The Lonely Path of The Warrior

 

When I started my journey I was 14 years old. I had been bullied for years and was angry and hurt. I wanted revenge on my tormentors. I was also a teenager, and struggling with the mental, emotional and physical challenges that come with starting the transition toward adulthood. I was in crisis. I needed something to keep me from losing my way.

My first dojo was very traditional. We sat in seiza when shihan bowed on or off the mats and whenever he demonstrated techniques. We never spoke to him unless spoken to first and never called him anything but "shihan" or "sir". There were punishments (dozens of pushups or long kibadachi sessions) if any dojo rules were violated, but of course they never were (at least not be me). Still, for some reason, I loved the dojo. I became a deshi to my teacher and trained every day for the next seven years. In the summers I usually lived at his house. I did chores and we trained intensively. In retrospect, I needed the harsh discipline and guidance to learn to focus myself. I believe that without it, I wouldn't have made it.

For every hour of training on the mats, I always had at least another hour of academic study in addition to my usual schoolwork. My teacher had me read all the martial arts classics (translated into English, of course) and we discussed them at length. I was especially fascinated by The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi. It is a classic text of swordsmanship/strategy by someone considered to be the greatest of all. Undefeated in literally hundreds of duels, he famously killed the most prominent fighter of the time, Sasaki Kojiro, with a single blow to the head using a boat oar he carved into a wooden sword on the way to the duel. Musashi is said to have developed the famed Nitoryu or "two sword style" which is often referenced by modern swordsmen but far less often understood. Miyamoto Musashi was irreverent, a commoner rather than a samurai, unrefined - unbeatable. To teenage Me, he was the most perfect antihero. I studied him enthusiastically.

In those days, I read that the warrior path was a lonely one. Constant training under all conditions, meditation, stoicism. These appealed to the loner in me, too. Like Musashi, I felt alone and unwanted, misunderstood, an outcast, but that somehow there might also be greatness in me.

The truth, after 45 years of this life, is very, very different.

The reality is that the warrior path has been many things to me, but never, ever lonely. At every stage and in every dojo, I have always been surrounded by fellow truth-seekers. People like me trying to use the martial arts as an anchor to stabilize, rebuild and improve their lives. People who are seeking to discover purpose and meaning in a life that can feel overwhelmed by materialism and mainstream media. People seeking stillness and wanting to deepen their spirituality. Through this life I have met men and women of all ages and backgrounds, rich and poor. They have become my lifelong companions - my extended family. In every case, they have welcomed and embraced me, flaws and all. Never judging me or my past, and willing to take me at face value for how I am both on and off the mats. I have learned from and been inspired by fellow students, instructors, parents, partners and everyone in between. All of them have given me valuable insight into the importance of The Path.

Over the years, we have opened up our homes to each other. More than that, we have opened our hearts. We have shared our joys, our pain, our fears and our hopes together in deep conversations dripping in sweat after hard workouts. We've shared countless meals, sometimes after literally trying to kill each other. We've pushed each other to the breaking point again and again, but always with love and encouragement. We've showed up for each other with unwavering loyalty. At camps we are all like family, instantly bonded even if we are meeting for the first time. When we meet the first hour or so is usually just hugging each other and catching up, instantly reconnected and back in tune even if it's been months or even years since we last met.

I tell people that martial arts is very different from other hobbies or sports. I can't imagine forging the kind of lifetime friendships I have had in a fitness gym or playing community softball or at the dog park. Not even church created the kind of fellowship I found in the dojos where I trained. There's something special about what we do and the people who dedicate themselves to it.

The martial arts teaches us about life and death. Sometimes in training we become focused on the lethality of what we learn. However, it's also important to remember how much martial arts teaches us about LIFE and living - how much it enriches us through the depth of the friendships we make.

I want to take this moment to recognize and be grateful for the importance of the relationships I have had during the past 45 years in the martial arts community. I have been truly blessed to know you all, my brothers and sisters, and have continued to try and be worthy of your love and respect. You bring out the very best in me. Thank you for the challenges and for your enduring support. I love you.

See you at class.

(GUEST POST) Fight Like a Girl: In the Dojo, in Life, and Without Apology

 

I am proud to present a guest article by my dear friend and training partner: Guro Vicky. Enjoy!

I’ve been a female martial artist for over a decade. My journey has been carved through pain, injuries, and a relentless battle against stereotypes and the unforeseen challenges in life. The price wasn’t just physical; it was often emotional and deeply personal. Even today, the fierce battle to hold onto the privilege of being a martial artist continues for me.

It takes immense courage and perseverance to be a woman in martial arts. I'm not just talking about the sweat and bruises; I'm talking about the way you're sometimes made to feel.

I started Muay Thai 13 years ago. It was my first stepping stone into martial arts, a path that would shape my discipline, my fire, and my voice. Within the first few weeks of training, came the first remark: “Women should not be in martial arts.”

It came from a male chauvinist, my neighbor and, at the time, a family friend. But instead of discouraging me, it lit something fierce inside. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Ever heard the saying, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend?” As if a woman can only be appeased with riches and luxuries. I’ve never been able to relate. I’m the woman who sold my jewelry to afford gloves and gear when I had no other means. My best friends have always been the gloves and the grit.

Since then, I’ve trained in countless dojos and classes, meeting all kinds of people, men and women.

• Some who uplift.
• Some who undermine.
• Some who teach with humility.
• Others with ego.

On Sharing Knowledge

There are partners who, when you try to teach or share a drill, can't resist trying to "prove" why it won't work. Instead of trying the technique, they use brute force to show physical dominance. This is not a productive exchange; it’s a subtle power play that invalidates your knowledge. It's an ego-driven test, and I refuse to participate. If you can’t handle your own ego-powered move, don't blame me for my reaction.

This same mindset leads others to imply, subtly or directly, that you are inadequate. You might be singled out for using "too much" strength, even when your partner was the one who couldn't control their own intensity. Then there’s the assumption that you’ll only be comfortable training with women. Ahem, I signed up for a mixed martial arts dojo for a reason.

And to the guys who rely on brute force instead of refining their technique, I hope you know how to survive a brutal attack someday when all that strength and muscle fail you.

Sometimes you’re dealing with instructors whose egos are larger than a hot air balloon. They are never wrong, and you always are. It seems you’re just a woman, so you're not supposed to be right, are you? Even if you have trained in martial arts longer than they have. You’re just supposed to stand there and listen in awe. Point noted but not accepted.

I've stood there, a black belt, watching a male trainee be instinctively chosen to demonstrate a technique that requires pain tolerance, speed, or resilience. To the instructor’s credit, he cared to explain why he chose a man: “So I can go harder on him to demonstrate what the technique can do.” Or, “It’s more appropriate to demonstrate a technique to the solar plexus on a man for example.”

I don't get it. Why not demonstrate how to train with a woman in a respectful manner without ending up inappropriately touching her? Are you implying female black belts have never withstood tough hits and got an easy way out to attain our rank? The explanation didn't convince me. It only made me wonder, Why am I even here?

Body as Vessel, wait- but for what purpose?

Speaking of pain, one evening, after clearing four towering stacks of paperwork at my day job, I still showed up for training. Exhausted, but unwilling to quit. During kickboxing, I was adjusting the straps on my pads when my partner launched a full roundhouse kick, straight into my right wrist.

No warning. No check-in. Just impact. BAM.

The pain was immediate and severe; it almost knocked my lights out. My instructor brushed it off as a sprain and left, but it turned out to be a hairline fracture. I couldn't lift my forearm for six weeks. An older colleague noticed the guard I was wearing and asked how I got injured. When I explained what had happened, he said, “If you keep getting injured like this, how will you carry your kids someday?”

I didn’t answer, but inside, I asked myself: Had I been a man, would he have said the same thing? Why is my body always seen as a vessel for motherhood before it’s seen as a vessel for mastery? Why am I expected to prioritize hypothetical children over my very real passion?

The sudden enthusiasm

A few years later, I stepped into a Ninjutsu academy. New space. New style. Same fire.

One day, I was the only female trainee in the room. The guys were feeding pads for one another with full energy and engagement. When it was my turn, I partnered with one of them. Moments before, he had been hyped up, but when I stood in front of him, his energy vanished. He looked disinterested, didn't brace the pads properly, and didn't even bother to hold them with care.

I felt it. That quiet dismissal. That subtle assumption: She won’t hit hard. She won’t last.

But within a minute, everything changed. After a few strikes, he asked, "Have you done boxing before?"

I told him I had trained in Muay Thai and kickboxing for some years. His eyes lit up. Suddenly, he was feeding with passion and giving me tips.

I thought to myself: Why wasn’t this enthusiasm there at the start? Why did I have to prove myself first? Why is a woman’s intensity underestimated until it’s undeniable?

This is the quiet test we are always made to take. Not of skill, but of worth. Not of technique, but of legitimacy.

Choosing My Passion

I don’t train to be accepted or to be a badass. I train because martial arts is for everyone- It is the best way to lead life, the best therapy. It belongs to me too, and I will not seek permission or validation to be powerful. That’s also why I show up on days my body is screaming. Days when I have cramps so sharp they make me double over. But I still spar. I still take hits and punches to the abdomen and everywhere else, while I have cramps. Wait- But I am still incapable of taking hits like the guys right? Sure.

No one adjusts the drills. No one softens the pace. I do the same kind of training as the guys. Same intensity, same expectations. I do it with a silent, invisible pain. So are all other female trainees all around the world.

Enjoying life means romancing a man?

In the days leading up to my graduation and progression to an advanced belt in KM, an elderly trainee once asked me, "Do you not have a life? You should be enjoying your youth with your boyfriend." He laughed as he said it, turning to others to seek validation for his “point” but his joke felt deeply demeaning. It was a rude reminder that my dedication was not seen as a valid pursuit, but something silly.

I paused. Not because I didn’t have a fitting reply, but because his question revealed more about his pathetic assumptions about a woman’s happiness than about me.

Who says I'm not enjoying myself? I am enjoying training, just not a boyfriend. Why should a woman’s joy always be expected to orbit around romance, marriage, or children? Why is discipline mistaken for deprivation? Why is a woman’s time questioned when it’s spent on and for herself?

My journey isn't just my own. It's a tiny part of a legacy of women warriors who, throughout history, have refused to shrink to fit stereotypes. We are the ones who break the molds. We are fierce, and that's not just a compliment; it's our superpower. We've seen women training on par with their male counterparts while bleeding, after giving birth, after a distressing life event, or after a heartbreak. We refuse to be damsels in distress. We refuse to take the backseat. The real competition has never been with a fellow trainee, male or female, it has always been with ourselves, to become a better version at every stage. I may have never stepped into a ring to fight, but I fight in life every single day. Martial arts keeps me resilient.

To the men who stand as our pillars and push us to discover our potential, Thank You! You are amazing. But to those who aren't, are you competing with us or with your own insecurities?

To every woman who has ever felt out of place in a dojo, or in any space where her passion is belittled, ridiculed or questioned, this is my message to you: Your worth, knowledge and efforts are not up for debate. Your passion is not up for permission. Don’t let anyone else’s insecurities or ego define your journey. Show up, train hard and fight like a girl- not as a cliche, but as a statement of unwavering power, resilience and unapologetic grit. The mat belongs to you just as much as it belongs to anyone else. Rock On!

My Life in the Dojo

 

I’ve been in martial arts since 1981. 45 years and counting. During that time I’ve only had to physically fight a few times (less than 5). However, I use my martial arts training every single day.  My many years in the dojo have brought me unparalleled happiness and challenged me continuously to become a better version of myself - to become the person I say I want to be. I’m not there yet, but after 45 years I’ve made measurable progress. The goals have changed, but so have I. Over time, I have become much clearer about who I need to be (and also who I don’t need to be).

Overall, the dojo has been a place of understanding. I came to the dojo at fourteen: a scrawny, half-blind, skittish, loud-mouthed, unruly little kid - angry at everything and everyone. Convinced the deck was stacked against me and the world was out to get me. I was a person who cared about nothing and no one except what I wanted at any given moment. I was lazy and uncontrollable. A menace to myself and without any direction or drive to improve.

The dojo gave me a positive environment to change and become more. Yes, I was challenged all the time. My original dojo was very strict and my teacher was very harsh and traditional. However, I knew it was tough love. I became a disciple (uchideshi) because I knew he cared about me and wanted the best for me. He tried to give me the tools to self-correct. He was patient but unforgiving and intolerant of excuses or laziness. He worked me hard. I grew stronger, more resilient. I learned to focus. I learned to be a critical thinker. He pushed me to learn in ways that public schools wouldn’t. He never judged me for my past, only holding me accountable for myself now, and for charting a course of action for who I said I wanted to be. In many ways, he was the father I wish I had.

From his foundation, I blossomed. I became a man. I became confident. Not just because of my strength and my capacity for violence, but because of my capacity for compassion. I learned to let go of my anger and to harness that energy into something positive that would motivate and power me toward my goals. I began to believe I was deserving of a loving and happy life. I became strong enough to work hard for the life I wanted. I learned to find a way to move forward and stop complaining about things. I learned to forgive, not just others but myself. My teacher’s education of me in Zen Buddhism continues with me today, decades after him planting the seeds. I am no saint, but I'm much, much better than who I was.

All of this was possible because he treated me as a person with potential. Someone special. He never highlighted what I couldn’t do. He only focused on what I could do, and what I would become able to do. He was always pushing me outside my comfort zone, but there to encourage me and lift me up. He was my guiding light. HE BELIEVED IN ME. Even when no one else did. Even when I didn’t believe in myself. I cannot overstate what a difference that has made in my life.

  We all need someone to believe in us.

After 7 years, he sent me to another teacher. I spent two years there as an apprentice there just focusing on the traditional Japanese sword arts. This further deepened my spiritual side and helped me overcome many of my demons. As my teacher often said “the goal of the sword is to cut away all illusions you have about yourself, about others, about the world…”. I did my best. His training and encouragement helped me get to Japan, where I have lived ever since. My journey continues.

What I learned:

● The Dojo is a Positive Place - no room for any negativity. Ever.

● We ALL can belong in the dojo - Everyone has a place.

● In the dojo we are all the same - learners, explorers, discoverers.

● We Lift Each Other UP - we never, ever push each other down. Never.

● We learn how to fight so we can make peace - with ourselves, with each other, and with the world

● We are ALL students. Forever. The more we learn the more we realize we don’t know

I am heart-broken to see senior people act in the dojo as if it were a military training academy. It’s not. Neither is it a toxic workplace. By treating it this way, instead of relieving stress we create more. This is completely unacceptable. Even with best intentions, negativity has NO PLACE in a dojo.

The one thing, the ONLY thing, that matters in the dojo is that we are all accepted and support each other’s growth positively. Once we let go of Ego, we are finally free to learn from each other and to enjoy the happiness that only exists in a dojo. The training exists for us to become better - not through belittlement or ridicule, but through encouragement and support of our teachers, students and partners. 

For me, this has been EVERYTHING. It has made all the difference in my life. I am happy. I am grateful. I love and am loved.

I wish you the same. See you in class.

Recipes: Revisited

 

If you know me, then you know I love a few things. I love martial arts (obviously) and I love to cook. I sometimes write about the parallels between them. I even did a post about baking and its relevance to martial arts. Not once but twice. I used Filipino adobo to talk about martial arts as well.

When learning a new recipe, I basically go through three phases:

Discovery
In this phase I am researching and checking every detail. I refer to a base recipe frequently and measure every ingredient exactly. I use each ingredient as described and go to the store as needed to be sure I have exactly what the recipe calls for. No substitutions. I check all the cooking times and watch the food cook constantly. I check the result against the video or cookbook to see if it looks like it is supposed to look at every stage. I ask a lot of WHY questions to better understand the goals and how this recipe achieves them. I look at the science so I can connect this recipe to any other similar ones I know. I'm usually a bit nervous the first few times and always a bit worried I might fail. Sometimes I still do.

Repetition
Once I have a version of the recipe I like, I make it again and again. I still refer to the base recipe from time to time, as a guideline or a reference, but as I get more comfortable I feel free to experiment by swapping out some ingredients for what I have at hand and may even adjust the amounts or add/subtract ingredients as I dial in exactly what I want. Every time I make the dish I learn a little something I didn't know before. I finally start to understand every variable in the dish that can affect how it turns out.

Mastery
When I get really comfortable, the recipe is MINE. I no longer refer to any source, and I rarely measure anything exactly. I confidently add ingredients by eye or by feel, and I know as I'm doing so exactly how the final dish will turn out. Having made it dozens of times, I hardly think about the process any more. As I'm in the kitchen with the music on my hands just move. Voila! It's done. By this point I am thinking about the whole meal, the presentation and plating, and maybe even pairing a wine. These recipes are as good or better than any I have had, perfectly matched to my palate and the palate of the people I serve it to. You can feel the love in every bite. For me, this kind of cooking is meditative. I'm very relaxed and I enjoy it deeply.

I watch a lot of cooking videos, but I never feel bad or think some masterchef's food is better than mine. My food is not for TV presentation, it's to bring joy and happiness to my family and friends. It's a very personal thing, so I don't feel the need to compare to anyone. It's fine if they like their scrambled eggs a bit different from how I like mine. Cooking is about elevating the way you live and enjoy your life, never about showing off or comparing yourself to others.

OK, by now you probably see the parallels. It's quite obvious (or should be) that cooking and martial arts (and anything else that can be called a "Way") have so much in common. Good practice yields good results. Namely, that we master something we enjoy and then use that to increase our happiness and the happiness of those around us. I try to learn cooking from everyone, everywhere, since I think every recipe has something beneficial to teach me. I keep what is useful and discard the rest. Sound familiar??

Whatever your passion, I encourage you to stay with it and do it often enough that you feel you have achieved mastery of it. If it happens to be martial arts, I will be even happier for you. The journey through discovery/repetition/mastery will teach you so much.

Bon Appetit!!  See you at class!

Getting off the Train

 

I smiled when I saw this. Living in Japan we’re very dependent on public transportation. In fact, I don’t even have a Japanese driver’s license and haven’t needed one for the past 35 years. The train system in greater Tokyo (including Chiba, Saitama and Yokohama, too) is complex and interconnected. If you can master it, you can ride trains in any other country with ease.

Even after all these years, however, I still get on the wrong train sometimes. If you happen to fall asleep you could easily end up 50km from your destination (or worse). Mistakes like that can be tough. I still feel a little embarrassed when it happens.

As the picture above explains, when you get on the wrong train (or make a mistake if any kind) leaving it like that rarely makes it better. Often, the longer you wait the worse it becomes. Much of life is like that, it seems. There is importance in constantly getting good feedback (qualitatively and quantitatively) to make sure you’re going in the right direction (at the right speed). If you aren’t, it’s important to have the resolve and decisiveness to course correct as early as possible. Mistakes are inevitable. It’s how you handle them that matters. Some people are so afraid to make mistakes that when the problems occur they can do nothing. Paralyzed with fear, they may wait too long and end up much further from their intended destination. In the worst case, they may even become lost, forgetting how they got there (or why). 

Thinking through the causes and effects and understanding how to avoid those problems/mistakes in the future is a useful exercise. It’s important to acknowledge mistakes but not to dwell on them longer than necessary for the lessons to be learned. Over time we become wiser, stronger, better. It’s a process. I’ve found that learning to give a sincere apology is one of my most important (and most often used) skills.

Everyone gets on the wrong train sometimes. Don’t worry. Just get off as soon as you can and start backtracking right away. Don’t think about the time you lost. Just thinking about getting back where you should be. With any luck at all, your path will lead you (back) to the martial arts. To KM. And, ultimately, beyond. 

Love each other more

Opportunities

 

(thanks for the inspiration Cikgu)

Great class last night. A full floor of dedicated kalistas, passionate in training and hungry for more. Experienced practitioners and new faces mixed together - learning, sharing. It's why I teach. I can imagine my teacher, Punong Guro Fred Evrard, watching me from heaven, pleased.

We finished with Panantukan, Filipino kickboxing. I set up a simple drill where we use the knee spike against the lead leg. It's a simple, brutally effective attack that when done correctly finishes any fight. This time, we used it with a clear telegraph to the defender - a big setup to show we were intent on attacking the lead leg with a knee spike. This is not normally the way we fight in KM, but there was a purpose here. Once the defender sees the incoming knee strike, they fear it and move their leg away. This exposes an attack of opportunity on the remaining leg that is usually very successful.

I used this specific combination to illustrate an important point, which became my mini-talk to close the class as we bowed out.

Opportunity is a very important element of fighting, just as it is a very important element of life. I think it exists in three different stages of evolution.

Recognizing Opportunity
As a beginner, we do our best to mimic and memorize the techniques our teachers show us. We focus on our footwork and body mechanics and do our best to create consistency in how we move, so that we can repeat the techniques correctly and commit them to muscle memory. Part of this training is learning the foundations of strategy. We explore and discover how to set up and maintain our focused guard, and learn what happens when we don't. As well, we start to see where opportunities can open up on our opponent. We learn about the inside and outside lines, high/medium/low lines, largo/medio/corto distances and how they can be used. Learning to recognize opportunities is critically important because until we do, we cannot act to take advantage of them. 

Seizing Opportunity
The next evolution is learning to seize opportunity. It is one thing to realize there is a chance or an opening. It is yet another thing to have the decisiveness to take action on it. We are by nature creatures of fear and apprehension. Many would say we are biased to inaction and the status quo (at least without the right training). Seizing opportunities requires rapid assessment of risk/reward and a mindset that accepts taking risk when the odds favor it. In fighting, this could be a short path to victory. It could also mean getting hit (or worse). As per the motto of the British SAS "who dares wins".

Creating Opportunity

The highest level goes beyond just recognizing when opportunities arise and then having the decisiveness to act on them when we see them. It involves something deeper and more important. The most successful people learn how to create opportunities. They no longer wait for the moment to arrive, they make the moment happen and then leverage it when it does. In fighting, as per my drill, we use one attack to open another. We use feints, deception, misdirection to cause confusion in our opponent. We attack multiple targets at the same time in order to make it impossible to avoid getting hit. We use body position, balance, weight shift and posture with our footwork to be in uncomfortable places where the opponent struggles to follow. These are the tools of an expert fighter.

In life, too, we must train to be decisive and to create opportunities for our success. We cannot sit idly by hoping it will be handed to us. Winners make it happen.

By dedicated training in martial arts, I hope we can all develop the discipline to push past our fears and doubts and go into the world ready to create the lives we want. I hope we can learn to create the opportunities we need to grow and become the very best versions of ourselves, living lives we can look back on with pride.

See you at class. 

The Legacy of Club 545

 

It's hard to believe it's been twenty years, 20 years, since Club 545 started.

It began in 2005 almost as a dare - a semi-private Yoshinkan aikido lesson in Roppongi, two students and an instructor, starting at 5:45 AM on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The class would be taught in the old school way, the way of the intensive Senshusei course, which has produced nearly every high-ranking Yoshinkan instructor around the world. Myself and my partner, Chris, an English former London cop turned investment banker working nearby, agreed to do it. If he could, I could. If Sensei Mike could, we could.

I used to get the 5:09 train from Jiyugaoka in order to get there just on time. I'd be so sleepy I could hardly open my eyes. All I wanted was to go back to bed. Still, we did it. Some mornings were hard. Others were harder. Still, we kept going. The 0700 class would come in as we were finishing our class and bowing out. They looked at us as if we were insane. We were. During the practice, we went 100%. We never pulled our punches or toned down our techniques. The risk of injury was constant. Even injured, we trained.

After a few months, we heard that others wanted to join our madness. Enter Saori and David. Saori was a slight, frail Japanese office lady. Quiet and shy, but with fluent English. We told her plainly that we didn't think she could handle it. She nodded. We told her she would not get special treatment. She nodded.

I still remember the first class, David standing strong and resolute. His muscles rippling under his dogi. Curious smile on his face. In stark contrast, Saori standing in kamae with her little hands shaking, eyes focused in concentration.

Day after day, class after class, she kept at it. She never gave up. Just like us, she attended every class. Just like us, she trained hard every class - injured or not. Over time, her hands stopped shaking and her kamae became steady, unshakeable. Confident. Her movements automatic.

While I was in Singapore from 2008 - 2010, two important things happened: First, I passed my black belt grading in Yoshinkan aikido, tested in Kuala Lumpur by my teacher, Shihan Ramlan Ortega of Shudokan Malaysia and his teacher, the legendary founder of the Shudokan, Shuseki Shihan Joe Thambu. It was an unforgettable weekend, one of the greatest moments of my life. A waypoint on the Aikido journey I started in Chicago in 1987. The second thing that happened was meeting Guro Fred Evrard and Guro Lila Evrard, the founders of Kali Majapahit, a couple who would change the direction of my martial arts journey forever. I started training in Kali Majapahit in 2008 and have continued to this day (I'm teaching tonight, actually), opening the first overseas branch of KM in Tokyo in 2011. I have neither forgotten nor abandoned my Yoshinkan foundation, and those who observe my flow can see it deeply embedded in how I move and how I think about martial arts. Sadly, Roppongi Yoshinkan is no more. The legacy and spirit of Club 545, however, remains.

I continued on my journey. I am very happy to say Saori-sensei continued on hers. I recently heard the news that she successfully passed her grading for 5th degree black belt. It's an amazing achievement and worthy of great praise. Very few students ever reach black belt at all. Even fewer reach 4th degree black belt. 5th degree black belt is probably 1-2% of all black belts globally in Yoshinkan. There are thousands ranked between 1st degree and 3rd degree (including me). Achieving this rank and recognition requires decades of focused, intense training. She is no longer a little girl, over the years she has grown to become a warrior. A teacher and leader. A true budoka. I am very proud to have been able to witness the start of her journey and thrilled to celebrate this latest milestone. 

HUGE CONGRATULATIONS SAORI-SENSEI!!

Long live CLUB 545!!

OSU!!