I was very nervous in Kanazawa Sensei’s house, worried that I might say or do something that was not correct etiquette; or worse, that I might break something! I was quite relieved when he said he was going to bed, and showed me to the beautiful tatami-floored room that Nobuaki Sensei and I were to share that night.
In the morning, we had breakfast together. Kanazawa Sensei prepared a wonderful selection of fresh fruit for us but, after we finished it, he decided that this was not enough so he took us out to a coffee house for another breakfast before Nobuaki Sensei and I headed off.
As we approached the meeting point, I could see the coach that had been hired to take us to Nagano in the mountains for the gasshuku. Some of the students were already gathered there. When they saw us approaching, they came running up to Nobuaki Sensei, bowing deeply to him. They took his bag from him, to carry it to the coach. Nobuaki Sensei said something about me in Japanese to the students, and before I knew it they were bowing to me and offering to carry my bag also. In Japan, the relationship between seniors and juniors (Sempai and Kohai) is very important. Seniors have responsibility for teaching and looking after the well-being of their juniors, and the juniors show appreciation for this by helping their seniors in any way they can – including menial tasks such as carrying their bags. I thanked the students, but carried my own bag. It is not part of my culture to have people carry my bags for me, and anyway I was just a student like them on the gasshuku.
The bus journey was over four hours, but the time flew because I was admiring the scenery. Looking out the window I could see the beauty of the Japanese rural landscape, with rivers and tree-covered mountains. I couldn’t help but notice that this traditional romantic picture of Japan was starkly contrasted by the modern influence of masses of power lines and pylons cutting through the landscape like scars. As I observed this contrast, I was reminded of Funakoshi Sensei’s poem:
To search for the old is to understand the new.
The old, the new,
This is a matter of time.
In all things man must have a clear mind.
The Way:
Who will pass it on straight and well?
While I was pondering all of this, the students were chattering excitedly, looking forward to the week ahead. I suspected it was the first gasshuku for many of them, because if they knew what was ahead of them they might not have been quite so enthusiastic. I was aware that we had a week of hell ahead, and was both dreading and relishing it at the same time.
We were staying at a ryokan – a traditional hostel-style accommodation. The dojo captain allocated people into shared rooms. Some rooms had two people, but some had as many as six. Traditionally, the instructor (Nobuaki Sensei) should have his own room, but he told the dojo captain that I was to share with him. This seemed to elevate my status among the students, which I found amusing to say the least. It was nice of Nobuaki Sensei to allow me to share with him, rather than putting me with people I didn’t know. We relaxed for the remainder of the day, and Nobuaki Sensei and I went to a local onsen (hot spring) to soak and prepare for the hard training ahead.
Dinner was served in the large dining hall. The junior students had to lay out the food for everyone and Nobuaki Sensei and I were called when it was all ready. When we arrived into the hall, the students were standing in front of their designated places. A small table was set at the top for three people: Noubaki Sensei, his designated assistant for the day, and me. Nobuaki Sensei sat down, and indicated that I should sit next. Then the dojo captain sat, followed by each student in turn, according to his or her rank. We followed the same process with the food: Nobuaki Sensei started eating first, then me, and so on. It was very formal etiquette, which was important for setting the tone for the gasshuku itself.
As I predicted, the training was very tough. We were woken at six in the morning for a pre-breakfast session. On the first morning we started with a run. I was surprised that it was quite short, but I should have known better. We came back to the car park beside our hostel, where we immediately began sprint-training for thirty minutes, which was exhausting. A few of the students were physically sick and had to continue again regardless.
After the first session we had breakfast, which followed the same formal routine as the night before. Then it was time to get ready for the real training: two hours of hard karate before lunch. After lunch, it was another two hours of hard karate. No-one was allowed to stop or even slow down. We regularly faced one another during basics, so we couldn’t miss a single count or we would look bad in front of our partner. There were lots of repetitions of techniques at high speed. People pushed and encouraged each other constantly. It was very hot and humid, so we had some breaks in between exercises for drinks. For every break, one of the white belts would bring a drink to Nobuaki Sensei and me.
I understood the Sempai-Kohai relationship, and how the juniors look after their seniors out of respect. I also understood that the seniors did a lot more for the juniors, by looking after their overall welfare and teaching them. Therefore, I felt very bad that I was being treated as a senior, because I was an outsider, and didn’t feel I had earned that right. I felt I was not actually doing anything to help the junior students. But they didn’t seem to mind. On one occasion while we walked to the dojo, one of the white belts came up to me and offered to carry my small towel – the only thing I had in my hand. His English was better than that of most of the other students, so we talked a little as we walked together. He told me that they were grateful and honoured that I went there to train with them, and that the students admired my karate. Maybe I did give something back after all, without even realising it.
Each day the training changed. For some of the morning sessions we just ran up the mountain, and for others we did all kata. Most of the karate classes had a lot of basics, but each class had something different. What they all had in common was that they were tough. Very tough.
Training barefoot can be hard on the feet, and blisters are common for the first few years until the feet toughen up. On a gasshuku like this, most of the students developed blisters. In some cases the skin had come off, to reveal raw skin underneath, and then the raw skin developed blisters too. Some of the students had to cover their feet with tape. Most students also had bruises the length of their forearms and all down their shins, but no-one complained and no-one stopped training.
My feet were ok as they hadn’t blistered in years, but after a couple of days I started to feel very weak and queasy. It was not from the training; I had contracted a stomach bug. I simply couldn’t face eating, and sometimes stayed in the room and slept at meal times. I was vomiting, and it was obvious to everyone that I was ill. What terrible timing. Nobuaki Sensei could see that I was unwell before I even said anything. He told me that I should not train on the third day. He said I should rest and try to be better for the next day because Murakami Sensei would be replacing him as the instructor for the second half of the week, and I ‘would need all my strength’.
I was tempted to take a day off, but I knew that I couldn’t. If the college kids could train with blistered feet, I could train with a weak stomach. I pulled on my karate-gi, and stubbornly went out with the rest of them. I vomited during the sprints, but kept going and completed about thirty minutes of the forty-five minute session. I had to sit down for the last few minutes, but as several others were also sitting down, I was not alone. The rest of that day was difficult. My techniques were weak and slow, but all the other students encouraged me to keep going. That is the Japanese way.
Murakami Sensei arrived that afternoon to replace Nobuaki Sensei, and although he was surprised that I was in the Sensei’s room, he allowed me to stay with him. We had a lot of fun over the next few days, although I was still quite ill for the remainder of the gasshuku.
I asked Murakami Sensei if he would take a look at my kata for me, although I didn’t actually mention the possibility of grading. He got me to perform it before the afternoon session on one of t
he days, with all the students watching. After I finished, he considered it for a minute. ‘You are like a singer with a good voice,’ he started, ‘but who is only singing one note. Your kata is all the same rhythm and tone. Please try to express the rhythm of the kata more correctly.’ I struggled to comprehend how I should do that, but it gave me something new to think about over the next few days. Actually, it was only after I returned home from Japan that I suddenly understood what he had wanted. I immediately wanted to get on a plane and go back to Japan again to show Murakami Sensei. It just shows that the benefits of intensive training often come long after the training itself.
On the second-last day of the gasshuku, one of the brown belts who had just passed his Shodan during the week came and asked me if I would help him work on Empi (a black belt kata) after dinner. I asked Murakami Sensei if this was ok, and he said it was, so I spent some time helping correct the student’s kata. A few others watched as well. I was glad to be able to give them back something tangible for all their help and kindness to me.
Later that evening, Murakami Sensei and I went to the onsen together, and I asked him why the training was so tough. I pointed out that the students all had skinned feet and bruises all over. They really were suffering. Murakami Sensei explained that a lot of the university students would only ever train in karate while at university. After they graduate, many of them become career ‘salary men’, and don’t have time for karate. Therefore, teaching them technique would be of very little benefit to them in the long term. But with hard training, they learn to have strong spirit, and this is something that will stay with them throughout their lives.
Having taught some self-defence classes in the past, I had very quickly realised the futility of teaching people techniques that they would forget long before they ever needed to use them, so I felt there was a lot of wisdom in this approach to teaching ‘short-term’ students. At least they were learning about their abilities to achieve far more than they would have thought possible, and that this would give them an indomitable spirit, which would be valuable to them in many aspects of their lives.
The last day of the gasshuku was the toughest of all. By now, almost all of the students had their feet taped up to protect the raw skin, and each arm seemed to have just one large bruise from elbow to wrist. The pre-breakfast session set the tone for the day. We had a thirty-minute run first. Then we lined up in the car park outside our hostel for the real training. First we did several kata a few times each. After this, Murakami Sensei made all thirty of us form a circle, and stand in kiba-dachi. From there, we each had to count out ten punches, so one time around the circle was three hundred punches, all while Murakami Sensei was going around giving a kick to anyone who was not in a deep enough stance. Our legs were burning from the strain. When we got around the circle we thought we were done, but we were wrong: Murakami Sensei told us to keep going, a second time around the circle. Six hundred punches. And then we went around a third time. Nine hundred punches. And then ten more people to count out the last hundred to make it a thousand punches in total. We were nearly twenty minutes holding that stance and punching. Most people collapsed onto the tarmac when we were eventually allowed to stop. Certainly my legs wobbled all the way back to my room, as Murakami Sensei cheerfully told me that he wanted to ‘make a memory’ for the students. I think he succeeded – I certainly have never forgotten it!
The rest of the day was a blur of brutally tough training, but finally it was over and we had completed the gasshuku. I was reminded of someone who had commented about a gasshuku before by saying ‘gasshuku is very hard training – only happy when it is over.’ We certainly all felt elated now that it was finished.
When we went back to Tokyo the next day, I had hoped to get to the Honbu Dojo, but Nobuaki Sensei came to bring me back to Chiba immediately. I was surprised to find myself disappointed not to be going training. After all, it was just one day after the toughest week of training of my life. It probably helped that my bug seemed to have passed, and I was feeling a bit better. I even had my appetite back. I was glad when Nobuaki Sensei and his wife took me out for dinner that evening.
A couple of days later, Nobuaki Sensei and I were on the train from Chiba to Tokyo together, and he casually mentioned that my grading examination would be after class that morning. I got a bit of a shock, because I had almost forgotten about it. I had been distracted on the gasshuku, and no-one had said anything about the grading. In a way, this was better because I didn’t really have time to worry about it.
Kanazawa Sensei taught the class that morning. There were a lot of instructors from other dojos there, and we spent the class going through the syllabus, concentrating especially and in great detail on the kumite syllabus to make sure that everyone was doing it the same way. All the Honbu Dojo instructors were training in the class also.
When the class finished, Kanazawa Sensei announced that the grading examination would start in five minutes, and he left to change into his formal clothes. Murakami Sensei, Nobuaki Sensei and Tanaka Sensei stayed on the floor and started warming up and practising sparring techniques, as though they were preparing for fighting. I wondered if they were also testing. My heart sank. I knew I would have to fight for 4th Dan, but I didn’t think I was going to have to fight those guys. I was thinking that it was ironic that I complained about not having to do any fighting for my 3rd Dan, and now was complaining to myself that I was going to have to fight the instructors. Fortunately, I shrugged off the concerns and reminded myself of the fighting I had done in South Africa earlier that year. I steeled my nerves and told myself that I wasn’t going to be expected to beat them. I would only have to keep getting up each time they knocked me over. I was as ready as I ever would be.
When Kanazawa Sensei returned and announced the start of the grading and told us to line up, the three instructors disappeared into the changing room. I wasn’t going to have to fight them after all! It had just been a psychological ploy to try to frighten those of us who were grading.
After that scare, the actual grading was manageable. I had a couple of tough fights, but I felt I did well enough. I was worried about the kata, especially after Murakami Sensei’s comments during the gasshuku. It was a relief when I was told that I had passed. It was a dream come true to grade in Japan, but it was especially important for me to see that I could come to a different country and still hold my own. Whether it was true or not, I felt that I had to earn my grade all the more in the Honbu Dojo in Japan than I would at home.
The All-Japan Championships were on that weekend. As part of the Honbu Dojo demonstration at the championships, Kanazawa Sensei had asked me and a Belgian student named Eric to do a demonstration of Jiyu-Ippon Kumite (semi-freestyle) together, with a pair of Japanese students doing a simultaneous demonstration. It was an honour to be asked to take part in this demonstration, so Eric and I practised together several times in the days leading up to the championships.
At the championships, all the teams paraded out into the arena, with the club banner held up in front. I was very proud to walk out under the banner of the Honbu Dojo. I had never been beaten in the first round of any kata competition, but when I looked around me I realised I was the only foreigner taking part in this event, and that all the judges were Japanese too. I imagined that all the competitors must be fantastic – and some of them were. In addition to several of the Honbu Dojo instructors, I recognised others from international competitions as well. I figured that I might have to accept defeat in the first round, in exchange for the honour of being there.
I was wrong. I somehow managed to get through three rounds of kata. At that point, I turned to Tanaka Sensei beside me and asked him if he knew how many more rounds there would be. He said, ‘No more. Now everyone left in final. Congratulations.’ I was stunned, but delighted. We were told to prepare for the kumite event, and that the kata final would take place later. When the kumite started, I lined up with the other competitors. Then I heard some people chanting
my name from the stands behind me. Surprised, I turned around and saw half of the college students from the gasshuku waving at me and cheering. I grinned and waved back at them. It was good to have friends to support me.
Those students gave me a real boost, and I got to the third round of the kumite. In the second round I managed to score an ippon (full point) with a mawashi-geri jodan (roundhouse kick to the head). When I did that, Murakami Sensei came running over from the organisers’ table to congratulate me. But then, in case I got a cocky, he followed his praise with ‘I didn’t know you could fight like that.’ Back down to earth again…
I was beaten in the third round, despite going a half point up early on. I was using my jab too much, because it had been working well for me, and my opponent just timed me and scored well twice. I was disappointed to be beaten, but I felt I had represented myself reasonably well.
It was great to go out onto the floor with the Honbu Dojo demonstration team. Eric and I were beaten by four votes to three in our jiyu-ippon kumite demonstration competition, but it was all good fun. I also didn’t place anywhere in the kata final. In fact, I think I probably came last. But I didn’t care; considering the calibre of the other finalists, I was lucky to just be there.
Earlier on Tanaka Sensei had come over and asked me what kata I would do in the final, and offered to help me prepare. I was touched by this sportsmanship, although I am sure that he knew I was no threat to his title. I thanked him for the offer, but I reminded him that he was the defending champion and had to win, whereas I had already achieved more than I expected just by getting to the final. As defending champion, he was under more pressure than the other finalists. He could not afford to lose. I admired his kata greatly, so I genuinely wanted him to win – not that I could have done anything about it. His kata was in a different league to mine. When he did win, I was one of the first to congratulate him.
The previous week during my illness on the gasshuku, I had started to question why I was so obsessed with karate, and whether it was worth all the effort. At the championships I was in the stands at one point when I saw Kanazawa Sensei sitting at the top table talking to a dignitary. Three small children approached the table, and shyly asked Kanazawa Sensei if he would sign their t-shirts. Rather than getting annoyed at the interruption and shooing them away, Kanazawa Sensei excused himself from the VIP beside him and chatted warmly for a few minutes with each of the children. Then he meticulously signed each t-shirt, still smiling and talking to them all. He gave every bit as much respect and attention to those children as he had been giving to the VIP beside him. This, I realised, was what it was all about: we train hard to become better people. Like Kanazawa Sensei. I know that no-one is perfect, but I would certainly like to have the patience, kindness and consideration of Kanazawa Sensei, so I still have a long way to go. Karate training requires discipline and patience. It requires many years to make small improvements. It teaches us to be humble. It teaches us to respect others. This is the first principle of karate: to seek perfection of character. While watching his kindness to those children, I knew it was worth every bit of effort, and more.
A Karate Story Page 14