cut our training by rehearsing, measuring and "focusing".
Most of this post is my opinion based on my experiences. I love breaking, it's awesome for a lot of reasons, but I believe it could be even better. This is also not an indictment of current practices - after all, part of the tests I took to gain the rank that I hold came as a result of successfully performing the very breaking I am rallying against. I don't feel ripped off, or cheated -- because I know what I am capable of, and that is ultimately the point of breaking. We've changed so many other parts of the art though as time has moved on. Maybe it is time to take a long hard look at our breaking philosophies and practices, and, well, maybe its not. These are just my thoughts on breaking after all.
If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I haven't written in a while. Life...it happens sometimes, but this snapped my writers block and allowed me to find my voice again. This video got me thinking about breaking, and about why we do it in the martial arts. I have a lot of strong opinions about breaking, and along with sharing them, I'll probably take out a few sacred cows in this post. Since many of my students read my blog, I will try to make it clear when I am speaking about my opinions, and know that my opinions are just that -- opinions -- not the law, or the rule. I'll always teach the way my instructor wants me to, so long as I am teaching in the house he built.
So why do martial artists of almost all denomination break wood and bricks (and in some extreme cases any other manner of crazy objects)? Well, the textbook reasons are to demonstrate the power of the technique that we focus and practice. The textbook will also usually mention how it is important to know what we are capable of doing with our skills. This is important for our own training, so that we can be confident, that yes, all that practicing can be an effective defense measure, but also, so that we realize the damage we can do to the human body, should we need to.
There's another benefit that I am not sure if it is ever explicitly spoken about - one that I think is equally if not the most important benefit to any previously mentioned. Breaking is our opportunity to override the safety protocols that are inherent in all humans. It's not natural to ball up the fist and punch or to kick solid objects. There is a very strong, very real mental block that all students who ever break anything must overcome. It's important to overcome this, because I believe it lends itself to overcoming the fight or flight reaction when faced with the choice of defending yourself. I'd like to think, that a student that can override those mental safety protocols and can punch through 3 inches of wood, can override their own fear and defend themselves if they have to. It's not a perfect comparison but it is close. This is important because it would be unethical to attack our students for real when they least expect it with intent to harm them to see if they really can defend themselves. Since we have no perfect test for that, we must come as close as we can with other methods.
I don't have a problem with breaking at all in the gup levels. All the breaking in tests and in instructional classes I've been a part of feel right to me. At these levels focus is on proper technique, without which injury can occur. It's often a one station break, or maybe two stations at most (where I come from anyway it is). Here, these mental blocks are weakened, and hopefully eventually broken. As a student transitions into black belt the stations increase, sometimes obstructions are added, and while there is still that fundamental practice of turning off the safety protocols, I have some concerns with the execution.
Before looking at the areas of breaking that I do have concerns about, I want to expose a few myths that some people think about breaking. First, breaking has a lot to do with the holder - sometimes it has more to do with the holder than it does the actual breaker of the boards. I've seen people break boards in their "practice" kick (where they pick up their foot and measure their distance to the target). On two separate occasions I saw a single board break on these practice touches, and once I saw someone crack their first board on a two board brake. Conversely, I've seen first hand what a bad hold can do. I've seen people throw perfectly timed technique and hit square in the middle of a board and watched in horror as the boards don't break because a holder flinched or had their arms bent. I find the people who take the stance of "if the technique is good the holder is irrelevant" highly ignorant. My school doesn't use any contraptions to hold for breaking, we always use human holders and thus even when everything is correct, the break can go wrong.
Another myth that bothers me is the famous cliche "boards don't hit back". This is true, but isn't what is really important. What is more important, is that people don't stand still to get hit, and they certainly don't let you take practice swings at them, before unloading with a kiap and all of your power. This leads me into my biggest problem with breaking, which lies at the black belt and master levels. Breaking is, by and large one of the most practical things a martial artist can practice, but often it is practiced in the most impractical ways.
Setting up elaborate breaks, measuring every step, taking 3-4 deep breaths. It's great demonstration and it's very entertaining to the untrained eye. The hush that falls over the crowd, be it of spectators at a demo or a test, or even of classmates and instructors in a classroom setting is an awesome feeling. But the practice lends itself only to demonstration, as practicing the exact movements over and over again, by measuring your kicks and punches precisely, and pausing for dramatic or "necessary" focus time eliminates all the practicality that kicking a hard but breakable target gives. Setting aside purposeful use of this format for demonstration and entertainment purposes, I'd rather see these practices end at 3rd dan level. Your target is very rarely going to be completely stationary, and you will never have the "warm-up" time when you have to hit someone for real that you have in these breaking scenarios.
When you attach the title of master, there should be, (in my opinion), no need to measure your steps. By the time you get to this point you should know with a glance what you have to do to hit something clean and hard. Furthermore you should be able to move from target to target striking with impunity and without the need to stop along the way. Finally, you shouldn't have to take deep breaths, gather your will, your chi, your focus or what have you. If you are a master, you should be able to see your enemy, strike it with full potential, with maximum effectiveness with no hesitation. A master of the art should be able to handle this, and a master of "the self" should also. It's possible I have an over inflated idea of what a master should be able to do, but at this time, I stand by my opinion.
Instead of the things we do to make breaking more difficult at the higher dan level, things like adding obstructions and adding stations and advanced techniques - I think an unrehearsed, presentation of wooden targets to a candidate with the goal being for that candidate to quickly and effectively break all of the targets to be the ultimate test in actual understanding of the practical side of the art. Imagine a blindfolded candidate, who has his holders move around him and set the boards. When the candidate's name is called they pull of the blindfold off and attack. This would be a true test of power, and understanding of positioning and technique. When discussing sparring and fighting we always talk about the impracticality of spin kicks, and high kicks - yet in advanced breaking there is a stigma to keeping it simple.
Of course it would be very hard to pull off in a logistical sense. It would require holders that not only were excellent holders as they themselves would not know what is coming, but also they would have to understand fully the goal of the exercise and not set up in a way that was illogical. In my mind though, it would unlock breaking's potential to be one of the ultimate practicality tests.
Sparring, prearranged, and by design forms all require levels of control - breaking is the one place we have to and should practice at full power, but we under cut our training by rehearsing, measuring and "focusing".
Most of this post is my opinion based on my experiences. I love breaking, it's awesome for a lot of reasons, but I believe it could be even better. This is also not an indictment of current practices - after all, part of the tests I took to gain the rank that I hold came as a result of successfully performing the very breaking I am rallying against. I don't feel ripped off, or cheated -- because I know what I am capable of, and that is ultimately the point of breaking. We've changed so many other parts of the art though as time has moved on. Maybe it is time to take a long hard look at our breaking philosophies and practices, and, well, maybe its not. These are just my thoughts on breaking after all.
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