A Karate Story

by Seamus O'Dowd

  As I was going to the event anyway, it was then suggested that maybe I could take part in the competition itself. I felt that I didn’t have the preparation behind me to take part in the kumite event, but that it might be nice to compete in the kata event. My attitude to the competition surprised me. I wasn’t concerned at all; in fact, I didn’t even decide which kata I was going to choose until the morning of the event itself.

  There were nearly fifty competitors in my category. I think they call it the Masters category these days, but it used to be called the Veterans. They split us into two pools of twenty-five. Each competitor could choose their kata. The top four from each pool would go through to a semi-final, and then four of the eight would go through to the final. Despite little preparation for the tournament, I was pleased to make it comfortably enough into the top four in my pool and so reached the semi-final, but I didn’t make it to the final. At least I had maintained my personal goal of never being beaten in the first round of an event, and I was satisfied that my standard was still reasonable. More than anything, I enjoyed meeting up with the competitors and officials from all around Europe. I had forgotten how useful events like this are for networking and socialising.

  At one point, Sensei Antonio Racca from Switzerland and I were walking together in the stadium, and passed a stand where some of the Swiss team were having a beer. Sensei Racca asked me if I would join him for a round. As I don’t generally drink, I politely declined, saying that maybe we would have a drink another time. Sensei Racca smiled at me and said, ‘OK, no problem. But I am your Sempai – if I ask you a second time you cannot refuse.’ I agreed, while secretly making a mental note to try to avoid him near the bar in future!

  I started to walk away, but had covered no more than a few steps when I heard Sensei Racca call my name. I stopped and turned to see him grinning at me. ‘Seamus, will you have a beer with me? I am asking you a second time!’

  I could only laugh and shrug my shoulders, knowing I was beaten. I walked back as all the Swiss team cheered and Sensei Racca grinned, and I drank a beer for only the second time in my life. (The first time had been many years earlier when Kanazawa Sensei bought me a beer when we went out for a meal after training in Japan. I didn’t want either of us to lose face by refusing it, so I drank it.) In both cases it wasn’t that I felt pressurised into drinking, and I don’t have any moral objection to it. It was more that both times the drinks were bought out of genuine kindness and camaraderie.

  46. C.W. NICOL

  Sensei Stan asked me a few years ago if I had details for C.W. Nicol, as he had lost contact with his old friend. I didn’t, but I said I would try to get an email address for him. I found his official website and asked for C.W. Nicol’s email address, but after two weeks I had still not received a reply. Then I sent another email, saying that I was looking for the address on behalf of Stan Schmidt, and within two hours I had a message back from C.W. Nicol himself, from his personal email address. I was delighted to receive an email from the author of Moving Zen – my all-time favourite martial arts book. Although I was tempted to write back, I resisted and I passed his details on to Sensei Stan and left it at that.

  Some time later I received another email from C.W. Nicol, thanking me for putting him back in touch with Sensei Stan. He told me that Sensei Stan had talked to him about me, and that he would like to meet. The next time I travelled to Japan we tried to arrange to meet up, but he is a very busy person and his schedule didn’t allow it. We tried to make arrangements each time I travelled to Japan, but something always seemed to prevent it: actually, we had agreed to meet up on one trip, but he was called away at the last minute to advise the government in Ethiopia on conservation. I reluctantly conceded that this was somewhat more important than meeting me…

  I am not one to give up easily, so when I arranged yet another trip to Japan I contacted him and told him the dates I would be there. I was in luck: he was available for a couple of the days that I would be there, and he invited me to come and visit. Sensei Ray was with me on that trip, so C.W. Nicol – who prefers to be called Nic – invited us to visit his home and nature reserve in the mountains near Nagano.

  On a beautiful spring morning in Tokyo we sat under the sakura (cherry blossoms) in real danger of getting sunburnt. At lunchtime we took the Shinkansen (bullet train) from Tokyo to Nagano, and then a local train to Kurohime. The weather changed dramatically as we travelled, and by the time we got to Kurohime we were glad that we had taken Nic’s advice and packed warm clothes. It was cold and wet, with more than a metre of snow on the ground.

  Although the weather had become colder and wetter, it did nothing to dampen our spirits. Sensei Ray and I had chatted excitedly for a good portion of the journey in between rereading snippets of Moving Zen. We were very much looking forward to finally meeting the man who inspired so many with his writings.

  We took a taxi from the train station to the local pension hotel, a beautiful little place called Tatsunoko Pension, run by a friend of Nic’s. He had booked rooms for us there. As soon as we entered the building, we spotted Nic in the lounge. He came to greet us and welcomed us to his remote part of Japan, cheerfully pointing out that life here was very different from in Tokyo. We agreed, telling him that it had been hot and sunny in Tokyo that morning! We talked for hours, eating a wonderful dinner at the hotel, part of which Nic cooked himself. In Japan, he is famous for his documentaries, cookery programmes and more than a hundred books on many different topics.

  Nic readily agreed to be interviewed, but really all I did was set up the voice recorder and record the hours of conversations we had together. He entertained us with stories of his adventures around the world. He impressed us with his passion for conservation. He treated us to some songs and poetry that he had written. The karate world knows him as the author of Moving Zen, but he has done so much more than that with his life. He has recorded music albums and sung in concerts with famous opera singers. He has had runins with the yakuza (Japanese mafia). He has met with heads of state and been awarded various honours, including an MBE from the Queen of England. And yet, the thing he cares most about is his beloved nature reserve – the C.W. Nicol Woodland Trust – in the heart of the mountains. He took us there the following day, and we witnessed his work first hand. Of course, we were most interested in talking about karate, which is still very much an integral part of his life.

  When we left Kurohime and travelled back to Tokyo on the Shinkansen, Sensei Ray and I were pinching ourselves. We couldn’t believe how welcome Nic had made us. It had been a dream for both of us for many years to talk with him, and when we finally got to meet him he treated us like lifelong friends.

  47. PREPARING FOR 6TH DAN

  I was becoming better known for teaching Bo-Jutsu than karate, and for me this was a bit of a problem. One karate instructor even asked me if I only did Bo-Jutsu or if I also did any karate! Karate has always been my main art, and despite my emphasis on Bo-Jutsu and T’ai Chi when I teach seminars, I always train much more in karate than I do with the Bo.

  I believe that when we pass a grading, then we have to train at a new level. We have to put ourselves under pressure not only to deserve the grade we have, but to strive towards another level as well. I dislike the notion of just going to the dojo and training in the same way year after year, and then seeking to grade again when the required minimum time has expired.

  After I passed my 5th Dan examination I automatically started working on different concepts and playing around with various kata with the vague intent of preparing for another grading sometime in the future. It was not that I was in a hurry to grade again, as I already felt that I held a higher grade than I deserved or ever thought I would have. It was more about setting challenges and always trying to improve myself. Perhaps this is a sign of a competitive nature, but the competition was within myself rather than with others.

  I was working on a few kata in the dojo by myself one day, and almost without realising it, found that I
had selected two on which to focus for my next grading, although it was at least a couple of years before I would even be eligible to test. So I worked regularly on these kata in my personal training. During class, I also spent more time teaching these kata to my black-belt students, because I always find that teaching something helps me to analyse and understand it better. Interestingly, over time the one that I thought would be my first kata became my second kata, and vice versa. I couldn’t say when this happened exactly – it just evolved that way.

  Meanwhile, Brendan had been training with the University of Limerick Karate Club for a couple of years, and they asked him if he would take over as the club instructor. Having been training for nearly thirty years, he had somehow managed to avoid becoming an instructor until then, but he liked the university club and it worked well for him, so he agreed to do it.

  One of the things that the university students do every two years is to organise a trip to Japan for the karate club students and instructors. After Brendan took over as instructor he brought me in to teach seminars and provide advice to the club, so I became a member too. In January 2014 I was able to travel with the group to Japan for twelve days. I try not to miss any opportunity to train with the Japanese instructors, and training in Japan is always a good way to put myself under pressure.

  Being students, the accommodation was a youth hostel. Brendan and I shared a tiny room with bunk beds – something we hadn’t done since we were very young! We were about an hour from the dojo, but that was not a problem. Getting around Tokyo is never a problem as the train system is very efficient.

  I had been to Japan many times already, but always either by myself or with one or two others only. This time there was a larger group of around twelve people, and we all stuck together. There was a great atmosphere. Despite the fact that Brendan had been training in karate longer than me, this was his first time in Japan, so it was good that we were able to do that together. Apparently some of the university students had only intended to visit the dojo a few times during the trip, but when I told everyone about my training plans – every day, and sometimes twice a day – they all trained more than they had originally planned.

  My next trip was just a few months later, in April 2014. This time I was part of a delegation from SKIF-Ireland to attend the first SKIF International Seminar in Tokyo. This was a very impressive three-day event, with over 450 people attending from all over the world. The seminar was split into three groups for most classes, with 1st Dan and 2nd Dan in one group, 3rd Dan and 4th Dan in a second group and 5th Dan and above in the final group. The instructors rotated between the groups, giving everyone the opportunity to train with each of the instructors. Kanazawa Sensei taught several advanced classes during the seminar, which was impressive for a man who was nearly eighty-three years old and had constant back pain.

  For one class, they split the groups differently and announced that Murakami Sensei would take one group and that anyone could take part, but that we should only do so if we were willing to do a very tough class, and that people with health problems should avoid the class. Anyone not willing, or able, to join in could go into one of the other groups. Sensei Ray and I took one look at each other, shrugged, and immediately went straight over to where Murakami Sensei was waiting with a grin on his face. I was surprised at how few joined us. Maybe Sensei Ray and I are just gluttons for punishment.

  Before we started, Murakami Sensei repeated the warning that this would be very difficult. He said it would only be one hour, but that people should feel free to go to another group if they wished. It was a class of basics. Simple enough, but very high intensity: fast, high-energy and lots of repetitions. Within five minutes I was wondering if I had made the right decision. I was having flashbacks to the gasshuku I had done in Japan more than a decade earlier, and also the Early Birds training in South Africa. But I knew if I could get through those, I could get through an hour of this.

  Murakami Sensei laughed. ‘I will make you happy! This class will make you happy!’ he roared, as he did every exercise along with us. We doubted it very much, already too tired to argue. We started another exercise – switching from left-front stance to right-front stance in one spot while doing gyaku-zuki (reverse punch) – and did fifty repetitions. Then we did fifty more. It was all done at the pace of a sprint, and while facing a partner so neither person could slacken off.

  ‘I hate this exercise!’ shouted Murakami Sensei, grinning as he said it. ‘Fifty more!’ And so we did fifty more. Of course, he was making a point. The exercises we don’t like are often the ones that are most beneficial, so they are the ones we should do most of all. The class continued at that pace throughout. Everyone was sweating hard. Most were puffing and panting. There were red faces all around me, and I knew mine was probably the reddest of all. People felt like they were going to vomit. From time to time, someone would stop and move to the side to recover, before joining back in again, but no-one quit. Eventually, we were told we were on the last exercise, and everyone dug deep to finish strongly. Then Murakami Sensei took us through some light stretching. Everyone felt relieved and exhausted, but also elated. We were grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘I told you I would make you happy,’ grinned Murakami Sensei. ‘You are happy that the class is over!’

  We stayed ten days in Japan on that trip, training every day, and spending time in the evenings with the various groups from the different countries. We loved the idea of the annual international seminars, and everyone looked forward to attending them in the future.

  I was personally hoping to make it to the international seminars each year, although I knew that was probably unrealistic. Then it was suggested by one of the instructors that perhaps I should go to the second seminar, in April 2015, and grade for 6th Dan. That settled it for me: I was definitely going. I figured that three trips to Japan in fifteen months, plus all the seminars I attended elsewhere, plus the seminars that I taught myself in various countries and all the training I did at my own dojo, all probably added up to reasonable preparation for a grading. But still, I increased the intensity of my training significantly over the coming months in preparation for the next trip to Japan.

  My flight to Japan was a disaster. Bad weather in Amsterdam was causing chaos. I missed my connection, as did thousands of other passengers. I queued for hours at customer service just to have them re-book me onto another flight. Eventually they put me on a flight to Shanghai, and from there to Tokyo. I landed in Tokyo twelve hours later than my original scheduled arrival time. Never mind, I thought. I might still make training at the Honbu Dojo, if I went directly there. I knew class started at 7pm. I didn’t think I would make the beginning, but if I could get there before the end I would still bow in and get some of the training. I was hoping class finished at 9pm.

  I took the Narita Express into Tokyo, and then changed trains, taking the Yamanote Line to Gotanda. There I had to change again to get a train to Kugahara, dragging my luggage with me. It all took longer than I had expected, and it was almost 8.30pm by the time I got to Kugahara. The dojo is very close to the train station, so I hopped off the train and ran: even if I could get the last ten or fifteen minutes of class, it would be better than nothing.

  I arrived at the dojo just in time to see the final bow through the window. I was gutted. The other Irish guys were there (they had taken a different flight) as were a lot of people from various countries. I went in to apologise for my tardiness, and to greet the instructors and all my friends: they all gave me a hard time, saying that I would go to any extreme just to avoid training. The joking was just what I needed to get over such a stressful journey.

  Over the next few days I made up for missing that class at the Honbu Dojo. The seminar followed a similar format to the previous year, although there were fewer people. That was logical – people could not afford to come every year, but most people were hoping to make one out of two, or two out of three. I was trying to maintain a quiet focus about the grading, which wou
ld take place at the end of the seminar. I knew several of the people who were also testing that weekend, so there were a few nervous faces at the seminar, as people dealt with the stress of the upcoming examination in their own way.

  The night before the grading there was a party for everyone at the seminar. One of the instructors wished me luck for the examination the next day. As he said it, it occurred to me that I was not so worried about the examination for myself, but that I wanted to do a good job for Kanazawa Sensei. He has dedicated his life to teaching karate to us all, with infinite patience. What I wanted most was to go out on the floor and do a good job for him to see that I had learned something – anything – from him. I wanted to do this grading for him rather than for me.

  In my work, I have given presentations to large groups of people. I have negotiated large contracts with multinational corporations. I have sat in board meetings with CEOs. None of that ever fazes me. But Kanazawa Sensei makes me nervous: because I respect him so much, because he has done so much for me and for many others, because he has set such a high standard for himself and for all who follow his way, it is always daunting to stand in front of him. Having to teach a class with him watching, or having to do a grading examination in front of him, no matter how many times I have done so, always makes me feel like a novice in front of the master. It seems like he can see right through me; that he can anticipate my mistakes before I even make them. He knows all my strengths and weaknesses before I even walk onto the floor.

  And that is how it felt when I did the grading. Although there were several of us on the floor at once, I felt like his eyes were boring through only me. All I could do was focus on my breathing to keep everything under control, and I got through it as best I could.