Hard Starts


Sometimes I don’t know how my students do it.

Fencing is a damned hard thing to learn. It’s demoralizing.

You have to be fit, and that’s a process that is quite daunting for some. Especially since the fitness we demand isn’t the normal kind that you can brag about to your friends. No easily recorded kilometres run or weight lifted, no records to compare from last week. You need to have an excellent posture that translates all the way from your spine to your toes and fingers, with no weak points between. That takes dedicated strength work and tenacious endurance…and you won’t see the results for years.

And the techniques are complex. The weapons are awkward. Throw on top of that our demand that you also excel at boxing and wrestling and you’ve got a very steep learning curve. Toss knife and cane work on top of that. And our training approach demands that you embrace the complexity and chaos, avoiding the comfort of familiar technique in order to embody the understanding of the combat principles we believe in.

But that’s just our style. Swordplay in general is a complex thing.

I watch the new students come in and start training, and I know the wall is coming for them. The first couple of weeks or months are usually okay. Everyone has fun and the rush of doing something different makes it all exciting. It’s easy because you feel like it’s new and you don’t demand much of yourself beyond just experiencing as much as you can.

The wall comes when you really let yourself try to do something. Usually it’s win a bout. You decide that you must have learned enough to hit someone, so you try to really land a shot in sparring before you get hit yourself.

I think this is one of the hardest things about fencing. In other martial arts, when…or even if…you start sparring and you lose against another opponent, you can sooth the ego a little by physically comparing yourself to the other person. You can lose because the other person is bigger or stronger, and that’s okay because you know if you train long enough you will figure out the magical trick to beat that.

The sword is a weird equalizer. Sure, there are physical advantages like reach and speed, but the thing is that those are conscious factors that you justify with logic. The animal brain doesn’t recognize them the same way as it does when the bigger ape picks you up, ignores your struggles, and swats you around. The animal brain can accept that. Don’t mess with the bigger ape just makes sense.

But on the other side of a blade, the distance tends to remove that subconscious threat awareness of physicality. Awareness of the risk of point contact isn’t so deeply layered in the nervous system. We also have a blade in our hand, so we tend to think the playing field is more even than it is. We think the conflict is between blades instead of between people.

But this is on a really deep level that never hits the conscious brain. Our conscious brain is busy weighing the value of the one technique we think we physically have down, against what we think we see from the opponent. We evaluate the other person’s movements and try to divine their intent, and we monitor ourselves to make sure we are ready to launch when the time is right. Then we go.

And get pezzed in the head. Dammit. What did we do wrong? Fix it and try again. Fail again. This is pretty much the first real step on the road to mastering swordplay, but sometimes it’s the last step someone ever takes on the path.

I’ve watched literal generations of fencers just give up at this point. Most who fail here just walk away, but some stay and never try again. They embrace the fatalism and just decide they can never get better, but they will still enjoy the activity. There are fencers out there with decades of experience who have never progressed beyond the first few months of training because of this internal decision.

The thing is that everyone hits this wall. There are exceptions…I know a few accomplished fencers who never even noticed this wall on their way to mastery. But the vast majority of us hit this wall sooner rather than later in our fencing career and it hits us hard. We all know that feeling that we are facing a wall so long and so high that we cannot even imagine a way past it. It’s a gut punch that I see people push past somehow. I’ve pushed past it in my way and I know what was required of me to do so, but I have no idea how other people find the drive to do so.

It’s so damned lonely when you hit it. That punch in the face of personal failure is deeply intimate. And worse, it’s not just a momentary thing. It keeps on hitting you week after week, sometimes month after month. But the decision to persevere happens somewhere in there. Something in the brain makes you decide to keep practicing even though you can’t imagine a single thing you’ve learned or been exposed to that will make you any better. Some tiny act of faith nudges you to keep moving forward.

I like to think it’s good modeling from coaches. Having coaches of all different body types and dispositions can be very encouraging. I think it helps when a student can see or imagine that a coach has struggled like they are struggling, and that coach’s performance while fencing can encourage them to continue.

I often find myself somewhat flummoxed as to what to say to a student when they hit this point. I know I am most likely to lose a student at this point, but I also know that they have to find their own way past it. And I know that all the tools we have given them up to this point should enable them to do so. They have to make the choice themselves though. I often tell them to tough it out, that we have all been through it, and that it gets better.

I want nothing more than to see them show up at the next class after that talk, because if I do see them, I know they’ve got it made. They’ve pulled themselves through a damned tough personal place, and have the tools to take their training as far as they want now. But every time I give them that talk, I know I may never see them again. And that hurts. It’s a hard training moment and I’m sure any coach knows it well.

With all that said, I’ve been thinking this morning about what advice I might give in future. While the problem might be mainly one of philosophical basis, there are certainly some common physical expressions that can be addressed. What we are really seeing is the transition from uninformed outsider to novice, and the issue should be addressed at that level. I haven’t really run across any good explanations of what should be expected of a novice or initiate fencer that deal with this particular quirk.

I think I would talk to the student about realistic goals. Our first sparring rank asks students to demonstrate an ability to parry and riposte. I can ask a student to focus on the small goals of first just learning to parry some of the incoming attacks, and then working on simply observing when they think they might see an opportunity to riposte. I can easily build a detailed progression for a student that works up the chain towards being able to successfully parry-riposte during an engagement.

I will also need to really examine the physical cues of mental processing that I see in students, and work on progressions for those as well. The common hesitant rock-step, the awkwardly withdrawn arm, the flailing off-hand or the head nods. These are not so much items of bad posture to correct as much as they are physical tics that denote mental processes…too much thinking going on. Learning to calm the mind is easy when you’ve put the hours in and have experience, but more valuable lessons are learned when you don’t have that experience. I can find a better way to teach some of the relevant skills I know.

Lots to think about. I really do admire the courage of people who put themselves in that place over and over again, without having the coping skills in place to deal with it. It’s a kind of toughness that doesn’t get recognized enough.



There is a current and recurrent thread amongst HEMA and other martial arts disciplines that mocks the fat instructor. It’s one of those things that everyone feels comfortable jumping in on.

Five years ago I dropped 50lbs. It was just after finishing my Precision Nutrition certification.

One of the most common things you will hear about choosing a health or fitness professional is that you should never chose a fat one.

I was sitting at 195, with a good body composition, stellar bloodwork and fitness abilities.

And yet every time I looked in the mirror I wanted to scream. I was terrified.

I don’t think I can describe the fear.  You’ve either felt it or you haven’t. I looked in the mirror and saw a ghost. I was an insubstantial freak and every ounce of weight that left me was leaving me more and more transparent. Empty. Invisible. Vulnerable.

When I stepped on the scale and saw my weight go down, I wanted to vomit.

I smiled and posed and joked about being tiny, but I felt a literal fear of being tiny.

I don’t quite know when the body dysmorphia started, but it’s not uncommon in my family. Anorexia and bulimia in my generation and the following, diabetes in the previous.

Weight is always a topic at every single family gathering.

I remember being a kid, and my brother and I would steal my mom’s “diet” caramels that were kept in the fridge. I seem to recall they were some sort of bizarre 1970’s thing where you could purchase amphetimine-laced candies to help stay trim.

In high school I was obsessed with my sunken chest and thin frame. I hated to take my shirt off because people would see that I didn’t have the muscles I was supposed to have. When I started up weightlifting with my friends, we would hit the scale every chance we could to see if we’d gained even a half pound.

I was maybe 18 or 19 when I went on my first diet. My mom wanted to try weight watchers and I wanted to support her. I lost 20lbs in a month and thought it was fun…and promptly put it back on.

I started to explore powerlifting and veganism, and my weight started to creep up. The belly grew but the chest never seemed to, no matter how much weight I lifted, it always looked sunken and hollow. I started working IT and the weight rocketed up. I once dropped a loaded barbell on my chest because I glanced at my arms and saw that they were so thin that it was impossible for them to pick that much weight up…never mind that is was my second set. Took awhile to go back to the gym after that.

I panicked one day when I stepped on a scale while visiting relatives and saw that weigh had gone from my usual 135, and my more comfortable 150…to 185. I felt like a giant whale. Went on a major diet, and dropped 60lbs in three months.

Since then it’s been the constant yo-yo. I diet and lose weight, and then it creeps back on plus more.

Six years ago I hit 247 and decided enough was enough. The PN certification course was teaching me excellent nutrition tools, far better than any diet I had ever been on before, so I started to apply them. It worked perfectly until I hit 195, and then I couldn’t handle the fear of losing weight anymore. One thing I had learned in my certification process was how strong the psychological factors involved in weight loss were. The brain is the number one decider of weight, for many reasons.

So I sat there in my panic and made a decision.

I decided I wasn’t going to think about my weight anymore. No more diet. Food was a reward for me, and large weight was a safe feeling place to be. Being strong mattered more to me than anything. I realized I had to come to peace with myself before I could do anything to change myself.

So I resolved to stop worrying about what I ate, to stop worrying about how I looked, and to work solely on how I felt about myself.

Five years now I’ve been quieting myself everytime I look in a mirror and feel small. I’ve been letting myself relax when I saw that I needed to go up a belt notch. I’ve been slowly learning to first accept myself, and then I moved on to healing myself.

Two months ago I stepped back on the scale for the first time in five years, and saw that I was up to 267. Classic rebound weight gain. My hormonal balance around metabolism might be shot for the rest of my life from the cycles of yo-yo dieting. My blood work is still good, my overall health is still excellent, but there are the occasional readings where my blood pressure seems to have gone up. It’s not consistent yet.

Two months ago I felt calm. I’d come to peace with a lot of the demons of my past, and with a very supportive wife was finally coming to a bit of peace with my body. I was content to be where I was for the rest of my life. So I started the hardest ever nutrition plan. I started to eat slightly less. In order to tackle the metabolic problems, I’m going to attempt to lose no more than two pounds a week…preferably only one pound a week.

It’s very difficult. I know I can dump the weight like a rocket…but I know it will eventually come back on if I do. I must do it slow. It’s important to lose weight for me now not for looks, but because I’m getting older and I still have very much I want to do. Mechanical pressure on the internal organs is not correlated to productive aging, and I’ve got far too much to do to be inefficient about it.

Possibly the greatest difficulty I face is psychological, though. I’m a more than competent fighter, so the demons of my childhood are well put away, and only occasionally mutter from their rough graves. The voice of my peers is far harder to face.

It’s difficult to watch friends and people you meet steal glances down at your belly. It’s especially difficult to see people making fun of fat instructors, and it’s difficult because it makes me hugely angry.

It makes me angry not because it’s unfair, but because for all their talk of the value of skill…they will still judge on looks. I’m fat, but others are thin, or pretty. Or ugly. The line is that you can always lose weight, so it’s a thing you can control and therefor it’s okay to mock, but the fault there is in the desire to mock.

I spent my childhood being bullied. I know many people in the martial arts community had the same experience, but I cannot tolerate that their response to that bullying is to become a bully the moment they find the means. Where is the desire to protect others from the harm you experienced? It’s a huge failing in a martial arts instructor to engage in such behaviour. It’s an even bigger failure to support and encourage it, because it’s an absolution of responsibility. It’s an ignorance of the roots of violence and depredation.

My anger is an issue because of the violence of my background wants me to answer back with violence, and that is a stress that will literally kill me. Rage was a companion I carried within me for decades, and the brain responds to such stress with inflammation and dumps of hormones that scavenge muscles and build fat, and break the whole system down.

So I find myself wondering today if I’m really ready to lose weight or not. I’ve come to peace with a lot of things inside me, but I haven’t really learned how to come to peace with the world as it is yet. I’m still undecided as to whether I even want to come to peace with it, or work to change it. I can work and teach my students, and hope that will have an impact, but some days the world just feels so very big, and I feel so small and insubstantial.

I can shrink myself, but I think I must also make my world shrink a little, too.

Molar Equations And The Plastic Brain


I wanted to be a science nerd really bad in high school. There was a problem with that for me. With my family’s frequent moves and the differing school systems I’d been exposed to, as well as some issues with no one noticing I needed glasses for many years, my math skills sucked.

And math is really important in physics and chemistry. So chemistry in particular was a massive drag for me. Physics I could get by in because the teacher was sort of taking it easy on everyone, but the chem teacher was a martinet. Probably because the students were damn close to immolating themselves a few times. So my scores were abysmal.

Until we got to molar equations. The rest of the class fell apart for this subject and couldn’t keep up, but to me it was childishly simple. Same when we covered ion rings and energy state changes in physics. I soared through those parts of class like a champion. I couldn’t understand my classmates who saw the whole thing as complex. To me it was simple and clear as day. But then, I learned how to do all this stuff in grade 3.

In grade 3 we moved to one of the wealthier neighborhoods in Canada…scratch that, THE wealthiest city in Canada, and education was a little different there. During one of our classes, we moved into the kindergarten wing of the school which was built in the experimental Pod fashion. In this case, a literal pea pod shapes area. The main building in the pod area was large and circular, and had ringed coliseum style seating all around the central floor.

One enterprising teacher had some students cluster about in the center, and some on the rings. She explained that we were an atom, and explained the parts. Then she had one kid jump down a ring, and explained how that meant some energy had to be given off, and that energy would be a photon. Photons in alignment is what made up a laser. Neat. She made us form into different atoms and we had fun for a bit and that was that, never thought about it again.

Until high school when we hit molar equations and I realize it’s just a bunch of kids moving up and down steps and how easy is that? Molecules are just a bunch of pods of kids with some kids swapping from one pod to another and how easy it that? So simple. Couldn’t see the complication at all.

So of course bringing this into the martial art discussion we may be tempted to say that gosh, we should have started training earlier. And that’s the wrong message. It’s as wrong as the message that success only comes from lots and lots of boring reps…which is true but not the way you think. Or rather I should say it’s true but only for some kinds of success.

The adult mind is an interesting thing. Molar equations are hard because we are taught that they are hard. We expect that they are hard. Gosh darned it, that’s why you have to learn things in a set order. You have to lay down all the educational foundations first before a brain is prepared to work on the awesome complexity of more difficult subjects!

And after enough years of this stodgy correct layering, we have nicely organized minds that have to be correctly prepared before they learn anything. Want to learn a new language? Gosh, better get all the grammar down first, in helpful little drabs.

Want to learn a martial art? Well let’s start you off with the basic simple things so you don’t get confused. You have an adult brain now and that thing is fragile and easily confused, don’t you know? Gotta hold your hands and give you basic tidbits, one after the other. Don’t rush or you will mess up the holy writ of Ten Thousand Reps by doing incorrect reps!

I learned to do molar equations not because I was young and had a plastic mind, but because some bold young teacher didn’t see the point of waiting for the correct time to teach something. She either ignored the apparent difficulty of the subject matter or just didn’t see it as all that hard of thing to teach. I am fairly certain she was an alien visitor from another planet, honestly.

So the point of all of this is that difficult things may be difficult because you expect them to be difficult. You expect them to be difficult because you’ve been told they are difficult. And when you go to learn them you will damned well find them difficult because that’s how life works.

And that’s a level of bullshit that I absolutely hate.

Plasticity in the brain is habit you must develop. I am a firm believer in throwing out all your internal structures once in a while and starting all over again from scratch.

As I’ve written time and again, I think it’s necessary for martial arts development. As if I didn’t have enough reasons to deplore bigotry in all it’s forms, it’s a sign of a brain fixed in place. It’s rigidity is not crystalline and pure, but more of the nature of plastic that has been left out in the sun too long, after a lifetime in dish washer. It’s clouded with millions of tiny fracture and ready to shatter at the first blow. The plastic of our minds should be frequently kneaded, strong enough to hold the shape we need it to, but neither so rigid as to break nor so soft that it can hold no form.

We start that by getting rid of our expectations of difficulty. If a child can learn molar equations in a short session, so can an adult as long as that adult is willing to let go of the dross in their mind.

Martial art is the hardest kind of equation, the most difficult thing some people will ever approach in their lives and it’s necessary that we work on our minds in order to prepare ourselves for what our bodies might be capable of. We need to do this because martial art isn’t a skill, despite what you will be told over and over again. Martial arts is not a skill. It’s an equation that no one has written out yet, nor will they ever. You have to work it out and understand it for yourself uniquely in ever single situation. There is no single tool or skill that can always be relied on, aside from the ability to rapidly understand the problem and divine a solution.

The brain must be malleable enough at all times that we are able to create a solution on the fly for the problems that we are presented with. In my last little set-to with an angry martial artist from another style that was losing his shit on me, this was very apparent. He exploded out at me, throwing all sorts of techniques, chaining together responses with great speed to react to everything I was doing. And I just sort of floated through all of it. It was easy to see the patterns in his responses…patterns he’d built with loads of reps under stress. They were easy to see and to trigger, which gave me plenty of room to move between the angles and land shot after shot. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good bit of a tussle, but even well-trained reflexes aren’t going to work so well with an opponent who is comfortable with chaos.

Find your molar equation.



Balancing Skill


Conlan, who is going to be running what looks like another fantastic workshop at Valkyrie weekend after next, asked me a question on facebook today.

I’d posted one of my favourite handstand progression videos to my wall and Conlan asked about what my interest was in handbalancing. What was the benefit to working on it for us? He commented that handbalancing is very skill-specific, just like martial arts, and wondered how I would balance training in both.

Which is a great question, and gives me an opportunity to talk about some of the things that make our training at Valkyrie unique.

For a little bit of clarity, and to answer the obvious question, handbalancing skill is not very important to us. If it was, we’d spend far more time working on it in class. I posted the video because I believe students should pursue training opportunities outside of class as often as possible. Handstands are great for that because not only are they good strength building exercises for the shoulders that are very vulnerable in students of sword arts, but also because handstands make you go upside down.

Being upside down a lot is one of the core drivers of the Valkryie method. Mostly because being upside down goes against almost everything other martial arts train for. And also because it goes against almost everything we as adult humans consider normal. I’m not a fan of normal. Disrupting normal is martial arts tactic number one, so I want dis-normal to be a comfortable place for my students. Additionally, I have a pet theory that proprioceptors in the inner ear can have a positive effect on overall athleticism when activated.

Handstands and cartwheels are convenient things that people can work on that push these buttons. Other balance activities can work, and we use them at later stages. We could do a simple teddy bear stand to start that would give us a gentle and safe introduction and let us gradually build up skill in balance…but that has no value to me as a teacher. Challenge and possibility are important things.

When you are being crushed or beaten by a bigger, stronger, more violent  and better trained human being…comfort, normalcy, and working only with what you believe is possible can be a death sentence. You must be able to push yourself into the impossible. You must believe you can do things you can’t imagine. I’m not talking about superhuman powers, but rather about breaking out of a freeze state, or the goofy loop of “give up” that the head can get stuck in. You need to be comfortable moving with no balance, embracing the fall and absolute chaos and using it, not trying to get back to equilibrium.

So, yes. Handbalancing practice is of benefit to us, but skill is also of benefit as far as it allows us to pursue greater challenges and discomforts.

Of course I have to balance this out a little by also stating that the martial arts skillset is also not very important to us. Manipulating chaos and understanding it’s parameters in the current engagement is our primary skillset goal. Obviously we train in physical skills that give us better channels to express our understanding, but it’s not very important that we be good at any particular skill or skillset.

For example, we train in groundwork, but our goal is not to have students polish and learn a set of skills to use in that arena, but rather to have students understand how to create an exploit for the situation on the fly. In any given arena of skill, we will always have less skill than a specialist. Odds are we are never going to produce a champion grappler! It’s not our goal. That said I still want students to compete in grappling because it’s more exposure for them, and some may choose to develop specific skills. But our goal in this case is to produce a student who can find themselves on the ground and think outside the box for a solution suited to the exact circumstance.

Similarly with swordwork we look for students to grow skill in movement and finding a way to make more chaos for the opponent, more than having students who come into a bout feeling like they have all the answers to all of the problems that can occur. We want to be the source of new and unexpected problems for our opponents.

Training to be this way is going to be extremely difficult and I expect I won’t really see the results I want until the 3rd or even 4th generation students have put some serious time in. The first two generations are shaping up remarkably well but life is no fun if you don’t dream big.

So our approach is physical discomfort like we find in basic handbalancing, and psychological discomfort like we found in John’s remarkable knife workshop from last weekend. Layered on top of that is a solid training program we have built to guide students through all of this towards our goal for them.

We try to take the benefits from learning skills without necessarily working to improve the skill. I do believe that a competent martial artist should be able to see nearly any physical skill performed and make a fair go at attempting it. If you see something done and immediately think that it’s impossible to do, you are not a martial artist the way I think of one. A technician most likely, but anything the human body can do should be something a martial artist sees as a possibility if enough practice is put in. That awareness should come from constantly pushing our boundaries of our own performance, and learning from the inside how the body works.

Stripping Down To The Real Basics


I was looking over an old notebook about a month ago, from back when I started rapier fencing. One day I had taken a bunch of notes after talking to a bunch of the really senior fencers, and watching them bout against younger and newer fighters. One of the things I wrote down stuck in my head, and this weekend I saw even more examples of it.

We just wrapped a lovely weekend workshop run by Cst. John Irving on knife fighting. It was a good opportunity to expose some of our newer students to shock knife work, and a chance for everyone to get exposed to John’s finely tuned stress environment training.

The thing I had written down in my notebook years ago, was that experienced fighter tend to be very still, while new fighters are all over the place. At first I thought that must have been a bit of  mistake on my part to note that, since Valkyrie’s focus is almost entirely movement based. But over the last few weeks, I’ve been observing students learning and sparring, and seeing a little better what I meant by that.

New fighters are unsure about what they are doing, and are constantly evaluating their own decisions as they make them. This tends to result in frequent twitches and movements that go nowhere…the physical expressions of the thoughts that die in the mind before being acted on. The experienced fighters tend to either choose a technique and then patiently wait for an opportunity to use it, or simply relax and trust that they will do the right thing when the time comes.

Now how this actually plays out doesn’t translate to literal stillness on the part of the experienced fighters. Watching closely, I see that they are never really still…there is always motion taking place. It’s a truism in fencing that you should always strike at a still point. Good fencers never present that still point, so they are always idly moving in arcs that tend to not repeat. It just appears still because they are not making sudden or quick motions.

The idea for the experienced fighter is to never have even a split second where you cannot instantly launch an attack, and because of that requirement the movements tend to be restrained to opportunistic arcs.

The new fighter always moves, and it contrasts because the character of their motion is frantic and sudden, which means a tremendous amount of effort is spent in recovering from bad positions that you have put yourself into with wide or sudden motions. Footwork tends to be reactive and instinctive, which means it’s almost always backwards, which is a tactically poor choice. Instinct has no place in sword work. At least not at this level.

So watching the knife work this weekend, as John ramped up the stress levels and the shock knives continued to provide some hefty reinforcement of why bad choices are bad, I watched a change come over all the students.

They moved more like experienced fighters. As the weekend wore on, they moved more like accomplished and experienced fighters. When they chose to attack, it was often with exceptionally smooth mechanics, with a recovery and escape built in. Their out of contact movement was refined and showed their focus on the consequences of not paying attention. It was clear that their minds had been stripped of extraneous concerns and decisions. They were intent on not being hit, and finding a way out of the situation…which generally meant doing great harm to the other person. As a result, their movement was athletic and almost animalistic. Fantastic to see.

I’m looking forward to working with the students that were there this last weekend, and seeing how that movement pattern continues and whether it can be sustained during more normal blade work.


Fixes and Changes


We’re coming to the end of another cycle of teaching at Valkyrie, and we’ve already started rolling out a new curriculum. For the coaches, it offers less strict guidelines on what to teach, but more strict goals of what students should achieve. So less direction on what specific drills to do, and more emphasis on working through a given topic in a way that makes sense to particular group of students we see on any given night.

To make sure we are all together on how this will be done, I’m returning to being head coach for every single night of instruction. I’m taking Saturday mornings off in exchange, and letting the other coaches have a chance to play in Power class.

I’m loving how it’s working out. Getting a chance to personalize classes a little bit is letting me really reach down into the deeps of my knowledge in a way I haven’t been able to do before. The slight change in emphasis turns out to be making a big difference. The structure is easier to see and I think it makes more sense now for all the coaches to relate the current focus of a class to the arc we see ourselves and the students taking over each cycle.

It’s too early tell what effect it’s going to have on our skill development curve, but so far I’m starting to see things I like. It certainly helps solve one of the bigger issues I’ve had teaching. Which is also an issue I know other instructors have. It’s the delicate balancing act that comes out from having a mix of skill and knowledge levels in one class, but having a single skill slated to be taught in that class. How do you keep everyone challenged at their particular level?

If the goal is to have a student land a jab at the end of the class, compared the the goal of having a student learn how to execute a jab, it’s much easier to accommodate the different levels. It’s a seemingly small difference, but from my experience the vast majority of martial arts teach skills with the goal of becoming better at the skill. And I know some people will read that sentence and wondering why that is a problem, but it’s somewhat like going to carpentry school and learning how to swing a hammer. And then learning how to hold a nail. Meanwhile the advanced students are working on slowly and carefully learning to align the hammer and the nail together, so that some day they may be capable of landing the perfect blow and driving the perfect nail.

Meanwhile beautiful houses are being put together with a lot of imperfectly driven nails, but they somehow still do the job.

So going back to the jab, if the goal at the end of the class is to land a jab…the new students can work on the bare mechanics, maybe getting used to making contact to other person’s face instead of just air. Whatever they need to work on. The advanced students can work on timing, flow, deception, power…whatever. And they can do it at the same time and with the newer students because everyone is working to the same goal. And everyone is learning from each other. As a coach, I’m free to toss in a quick note here and there about learning to bob, weave and slip. Or how to get the footwork rhythm down. As long as we are working to the same goal, I can work with the student in groups or as individuals to get them there.

With a more rigid skill-based approach, it’s too easy to fall into the habit of telling students, and ourselves, to ignore some flaws and concentrate on the skill at hand, that we will develop the other skills later in their time.

It’s taken me a long time to figure this out, and I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the help and fellowship of some truly extraordinary martial arts instructors I’ve had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with in the last 2 or 3 years. Being exposed to different ideals in training as well as seeing different approaches to similar problems of the martial space we specialize in has been deeply rewarding. And getting not just support from my fellow Valkyrie coaches, but constant feedback and useful thought out challenges has been instrumental in forging our school and ourselves into a vision we couldn’t have even imagined a few years ago.

So we make these changes, and the school continues to change me.