忍 - Endurance and Spirit Training

Those who know me know my occasional reference to the Chinese character 忍 - "ren" (or "nin" in Japanese) - meaning "to endure" or "to persevere".

For me this character has special resonance with martial arts training. It reflects not only the years of blood, sweat and tears poured onto the dojo floor; it also reflects the psychological challenges, the fears, the disappointments. In one word it conjures all the barriers that have confronted me along my martial journey. Some of these I have overcome. Others have bested me. Yet, despite the latter, what is critical is this; I do not define myself by the moments where I lay defeated in a crumpled heap. I choose to define myself by the moment I picked my sorry self up again.

Some moments of defeat are almost too humiliating to confront. I let them loiter in the recesses of my mind, pushing them back whenever they try to intrude into my consciousness. I do so with the aid of my steadfast ally; the memory that I did not give up. I came back to fight another day.

From my early days I remember my senior Sensei Dave Goodwin; a fearsome figure who was not given to levity or joviality. A former shotokan black belt who had joined my instructor's goju school, he had adapted quickly to our kata but relinquished none of his fearsome kime, his uncompromising attitude and his single-minded fury in attack. When, as a white belt, I ignominiously revealed to the whole class my ineptitude (caused by my sheer terror) at performing forward rolls onto the bare wooden floor, it was Dave Sensei who was asked to take me aside to "teach me". Dave took me out to the concrete; there I fell time and again upon a battered and bruised shoulder, sliding ever deeper into ineptitude; fear giving rise to injury, injury giving rise to greater fear, all in an endless downwards spiral.

When I got home it seemed to me that I faced 2 choices; (1) quit or (2) learn how to roll, then go back to training in triumph. In fact, I did neither. I spent many an hour after school on my front lawn, willing myself into a forward roll - alternately crunching my shoulder or flipping onto my back and jarring my kidneys. I went back to training not with any sense of victory or accomplishment. I just went back.

Gradually my rolls became better and less painful. Gradually the humiliation eased and then disappeared. One day mats appeared and we began to roll on them. I did not, at any point, return triumphant. I merely returned. I survived. I endured. I have come to regard this is as the true marker of martial spirit. One cannot always respond to defeat with a "all singing, all dancing" victory. In many cases, true victory lies not in triumph or valour, but in simple surivival.

And so it was that for many years I watched as successive white belts who joined after me were elevated in rank - to green and brown and black - all surpassing my meagre achievements; all pushing ahead of me in line; all humiliating me in hard sparring.

How well I remember another senior, Sempai John Hoal (now a highly regarded architect and lecturer), sweeping me mercilessly; it seemed that no matter how solid my stance, how strong my resolve, within seconds I would find both feet swept high into the air and my body plummeting to the ground. [I have always meant to look John up and ask him about the "secret" to footsweeps; no one I know has ever had quite the same knack for them.]

Most relevantly, I remember the many "thumpings" administered by my principal teacher, Bob Davies Sensei (we have addressed him as "Lao shi" since his time training in Taiwan). I can recall a particular occasion where, when grading for nidan, I was battered black and blue for a full half-hour. At the end he left me in a heap with the hopeful phrase: "Now when someone hits you in the street, you can say 'I've had better'". I retreated into a toilet cubicle wanting to let loose the torrent of tears pressing behind my eyes like steam in a pressure cooker - tears of shame, fear, anger. Somehow I could not. The tears never came.

I reflected bitterly on my hopeless tactics; the desperate lunging headbutt when all else had failed (and which also failed spectacularly when my face butted Sensei's hammer-like fist). Or the desperate clinches which only meant that he would take me to the floor, where he would manipulate me like a doll, pinning my joints into impossibly painful, floor-slapping locks. At one point I was choked out, only to find myself "coming to" into a "ground and pound" with solid punches raining onto my throat (from which I escaped by somehow managing to sink my teeth deep into his big toe: "Good," he said). Or the couple of full-throttle kin geri (instep kicks) up into my groin - following which there was no respite in attack; he pressed on relentlessly and, Michael Jackson crotch-grabbing and all, I had to fight back.

Sitting there on the closed lid of the toilet cubicle, lips, nose and eyes swelling and nausea welling from the depths of my throbbing groin, I could find no consolation in my "survival". I felt I had failed. The tears trapped behind my eyes were, I felt, tears of failure.

Perhaps it is truly fitting that the tears never came. Because I did more than fight back - however ineptly - during the "thumping". I endured. I endured because, at the very next lesson I was back on the floor.

Sparring beyond exhaustion was, of course, obligatory under my former sensei.

For example, at my 1993 grading we fought continuously (without a break) for 2 hours and 20 minutes - a different opponent every 5 minutes. There was a thick haze in the air from the sweat, some of which had pooled, along with blood, on the floor in slipperly patches. The last few rounds were 2 on one, then 3 on one. I fought till I could no longer lift an arm, preferring to take certain blows rather than defend them due to the exhaustion. When the grading finished we left the hall to the next occupants; a quiet and gentle group of new-age "earth dancers" who entered in horror, gasping in the fog and clinching their noses. As I left, I watched some of the group gingerly and distastefully re-wiping the floor with bits of kitchen paper (we did our best to clean up, but no sooner had we finished than more sweat would condense on the floor, like beads of glistening dew). [The pictures in this article are of my 1996 grading - a comparatively tame affair!]

When I got back home I found an added challenge; for the first time in my life I experienced whole-body cramps. Not one muscle seemed exempt. I was in absolute agony. I had sweated so much that my electrolyte balance had been totally upset. My long-suffering "martial arts widow" ran to the kitchen to grab a bottle of Lucozade which I downed in one gulp through my locked jaws while lying like a wooden plank in the hot bath she had run for me.

Then there was the 1990 "Decadal" gashuku... But that will have to be recounted another time.

Many friends and martial arts colleagues have openly scoffed at my teacher's methodology of this "spirit training" as he called it. They have often asked what possible purpose or justification it could have had. Granted, it seemed extreme. However the answer lay/lies in the character 忍. I learned to endure, to persevere - depsite all obstacles.

I discovered that on a purely physical level, you have no idea how your body will react when you are faced with both anaerobic and aerobic exhaustion. You only know what will happen after you've been there. Then there is the psychological aspect (if it is even possible to divorce mind and body - more on my disdain for Cartesian dualism another time).

Exhibiting perserverence and fighting spirit in this context was what my instructor was looking for. I rather suspect that those who have scoffed at "spirit training" have never faced this kind of test. I think their scoffs hide an uncomfortable query lurking at the back of their mind: "How would I fare if I were faced with this kind of test?"

I've seen people who seemed tough as nails crack under this kind of pressure (and fail a grading as a result or even quit training altogether). I've even seen people crack simply under the pressure of doing the push-ups required for a grading. I remember one student quitting with a disdainful tone after failing that particular requirement. As it happens this also served to expose a rather unpleasant, egotistical character that he had previously managed to hide from me, but which I subsequently ascertained was clearly in evidence whenever I wasn't around.

My instructor's view was that you could not be, say, a yondan (4th dan) without demonstrating that you not only had the requisite athleticism and technique but also the requisite level of fighting spirit/resolve/perserverence - ie. strength of character. That was his criterion within his grading structure and I respect it and see its purpose in building a particular set of martial skills (related to civilian defence at its peak).

My own requirements of black belts are not nearly so stringent. My instructor might think me "soft". Perhaps I am. On the other hand I think I just have a different concept of the right "balance". It seems to me that one doesn't need to push quite so close to the brink in order to know that a cliff is there. Regardless, physical requirements as well as "spirit" tests remain intricately bound up in my concept of what it means to be a "black belt" or any other grade for that matter.

If someone isn't interested in attaining "fighting ability" then I also respect that. Even my own goals are really quite different today from those of years gone by. I see martial arts as being for everyone - not the relatively few in society who are capable of becoming elite fighting machines. But if you wish me to give you a grade within our wu-wei dao civilian defence system, then you will have to demonstrate the requisite level of 忍. This element is as important in civilian defence as technique - perhaps more. As Gichin Funakoshi said: "Spirit first, technique second".

I happen to maintain a level of strength and endurance (as best I can) but I am personally not training under a grade structure. Accordingly, for me physical endurance and "spirit" training are not related to any requirement that might be imposed on me. I last graded under my former instructor to yondan - just shy of godan - in 1996. Perhaps I might grade again some day - who knows? My present teacher Chen Yun-Ching Shifu doesn't award grades. Grading isn't my priority or goal, but I don't have anything against grade structures either. If I were to be graded by someone I would, no doubt, straighten my jacket and go once more unto the breach.

Howevery biggest test of 忍 so far has not come out of grading or any other form of martial arts training. Rather I remember lying in a hospital bed for 3 months following routine surgery that went dreadfully wrong. I remember feeling the full weight of the shame that comes out of not responding as you feel you could/should, ie. with bravery and stoicism. Rather I crumpled into nothing - a scrag of disconsolate negativity and panic. Little did I know all those years ago, sitting with boiling eyes in that toilet cubicle following my "thumping"; resting in the bathtub drinking Lucozade through clenched teeth; in fact, at any other time of my training life: little did I know that I could be quite so reduced in terms of pride, dignity and human worth - to myself and to those to whom I owe duties of responsibility. Even now I shudder and avert my mind from what I became (or what I have been revealed to be).

Once again my only consolation lies in this: I came back onto the floor - in the literal and figurative sense. I'm still here. Should I venture once more into the abyss I will redouble my efforts. Even if I do not win triumphantly I will survive - and this time I will do so with greater dignity than before.

This has been the biggest lesson I have learned from the martial arts.

忍 - endure.

Copyright © 2009 Dejan Djurdjevic

Can karate become taiji?

My friend Frank "Magpie" posed this question on the Traditional Fighting Arts Forum:

"What i want to ask all you guys that do internal arts is this.

Lets say I practiced shotokan kata like Kanku Dai, Jion, Heian etc. etc. just as slow as a tai chi practicioner practices tai chi, let's say that I breathe in for blocks and out for strikes, all movement is slomo, there is no kime or any sort of tension the whole body is relaxed.

Would this have the same health benefits to the body as tai chi does?

If not why not?"

Well, that's a fascinating question.

It reminds me of this video on Youtube of a karate kata in relation to which a viewer commented: "It looks like taichi". I answered: "No it doesn't."


USA Goju "Mawashi uke kata" done "slowly" - but it is nothing like taijiquan!

So you can guess that my short answer to Magpie's question is:

No - karate done slowly is not like taijiquan. The reason comes down to design, specifically in relation to the connectivity of movements.

A longer answer is to examine the design of taiji as follows:

First you should take note of what I call the "weight transfer" principle: when you perform taiji your weight is constantly shifting from one foot to the other; forwards into a blow, and backwards when you are evading.

It is often said that taiji is never "double weighted" (ie. as per the horse stance) however this is a bit of a misnomer. In fact, in taiji as in any martial art, as you transfer your weight from one foot to the other, your body will necessarily pass a mid-point where your weight is evenly distributed (albeit briefly) over both feet. The point remains however that taiji tries to minimize the time during which one is "double weighted".

This brings me to my second point which is this:

The weight transfer principle is, to the extent possible, applied to every movement; there is very little time where you are not in the process of transferring weight directly into a technique. Put another way, taiji minimizes "dead" time - something I'll elaborate on in a moment.

This is quite different to karate or most "external" arts of China. Consider heian shodan / pinan nidan after your first punch as an example (see the pictures on the left).

You have stepped into a deep zenkutsu (common to taiji) and punched with your leading arm (nothing different here per se although taiji prefers reverse counters). What is significant is that in taiji your next move would tie your weight transfer backwards with a technique (say a deflection). This deflection would happen before your leg crosses the mid line of your body and become part of that movement. Heian shodan does not do this however. It makes you shoot your leg behind you, lets your bodyweight transfer over the mid-line of your body and only then do you start to apply a downward deflection.

Now it is important to note my third point:

In any step you don't start applying any force to your opponent (in a strike or block) until you cross that mid-line. I call the period before you pass the mid-line in any step "dead" time.

The 3 main internal arts of China put a premium on avoiding this "dead" time or at least minimizing it. They each approach this task in very different ways.

In xingyi this is often done by moving the leading foot first so that you are immediately exerting force. Your follow up step then shortens the "dead" time because your momentum has built up enabling a fast step through. If you want to see how karate might look utilizing this xingyi principle, look at the video below:


I demonstrate how goju ryu might look if it applied xingyi weight transfer concepts.

In taiji the minimization of "dead" time is done through maintaining a fluid and contextually relevant transfer of weight at all times. This means that unlike xingyi, taiji flows.

Consider brush knee - a gedan (low) deflection followed by a reverse palm strike (could be a punch) as a counter (see the pictures to the right):

Note how after the first strike your weight shifts back to do a chest deflection, and only then do you move your momentum forward into your opponent with another (low) deflection and a reverse counter. Even though you move over your mid-line, you do so as part of the application of a technique or otherwise contextually so that the "dead" time is not going to be utilized by your opponent. In the case of brush knee, your "dead" time is absorbed into the chest deflection. Put another way, you use the process of the deflection as an opportunity to move towards the mid-line. Moreover your "dead" time also occurs when your opponent (who has been deflected at full extension) is withdrawing. You move with him across the mid-line and load for a second deflection - this time a downward block. By the time you perform the downward deflection and counter (they flow into one another) you are, once again, using your full body weight.

This kind of design permits a state of constant movement.

Again, compare this with the 3 forward steps in heian shodan and I'm sure you agree that without some serious redesigning, it cannot be done continuously in the same way.


The first section of Chen Pan-Ling's "99" taiji form

Doing it slowly will be... slow karate - not taiji.

So in short, taiji is designed for continuous flowing movement - one movement feeding straight into another with as little "dead" time as possible.

On this note, taij is calming/meditative precisely because you feel like you are in free-fall; the constant movement actually makes you feel like you are floating or flying. It is a hard feeling to capture; it takes years to have that level of control and skill, and even now I have times where I find it hard to capture the right feeling with certain movements. This feeling comes out of both the design and one's ability to control one's core muscles (the little stabilizing ones) that enable such precise, slow weight transfer.

Others will, in distinguishing karate and taiji, no doubt go into the theories espoused in classical writings - eg. the six harmonies etc. I find this kind of talk obfuscates (rather than exposes) the essential differences so I have tried to limit my brief account to structural design - specifically the weight transfer (since this is the primary distinguishing feature when it comes to the slow movement of taijiquan).*

[* Note that there are other relevant distinguishing features of taijiquan and the internal arts generally, however I will have to deal with these another time.]

It is possible to do karate techniques in a slow taiji way. It is possible to do karate techniques in a xingyi way or a bagua way. However the katas themselves are not designed with this "way" in mind. You would have to redesign the kata substantially in order to make, say, Jion, be "like taiji". In my experience if you try to modify a karate kata along internal arts lines you end up "building a new beast". This is usually a pointless endeavour as many of the bunkai of karate kata would necessarily be lost in any attempt to make them "taiji like" or "xingyi like" or "bagua like".

I am no stranger to designing forms, as you know. My own "nagegata" forms were designed using stray projections or throws taught to me by my teacher after his trips to Taiwan. I have put them together utilizing taiji, xingyi and bagua concepts for the weight transfer, but often using karate stances and hand movements (because of my familiarity with them - eg. hiki/kake uke from goju).


My nagegata sho or touxing chu form. Note the flow and taiji-like weight transfer principles being employed.

The first nagegata form which features taiji like weight transfer - note the flow. It is possible to perform this kata slowly like taiji if you wanted to (it isn't quite as nice a feeling though - it simply isn't designed to be taiji despite its "flow" aspect!).


My nagegata dai or touxing da form. Note the mixture of internal arts weight transfer principles being employed.

The second nagegata form which features xingyi, bagua and taiji weight transfer principles; note at around 0:13, 0:15 and 0:26 the fact that the front foot shifts forward to exert immediate force on the opponent and allow the step through with minimal "dead" time. Note from 0:16 to 0:20 how I have connected the techniques so that they follow the natural steps absorbing the "dead" time contextually.

These forms are really a product of my own karate background as well as my internal arts studies. Importantly they are not an attempt to create something new. Rather, they are my attempt to "package" techniques that have internal arts leanings. The are also not an attempt to "internalise" karate. One can indulge in little exercises as I have in the context of experimenting and exploring, but the karate kata themselves work well enough and don't require any "internalisation". Karate does not focus so heavily on weight transfer and other things that are focal points in the internal arts. Its pedagogy is quite different and if you mess with it you will invariably lose important applications as I have stated above.

So in the end there is a lot more to taijiquan than moving slowly. Rather it is characterised by the fact that it has been designed for flow. When done slowly taiji helps you develop and strengthen the many small, core, stablilising muscles that are used in the context of this flow. Karate and other external arts can be done slowly, but they will not be remotely the same in feel, function or goal.

That said, what about health benefits? I believe any martial art performed correctly is good for your health. I don't subscribe to the Eastern paradigm of qi meridians etc. so I don't think there are any specific "internal" health benefits to taiji practise.

Where taiji comes into its own is in its slow transfer of weight which strengthens your core stabilising muscles. It also puts you through a very thorough range of motion (including very low postures) which can keep you supple - all in the context of very low impact movement. The slow speed also decreases chances of injury. However taiji does not have any particular monopoly in this regard; the same can be said of any activity. While arts like karate tend to be practised in a more contact-oriented environment, there is no reason why they should be. Furthermore, a bit of sweat is good for you.

For me taiji's principal health benefit is in its meditative quality; maintaining the correct technique and the "free-fall" feeling requires a great degree of concentration that puts your brain into an alpha-wave state. Accordingly taiji seems uniquely suited to the purpose of "moving mediation". However others might disagree on this point; it is, after all, a matter of personal preference.

Copyright © 2009 Dejan Djurdjevic

Genius and the "13 count" jo form

There is a jo form practised in aikido that is commonly referred to as the "13 count" form or drill. I do not know who created it. It was taught to me as a 16 count¹ form by my teacher Bob Davies who I believe learned it from the late aikido master Ken Cottier, a direct student of aikido founder Morihei Ueshiba.²

Near as I can tell from watching this form on the net, very few, if any, people know that it is actually a 2 person form - or more particularly, that it functions as a looping 2 person form where both sides do precisely the same sequence.


A video showing the 16 or 13 count jo form with 2 person application

On Youtube I see some people practising it with extra movements while some miss out certain movements altogether. Sometimes the movements are there, but are performed with the wrong emphasis.³ How do I know this? I feel that the kata's applicability as a 2 person set provides a litmus test.

In some schools, 2 person application of this kata takes the form of well-executed sequential bunkai but not a 2 person set as such (see below, for example).


A well-executed series of bunkai of the "13" count jo form

In other cases there appears to be a "corporate memory" that the form can be practised as a 2 person set - however the means by which it should be rendered into a 2 person paradigm appear to have been lost. In those cases it is common to see the form practised against an RNA type "opposite side". In order to achieve this "fit", the "kata side" of the form is invariably modified as well.

There is even one group that say they have "almost" worked out a 2 person continuous application of the form, but "there are slight differences between the side that goes first, and the side that follows". I admire their efforts but think they have some fundamental misunderstandings in relation to it. Once you understand the application of the form's techniques you will observe that it requires no modification at all to function perfectly as a 2 person looping set - ie. where both sides doing the same thing. It is like an elegant puzzle or a mathematics equation; there is one and only one answer.


A valiant, but in my view misconceived, attempt to apply the 13 count jo form as a 2 person "looping" set

My own teacher seemed aware of the correct 2 person application of this form because he described it as "a work of genius", hinting that it had "an extra dimension" (one which he never showed me!).

In fact, I discovered this added dimension quite accidentally in early 1997 while training with my good friend Craig Dunlop at our now defunct Carine dojo. I had devised a series of bunkai of this jo form utilising the kata moves against each other. At one point during our practise Craig remarked to me that we had just done a full circle; both of us had just completed the kata during the bunkai practise, starting at different points. Craig thought I had done this on purpose, but of course I hadn't.

Some years later I sent my instructor a video of the 2 person version of the jo form. He sent me back a smiley face.

The revelation I had concerning this form has had a profound effect on my own curriculum; for one thing it has influenced me greatly in developing our embu, all of which are based on a similar template.

What is more impressive to me about the form than simply its 2 person application is that the individual applications are so well conceived: if your attacker does x you do y but simultaenously cut off a, b and c etc. In other words, the techniques in the form head off any number of counters that might otherwise be made, necessarily narrowing the options and channelling the performers into the flow of the 2 person application.³

Accordingly I think that the creator of the form had a near-perfect understanding of the destructive and constructive cycle of the 7 essential techniques that comprise the "13 count" jo form.

I doubt the video at the outset communicates this complexity adequately; the principles are very subtle and are easily missed. However the form truly is a work of genius. It's a shame that so few people appear to be aware of the nature and extent of that genius.

Footnotes

1. The number of counts one uses in the form is not really important, however if one is to analyse the form by reference to the 7 point star of constructive and destructive cycles, 13 is entirely appropriate. I still call the kata "juroku" (16) because the added counts focus on some subtleties that might otherwise be missed.

2. I have preserved the form exactly as it was taught to me with the exception of one small detail; at the very end of the kata there is a downward pressing deflection which I perform by moving my front leg backwards so that it becomes my rear leg, while the kata as it was originally shown to me has the front leg sweeping sideways. Both moves occur in the 31 count kata (sanjuichi) and at some point I subconsciously substituted the former for the latter. Having done so I am not motivated to change it back as it seems to work very well and ties in with a similar move in xingyi.

3. The biggest difference between most other schools' versions of this kata and how I was taught it lies in the deflection illustrated to the right.

The way I was taught, you push your right hand up the jo as you "open door", effecting a pressure on the incoming thrust and deflecting it (chudan osae uke). This makes for a very subtle manouvre that slips the attack and places you in an ideal counter position. Correspondingly, your opponent finds your counter sliding over the top of his/her thrust. Given the immediacy of your counter your opponent simply does not have time to move backwards to evade you. This leaves your opponent just one option; to carry on his or her forward momentum straight into a jodan gaeshi uke(which is precisely what the kata does - see the series of 4 pictures above showing practise of this form on an open field).

By contrast consider the more common version on the left (one to which all my students default by mistake - so I'm not surprised to see it everywhere). In this version, you move backwards and effect a circular "rubbing" (wax on/off) deflection with your jo.

This might work as a defence but it does not place you in the prime position the above chudan osae uke does. For one thing, you've moved away from your opponent and now have to close the gap. That would be okay if you needed to move away, but the chudan osae uke option shows you that you don't. You can slip the technique quite effectively by opening your hips.

Furthermore, when you move away from your opponent, there is nothing requiring your opponent to keep moving his or her momentum forward into a jodan gaeshi uke (as the kata dictates).

In short, the more common "wax on/off" movement with a backwards evasion "disconnects" the moves in the kata. This one difference is likely the missing link that prevents most aikidoka from realising the 2 person application of this form.

Copyright © 2009 Dejan Djurdjevic

Which leads - hand or body?

Recently a colleague on the Traditional Fighting Arts forum posed this question and it gave me pause to consider.

My friend Shidokai wrote as follows:

"How do you lead off strikes? I was never explicitly taught to lead with one or the other until I started my Daito-ryu training, and my teacher was very specific about leading with the hand and then powering with the body after. It was weird at first, as I had always naturally moved from my hips with the assumption that my hand, held steady, would be powered by that. This method actually started to make sense to me a while back, as it is slightly faster, hence why bouncy tag sparring can strike quickly without using body weight.

I recently saw the same thing in Kelly McCann's combatives training videos, however, he throws his whole body behind the strike. In the video below he explains that it comes from the back heel, but if you watch him do the technique, he's moving his hand first."

The Kelly McCann video to which Shidokai refers is the one below:


Kely MCCann demonstrating self defence against a lapel grab. Note carefully what part of his body moves first in his counter

Indeed I have been told in my internal arts training to think of the hand leading the body - not the reverse. On the other hand you will note from my article "Telegraphing vs. staged activation" that I am a firm believer that "staged activation" is necessary to maximise the force being applied by a particular technique (in other words you work from your biggest body parts, specifically your hip, to your smallest joints (shoulder, elbow, wrist)).

So which is it? Does your hand lead or does your body?

Synchronously enough, my brother Nenad, my good friend Colin Wee, Jeremy "The Anvil" Allen and I were talking about this very topic topic during a sponsor's break on the "Martial Arts Talk Show" (on SportFM 93.1) last Sunday. Jeremy told us how the Australian Institute of Sport had determined that only about 15% of the force applied by a punch comes from your arms. About 60% comes from your hips. The remainder comes from the momentum of your whole body as you lunge or step forward. This fits in neatly with my views on staged activation. But how does it compare to Shidokai's observations? What is going on?

First I will say this: I think the hand cannot help but move when the hip starts to move and vice versa. They are, after all, connected. The hip will "finish" before the punch - which is all that matters.

In other words, it is how they end that determines "staged activation", not how they start. The hand and hip probably start together in all experienced students. Neither "leads".

It is hard to tell in the McCann video because his hips are obscured, however if you look closely you'll note that his hips have actually turned fully before the strike has landed. In other words, Kelly's hips are pretty much in the same position (ie. his torso has the same amount of rotation) in both the "mid-movement" snapshot and the "finished position" snapshot on the left. What confuses the viewer is that Kelly has moved forward (where the last 25% of Kelly's force is being applied). His level of hip rotation is however constant from mid-way through the strike until the end.

A clearer example can be found in stills taken from the video of my brother Nenad doing a gyaku zuki (reverse punch). It is a particularly apposite sequence because it is an "ideal" - intended to illustrate the very principle of "staged activation". When this video was taken I was under the impression that the hip moved before the fist. In fact, it doesn't.

You'll note in picture 1 to the right the starting position for the basic, isolated reverse punch. Note carefully the position of the hips, the shoulders and, in particular, the left fist (with which Nenad is going to punch).

Picture 2 on the left shows Nenad a fraction of a second into the punch. If you look clearly you'll note that the hip, shoulders and fist have all moved. I froze this image as soon as I practicably could after the commencement of the punching sequence. I could find no position where the hip was moving and the fist was not. They are tied together - as one would expect. It is impossible to move the hip and not move both the shoulders and the fist.

By picture 3 you'll note that Nenad's hips are fully rotated. If you doubt me look at picture 4 below. However his shoulders, elbow and fist are still blurred indicating movement. In other words, while they started together, the hip has finished first. This is unsurprising since the rotation of the hips is a relatively small movement compared to the distance the fist must travel.

In picture 4 you will, again, note how the hip is still the same as in picture 3. However in this instance, Nenad's shoulders have reached their final position (relative to picture 5). The elbow is still straightening and his fist is blurred indicating movement in the rest of the arm.

Finally in picture 5 you see the finished position. You will note a small additional turn in the hips at the end which is due to Nenad's over-turning (a matter I shall have to bring to his attention!) however this is irrelevant to the punch. The functional hip use was completed in pictures 1-3. The fact that Nenad has overturned slightly at the end is neither here nor there.

What can we make of this? The answer to the question of which leads - hand or body - is this: neither. The body starts moving as an integrated whole. However which part finishes first is very interesting. It is here that we find all the subtlety that makes for effective staged activation. Your extremities need to finish moving after your torso in order for there to be an effective transfer of momentum from you to your target.

If you find you can't quite apply the same force in the heat of combat that you might against a makiwara or bag, it isn't because you've "led with the hand"; rather it is because you haven't had the opportunity to set up an optimum load (as you can against a stationary target).

Accordingly "which leads - hand or body?" is the wrong question. The question should be "which finishes first - hand or body?". The answer is: "the body" (if by "body" we mean the larger parts of your body).

Having said all this, I must say that what body part you think of when moving in combat (ie. which body part you focus on) can be important. For everyone but the rank beginner, thinking of your fist when punching is going to be more productive than thinking of your hip. By the time you've inculcated staged activation into your movement, you won't need to "think" of your hips moving into a punch - much as you don't consciously think of moving your feet up and down as you climb stairs. Your body's kinaesthetic awareness deals with such tasks on a subconscious level. On the other hand, focussing on moving the hip first can have the effect of (a) slowing you down and (b) telegraphing your intention - particularly when you decide to use a "double hip" as discussed in my "Whole lotta shakin'" article series.

In the end, if you want to punch, just punch. The body will follow suit whether you like it or not. If you want to improve the effectiveness of your technique, pause to consider which body part is finishing it's movement first - don't worry about which part should "lead".

Copyright © 2009 Dejan Djurdjevic

More details: inverted knife thrusts in goju

Some arguments in favour of an angled nukite in seiyuchin

I have received many responses to my article "Details, details". Some of these have offered arguments for why the ura zuki (inverted knife hand strike) should be 45 degrees relative to the front rather than point straight forward.

Essentially these arguments attempt to prove that the nukite should follow the angle of the shiko (ie. the red arrow in the adjacent picture) rather than follow the angle of your front knee (which points straight forward - ie. the green arrow).

The first reason given is that the nukite could be used to a vulnerable region on the face once the head is pulled down; the region might only be accessible by a “sideways” angle.

This can work, but as with the gojukensha saifa, I think this is creating a different beast - or perhaps just making the best of a poor body structure!

Furthermore, in my opinion the primary application does not involve a head grab; the "sukui uke" (scooping deflection) is a technique designed for wrist/forearm grabs. I make this observation based on the small "rolling wrist" structure of the deflection and many years of using sukui uke in free-sparring. Accordingly the head grab option is for me, at best, an "oyo" (extrapolation). It cannot justify the performance of the kata with a weak angle.

Other colleagues have suggested that when you move to the outside of your opponent, you should use tenshin (body evasion) which will take take you more off the angle of attack, leading to a greater angle in your nukite.

I am a great believer in using tenshin (as you will note from my article “Taisabaki and tenshin: evasion in karate”). In the case of the seiyunchin application above I tend to evade by moving slightly to the side and back (not straight back). That is the case even in my video in my previous article, although the camera angles don't show it. Yet my nukite is not even remotely lined up with my shiko (ie. the red arrow in the picture above). The reason for this is straightforward:

The angle at which you go defend and the angle at which you counter are 2 different things.

For example, consider the picture to the right:

Assume you evaded by moving sideways. I would still expect you to turn to your opponent as you're countering so that your nukite and your front knee both point at the target.

In other words, however you evade, you should respond by moving optimally into your attack. Shiko just isn't designed for sideways type moving. It is designed for this kind of "45 degree" movement relative to your opponent - ie. your shiko is at 45 degrees facing your opponent as you counter attack. You can get into that position from wherever you are after evasion. In my opinion here is simply no reason to move into your counter attack in a sideways shiko dachi (and have to deal with the contextual unsuitability of such movement and the fact that your inverted knife hand is blocked off by your body).

To summarise, the angle of evasion does not equal the angle of counter attack.

As a rule you don't want to fight sideways (I know some sports stylists will disagree, but I feel this is a fundamental point). There are situations where you are unavoidably in a side-on position (the saifa situation above is a good example). However I contend that there is nothing in this seiyunchin move that requires you to adopt a side-on posture (in shiko dachi, of all stances!). And, head grabs aside, I can't see why your strike would have to be angled in line with your shiko unless you were fighting sideways.

The difference between suparinpei and seiyunchin

Now I believe that some karateka have erroneously looked at the kata suparinpei and noted that the ura zuki in that kata (performed in sanchin) is not aimed forward, but rather is angled at 45 degrees to the front. They have then similarly angled their nukite in seiyunchin.

I happen to think the angle in suparinpei's nukite is correct. How do I reconcile this with my stand on the same technique in seiyunchin? The answer is simple; in both kata your forearm should be 45 degrees to your body. This is it's natural position and accordingly its "power" position.

If you doubt me: have your arms at your sides and bend your elbows so that your forearms raise to a horizontal position in a natural way. You'll note that your arms naturally position themselves at a 45 degree angle relative to your body.

The reason that the nukite in seiyunchin should end up facing forward while nukite in suparinpei does not is this: in seiyunchin you are in shiko with your body angled 45 degrees to the front. The further 45 degree angle in your forearm means that your nukite will be 90 degrees to your opponent who is directly in front of you (remember that 45 + 45 = 90). In suparinpei you are in sanchin facing straight forward. Your nukite is thus going to go off at a 45 degree angle relative to the front.

This is not a problem, as you will observe in the video below; because you are in sanchin you can and should get in much closer to your opponent on your counter, negating any of the issues that might arise with the seiyunchin nukite.


A video in which I discuss the angle of the nukite in suparinpei

Accordingly in my view it is erroneous to assume that just because your nukite in suparinpei does not point forward you should make your seiyunchin nukite do the same. Rather you should use your own body as a cue. The golden rule is keep your inverted strikes at 45 degrees to your body. If you do this, your strike will be in its optimum striking position. Whether an ura nukite points straight forward or not in a kata is merely a function of the angle of the stance you happen to be in at the time.

Copyright © 2009 Dejan Djurdjevic