Higaonna-Sensei's Time

I dreamt that Higaonna-Sensei visited my dojo on my testing day. He looked so healthy, happy, and energetic that I kept my nervousness about testing in front of him under control because staying calm and collected in times of conflict is his #1 lesson.

In my dream I passed to my 2-kyu, but he had much to say about what improvements I needed to make. He gave me a technical analysis of what to modify so that my disabilities weren't in the way of my efficacy. He a gave me strict feedback about where I was clearly getting in my own way for fear of injury or fainting.

How I wish I could remember anything he'd said! We spoke mostly in Japanese and I was preoccupied with translating, and with not getting overwhelmed by how generous he was in his time with me, when there are so many people who would kill for that kind of time with him. The only way I could focus was to know that the only way to honour those people was for me to focus, work extremely hard, and to do everything I knew to make Higaonna-Sensei happy with his student. I received a glut of his time and attention.

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This has got to be, in part, a manifestation of how I felt during MCF2014 in Tampa, Florida, USA. I'd had a number of difficulties and was driven to tears several times from the complications.

On the first morning of training I had accidentally come to black belt training. I arrived late, so I wheeled to the back and parked my chair against the wall, doing gentle juunbi undo (karate warm-ups) and trying not to draw attention as the karateka in the wheelchair with lights on it. Nakamura-Sensei politely informed me that this was the black belt class and I'd read the schedule wrong, but he invited me to sit and watch, which I did, soon finding myself a fish out of water. I was 5-kyu at the time, a blue belt.

The day before I found myself sitting in the dining room of the hotel at the table next to the senior instructors. Higaonna-Sensei and I faced each other from our respective tables and exchanged informal head bows, with smiles throughout our meals. I knew who he was and now I knew he was curious about who I was. At the time the only other wheelchair user I'd ever heard of was John Marrable-Sensei in New Zealand. I'd only seen Marrable-Sensei in pictures, but I knew he was out there in the big world, and from his representation I gained infinite gusto about representing myself in my wheelchair to break barriers and stigma.

Within seconds of Nakamura-Sensei's invitation Higaonna-Sensei walked up to me, cutting right through the lines, all the way from the front of the class. He did not rush, and his face was neutral. He did not look at other students as he walked, but came straight to me. We bowed. With no delay he held out his hands. They were covered in scars, knobs of arthritic and glycated tissue, and dry patches where I presume blood and water could no longer compete with the chronic assaults on the capillaries that carry nutrients to the surfaces of his hands.

"Whatever you do, do it a hundred times," he said, as he rapidly opened and closed his massive paws into fists. "every day. Then you will be strong. Just one hundred times. Okay, good."

Just as quickly as he came he was gone, back to teaching the black belts.

Later, outside in the Florida sun, we were taking photos with him and with students from our respective countries and I passed out from the heat. A fellow karateka happened to be a paramedic and helped me inside to safety. I collapsed on a patch of floor off to the side of the stairs and he helped me start my IV pump. It became apparent that I had worried Higaonna-Sensei because he came to me when he was through with photos, an entourage behind him, to see if I was recovering okay. When he saw that I was in good hands he gave me two thumbs up and went on with his day.

It isn't easy to be "the one in the wheelchair." It can feel like I'm getting extra attention I don't deserve, and like I'm taking away from other students. Someone's I just have to be humble about it, other times I have to fight for it to get my own needs met. It's important for the instructor to be aware of your needs, especially in matters of safety, but also in matters of equally access.

Higaonna-Sensei teaches so many people that he can't possibly get to know all of us. And yet, he took much time to meet with me, to talk with me, and he even asked Nakamura-Sensei to take a picture of us so I would have one. "You look like you are having fun, I see you smiling when you practice," he said.

How I wish I could see him again. I wish he could see how much stronger I am. I wish he could know all that my Sensei has done for me, how Goju Ryu has changed my life, thanks to his proliferation of the practice.

We only get so much time on this earth. May we all use it to change and improve lives.

Taking Risks

Because my Sensei taught me how to do knuckle push-ups correctly I can use that skill to get up from the floor without dislocating my fingers, hands, and wrists. This is why it's important to let vulnerable people try new things and take risks that directly affect them. Instead of getting hurt, I got better, and I solved a very big problem in the process.

A month will have passed since I last attended karate class because I'm moving to a new place, a car load at a time, each day. The ridiculously slow pace of moving has worked out well for my body and kept me able to work the next day. The help has made all the difference, as I am not required to risk lifting or stair climbing with my hands full.

I am trying hard to keep this blog about karate but other elements leak into it. Let's see where this goes. I promise to bring it back around.

If I get hurt in karate I can afford medical care to respond and recover. This enables me to take risks and learn new skills that improve my life. I fall less, bump into doors less, dislocate less, exercise more, and I am more compliant with meds, physical therapy, and splinting. I manage my fatigue more efficiently, participate in social activities, and have a greater overall sense of wellness, all thanks to karate.

Without ACA I am worried about my health. More accurately, I am worried I won't be able to afford my health. It cost me $28/day for saline infusions before ACA, not including my other meds and care. ACA has helped me stay alive, get healthier, and live more independently than ever in my life. I know changes will help some people, but I'm afraid for myself.

People say "[Trump] will probably leave the disability part alone" but if he's repealing maternity care stipulations I'm not so optimistic. It's not even possible to plan for how catastrophic it will be if I lose Medicaid. Before ACA I had to liquidate my retirement to pay medical expenses. I was considering the guaranteed poverty of SSDI and retiring on disability because it was cheaper than working full-time as a tax-paying contributor.

We'll see what happens. I'm trying not to panic, worry has never done me a lick of good. But planning has, and I have no way to plan for what will be financially irreconcilable, based not on fear-mongering about how bad a President Trump will be, but on past experience of how bad things can truly get.

It's bound to have an impact on my karate. I feel like I've got one more year to try everything I want to try, and then I'll have to practice like I'm made of porcelain. Therefore, I'd better hurry up and finish moving so I can get back to the dojo.

In life I've learned not to avoid fear, but karate has honed my skill to also not be unrealistic about what fear is trying to show me. Fear is trying to show me that something may change, that if I can prepare, I should. But if I cannot prepare, I can at least be ready to respond. There is always good work to do, there is always a positive way to respond--even when I'm not happy about it, which is when it matters the most.

Change is a given. It is said to be the thing people fear most. Therefore, as a veteran of change on all levels of life, I am not afraid of much. But I am afraid of the ACA repeal. So what can I do? I can practice zanshin, residual awareness. I can be ready to respond, even if I'm not sure to what, or how to do it just yet.

Trump is taking a gigantic risk, and he's gambling with other people's money, health, lives. In karate I take risks with my own health, not on others'. But my risks are good risks, carefully considered and closely monitored by outsiders with more experience. Even then, I still consider how others will be affected if I get hurt while working with a partner, or on a team. They may feel sad for me, or worry that they hurt me, and that can cut deeply for people with high sensitivity.

There is no silver bullet to fixing health care in America, no matter what side you're on. We have to work through it together. Seeing things get worse will only strengthen our resolve to make things better, but there will be many casualties in the process and I hope I will not become not one of them.

It will be okay. But first, and perhaps for a long time, it will be not okay. How to get through will be a matter of trial and error, like the thousands of kicks it takes to get one great blow, and even that one can be improved.

Goju Ryu 2-kyu Test Coming Up

I got the invitation to grade for my 2-kyu belt. I am so nervous that I can't stop impulse-studying. That is, I tune out from the world around me at different points throughout the day just to check my notes or replay a video.

For example, I've always struggled *hard* to remember kihon bunkai (basic applications). I never really know which ones I've got down. I know that's not everything, but I feel tremendous pressure to have excellent knowledge of technique to accommodate for what my body cannot adequately demonstrate. Sequencing has always been one of my greatest challenges, making math difficult. After I've practiced karate for a time I won't need to rely so heavily on kihon bunkai, I'll just be able to move from one concept to the next.

At every grading prior I've asked myself, "is my Sensei sure I'm ready for this?" and have learned to trust his judgement. He knows what he's looking for. He now has a well-developed eye for what my limits are, and gives better-than-ever feedback. I know myself better and am getting better at making decisions on when to push and when to ease up.

At some point I have to accept that I'm not going to be absolutely lethal as are many others at my level. They have prior training, combat experience, military experience, and mostly functioning bodies. But I will keep going; I have every intention of being just as steady and ready as they are.

The belt is not the point. The belt is there to help us identify what we know. The belt colour helps us grow consistently with one another and enables us to be more careful with beginning students. There are many compelling reasons for a belt colour system, but my proudest belt remains my white belt. Getting started was the hardest test of my willingness and perseverance, especially because I'd been deathly ill for several years prior. Now that I'm in, I just want to practice.

The belt test also comes with an increased responsibility. Senpai, higher ranking students, have opportunities to set good examples for kohai, junior students. The test is an opportunity to show everything you've got to your Sensei who has been watching you grow and now wants to take a closer look at his own efficacy as a trainer with you. The belt test means a lot.

Of course I'm terrified of the shodan black belt test, just two tests away. I've heard horror stories. But nobody has died from it and I won't, either. I've never been a good test taker, though I have always taken tests seriously and have studied hard. Often, though, I surprise myself when the pressure is on. I've come to enjoy taking tests. Even if I fail I will learn a definitive set of information that tells me what I know and what I don't know.

Attitude is everything, so pick a good one.

On Throwing And Knowing Where You Land

Practicing karate at my dojo lifts me up to the moon and then reminds me that it's just my head in the moon and I've got to keep working if I ever want to set foot up there.

Sensei showed me how to do hari uke in Seiyunchin. Anatomically and physiologically speaking it makes perfect sense. Certain joints create stability in a closed-pack position, and other joints stay wide open to allow the throw to take place. It was the first time I saw in myself the ability to do a throw without putting myself in the hospital. It all made perfect sense physiologically speaking and for about three days I was King of the World.

A Judoka with EDS is skilled in throws and in being thrown. She prefers to do grappling and groundwork because there is no fall risk, and when she is on the ground she always knows where her bones are in relation to the floor. Knowing where one's body is in space is called proprioception. Proprioception is responsible for helping us stay upright and not bump into things. In EDS, proprioception is impaired.

We can train around impaired proprioception, to learn how to move safely. But it takes training : learn how to stay calm when you can't tell if you're conscious. You haven't been able to feel your legs for two days and now your visual field is gone because you're about to black out. Do you sit down on the floor so you don't fall, or do you bend your knees, keep your eyes open, and breathe gently? Every situation is different, it is not possible to make a hard-and-fast plan. This can lead to hypervigilance, and anxiety about having to be always ready to adapt, which leads to exhaustion.

At my dojo we have many medically trained and military trained karateka, so nobody flips out when I go down. They help me off the floor, check in, ask what I need, and make sure I can get home. That helps me  tremendously to stay calm because I know I will be cared for if anything does happen. Fortunately, after four years, I have not had to go to the hospital once due to karate. I'm sure that's part of the attraction to being in the dojo. Catastrophic things don't happen in the dojo, and if they did, they would be dealt with in rational and productive ways.

Everybody is working hard at something. The debilitating limitations of EDS is something I'm working hard to fight. They get that. I wish I could return the favour, maybe some day I will.

The moon can stay up in the sky, I'm happy with my dojo.

Tiny Hero Takanao Mahiro, Shotokan Karateka

Tiny Hero Takanao Mahiro, Shotokan Karateka

Since I started karate this charming young lady has had me mesmerized. There are videos of her all over the Internet performing perfect kata and bunkai (forms and martial applications) from age four. She is about nine years old now.

Mahiro is a Japanese Shotokan champion, flawless and fearless on the mat. Off the mat she is your average kind, respectful, perfectly cultured Japanese girl, an excellent representation of her country of ambassador caliber. Indeed, she is already raising the profile of Shotokan karate around the world.

If I'm not mistaken she is also featured in a few videos with the world's beloved Usami Rika. The videos take me back to days where it was so cold in the house that my sister and I would wear our winter jackets inside to practice our dancing. My sister gave a lot of herself to me in those formative years, though she didn't even live in the house. Maybe one day we can perform a kata together! The best thing about the ubiquitous availability of karate is that my sister lives in Miami and I in Baltimore, but we can find mighty good trainers anywhere in the world to learn exactly the same thing.

After a Shiai (tournament) bout my opponent and fellow karateka whispered, "you're terrifying!" as we walked off the floor.  She later elaborated on how my entire disposition changes when I'm practicing karate: you're the nicest person in the world, always smiling and happy. Then you get on the floor and it's looking everything changes!" I told her I am fearless in a fight because it's part of my Italian culture, but I recognize Mahiro's transformation of disposition and now wonder what else it could be. 

My opponent won that match. She is a kohai (junior karateka) to me by just a belt or two, so if she was truly afraid, she didn't show it: she performed well and I am still very happy that she won. It means she really used her skills! I must point out that she has many achievements out of the dojo that are far beyond my ken. My karate level is just a reflection of when I started and my belt is just for holding my gi closed. She won the match because she works hard and practices regularly. Perhaps she is more fearless than she feels. I respect her very highly.

I attribute to my culture my disposition change in a fight to my culture because I grew up seeing some of the best and worst of Italian culture.  I've had to be fearless at a moment's notice. It worried me for a while because I never want to scare anybody. I don't like how it feels to be scared. Seeing this transformation in Mahiro puts my mind at ease. Whatever it is that makes the change, it's not bad. It's a response to bad, like a cat whose tail wags erratically to signal that its limits will not be pushed beyond a certain point. Maybe it's the face of a gargoyle to warn demons that they should stay away, even though the gargoyle is made of stone and will not move!  That is, it's a protective disposition to ensure safety, not a malicious one seeking to harm.

I recognize Mahiro's serious face in myself. I recognize her confidence. She knows her stuff, her Sensei taught her well. Her Sensei knows her abilities and won't put her talents in danger where she will fail. Her entire school is behind her. I recognize this in her, in me.

Thanks to those who train us. Thanks to those who have made curricula available across the world so we can all grow, work hard, and learn.

Teach Their Children Well

On Saturdays, when I am able, I work with the children at our dojo. Someday they will inherit the earth. I have an opportunity to do a small part in helping them grow to be their best. As Senpai, senior karate students, make ourselves ready to support the children with whatever they need. We support each other and work together when things come up. Sometimes it's a seamless transition. Other days it's a little grittier to get through. We never complain or show disappointment because we respect the children as we do ourselves and one another.

We don't learn about our students by their challenges, or even by their strengths. We learn about our students by who they are as people. We learn about our students by their names, by their interests, by the activities they like doing, by the things they're working on. Students of all ages have needs of all kinds. Some are the Autism Spectrum. Some pronate, others supinate, meaning their feet turn inward or outward. Students with ADD or ADHD move constantly. Other students with anxiety hardly move at all. Students with physical disabilities move a little more slowly or rush to get through. Students with intellectual disabilities may slide by undetected because they have excellent behaviour.

Someday I will be knowledgeable enough to be the Lead Senpai. Sensei is trusting us with the development of children in his charge. He is also trusting us with the majority of his income, his business, his livelihood. I am trusting myself to lead the children with a sense of healthy detachment, but constant presence. I well up with tears when they do well and I tell them so. Of course I do, I love them. I have so much love to give and this is an outlet for it, but it's not enough to fill the void.

Working with the children is the most mentally challenging way for me to participate in karate. Not only do I have to be on my game, but I also have to stow away the overwhelming grief that comes with helping other people's children, knowing at some point they will go home to their parents and families, but I've no child of my own. If I carry children it's a 50-50 shot that they'll inherit Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I have ethical concerns about both carrying and not carrying, and I'm on the fence. Sometimes the pain of this truth hits me so hard that I have to excuse myself to go and cry in my car. The emotional wave usually hits when I am also sick. At some point with running around I get sick and start blacking out from cyclic episodes of Dysautonomia/POTS and erratic blood pressure. As the nausea creeps up and my visual field goes in and out I remember that I'm sick, my heart sinking as I bow and walk away from the kids on the floor to recover out of sight. If I can't see straight I have to stop because I also can't hear at all in the dojo. It's a heavy thing.

How does it get so heavy on my heart? It would be better to focus on the children, on their needs, and on their strengths. My personal issues do not belong in the dojo, they should be checked at the door, tucked into the cubby with my shoes and car keys. Every Saturday, though, I come home with an ache like my heart is trying to hold up a dead piece of itself, trying not to miss a beat as I move on to the next activity. Every Saturday afternoon I spend a period of time in tearful prayer for those kids, in grief over the children I haven't got. I give thanks to God that I was well enough to help the kids and I pray to St. Jude for the children I can't help. I pray to St. Anthony to help me find the hope that I'll move through whatever lies ahead for me, children or no children. I pray for the resilience to accept my lot and move forward. But man, is it heavy: it is a brick I cannot seem to lift and assimilate into the wall of life experiences.

Saturday is a time of personal development for me, but I'm spinning my wheels because I had been expecting a family by the end of 2013. My first-born would have been 2 by now--walking, wiping snot on things, learning phonics, learning social skills. Instead I grieve like we had actually gotten to the point of conception and we'd lost it. (We were a little over a month from starting the process when my wife left). I grieve like there was a baby, not just a plan for a baby. I grieve at the memory of all the videos we'd made for the baby about how we really wanted it, how we looked forward to it, what our life was like before the baby. I just grieve. It's a deep ache. I've been able to let go of my marriage, but the baby is a cold and frozen feeling that won't be shaken or even soothed. The personal development is in learning to accept that pain, learning to not let it knock me over, learning to not let it influence my work with the children at the dojo.

It would be much easier and far less painful to work with the adults, but the dojo needs more help with the children, and avoiding the problem does not solve it. So, I try to see Saturday as an opportunity to grow and find peace with it. I don't think there's anything harder I do in life than try to get through Saturday.

If I had children I'd struggle to hear them or they'd need to sign. I'd be tired and they'd have to play with each other. They'd have to care for each other when I'm sick. They could be or get sick themselves. But they'd have so much love. They'd have support, education, hope, faith, strength, and integrity. They'd be creative. They'd be loved, and they'd love themselves. They'd work hard at everything they do, including karate. They'd be just like the children at the dojo.

Saturdays are the hardest days of the week for my emotions to navigate.

Shisochin, The Great Ankle Biter

https://youtu.be/ejQ-KyRTvEU

My ankles aren't happy. It's like I can feel every booboo I've ever had.  This kata and I are going to become good friends and I'm going to learn how to use my legs better.

My last PT showed me how to modify my gait and it may be applicable here. Because I have Pes Planus (flat feet), my feet pronate (turn inward). That puts valgus (inward) stress on my knees. As long as I turn my feet out a little bit more when I walk it widens my gait and reduces that valgus stress.

The footwork in Shisochin kata is 99% zenkutsu dachi, a long stance which puts a great deal of stress on the ankles. I couldn't do a single stance without my metatarsals separating, so I'm going to have to modify it.

Here's the thing about modifying moves: Mark Twain advised that we learn the rules, then break them. Zenkutsu dachi is one of the stances I struggle to master because it's big and it's painful. However, it's going to take getting this stance right to learn what I truly can do, so that I only adapt what I truly cannot do safely.

More research will be necessary! It's exciting! Still, at this point in the discovery process it's pretty painful, it would be nice if I could sleep. :)

Be well.