NRG

 

(Thanks for the inspiration KMJ)

Martial arts is a bit like the story of Goldilocks - trying not to be too hot; nor too cold; getting it JUST RIGHT. What do I mean? The secret is not to use too much or too little of anything: not too much strength. Not too much speed. Not too much push or pull. Just enough. That is what experience teaches us. Efficient movement in martial arts comes down to not using any more energy than is necessary for the result. In the end, it's about ENERGY.

Ergonomics tells me that if I push or pull too far, I go beyond my range of strength and control and lose my balance. The closer I stay to my body (centerline/hips) the stronger and more balanced I am. The further away I go, the weaker and more unbalanced I become. As an example, during the deadlift, which is the heaviest motion in powerlifting, a key criteria is to left the bar as close to the shins as possible, so it travels up almost in contact with the legs as I drive to straighten my legs and insert my hips. If the bar travels even a few inches away from my legs the lift puts unacceptable strain on the lower back and becomes impossible/dangerous.

So too in martial arts. I emphasize using the largest muscle groups (back and hips) to generate power rather than just arms arms and chest. Striking power, therefore, is derived from legs/hips/back and delivered via the arms through spinal rotation and extension. This movement chain is consistent in all sports as well from hitting a baseball or cricket ball, hitting a golf ball or hockey puck, throwing a football, kicking a soccer ball (hip rotation and leg extension via the knees). Overextending any of these motions can lead to serious injury, most often in vulnerable joints like the knees and elbows. Proper posture and structural alignment of the head/neck/spine is essential.

In fighting, the goal for the opponent is exactly the opposite. I want to disrupt the posture and structure, especially of the head/neck/spine in order to neutralize their strength and put strain on muscle movement. I want to deny use of the legs/hips/back and force my attacker to rely on weaker muscle groups used in weaker/unfamiliar angles. I want to extend their arms and legs and isolate them from the centerline and powerbox (the four points in front of the shoulders and hips) to take away strength and create imbalance. In essence, apply myself from maximal strength/balance against their forced weakness/instability.

Whenever I contact my opponent I give them energy. Pushing and pulling in particular allow my opponent to use that energy in contrary motion against me. By pushing, I give them pulling energy. By pushing, I give them pulling energy. A wise opponent can use this energy against me, so I am always careful how much I give. I want to deliver enough to achieve the result (imbalance) without giving so much that the same is done to me. Knowing how much to give is about being very clear on what result I want to achieve and acting accordingly. Not doing so would be akin to trying to bake a cake without knowing what temperature and time to set the oven. The result would very likely be burned or underdone.

As I explained this, it became apparent that I was not just referring to physical energy but to emotional energy as well. At home or at work, I can give positive and negative energy. I can give too much sometimes, which can lead to me becoming emotionally imbalanced and upset or volatile. This can have an effect on those around me. Of course they are not "opponents" (at least I should hope not), but nonetheless they are able to feel and respond to the energy I give. When I give too much by overreacting, it can disrupt the harmony of the environment and over time this can erode trust and stability. Wisdom and maturity are knowing how much to give (being engaged and present) without allowing myself to lose my center. This is a core precept of good Zen practice - being fully present and experiencing the Now without being controlled by it.

Stay centered, Stay efficient. Think about the energy you give and get.

See you at class.     

Trust the Process

 

Everything happens for a reason. For the past few years, when I travel I try to get a cooking class in wherever I go. It's been a great way to learn about local cultures and cuisines as well as sharpen my skills. I have also met a lot of fellow foodies and still keep in touch with many of the chefs who have taught me. I honor their knowledge when I make the dishes I learned from them.

With a weekend free in London, I chose to go for a class at Bread Ahead in Borough Market. Chef Alessandro taught us about making brioche. I discovered he was teaching me about so much more. We learned a kneading technique for developing gluten in brioche. It's a dough enriched with eggs and butter, and initially is very sticky. Often, I would be tempted to add flour to alleviate the stickiness. Chef was very clear - no more flour. He explained "that would be good for you, but it would not be good for the dough". He meant that dough operates on specific ratios of flour, sugar, salt, yeast, water... If you change one ingredient (adding more flour), you change the ratios. It is no longer the same dough.

He was talking about two things:

Psychological Safety - I was so concerned about my bread being perfect that I did not allow for anything to go wrong. I was afraid this would mean I was not a good baker or that my skills were lacking. I didn't have the confidence or trust in myself to just do what I knew how to do. The logic of the ratios was clear and I knew it, but I did not trust myself to handle a stickier dough. Instead, I kept trying to solve a problem that wasn't there. The problem wasn't the dough, it was me.

Trust The Process - Not only did I not trust myself, I did not trust the process. The recipe was good; developed after a lot of trial and error by experienced bakers. It works. If you do not try to shortcut or cut corners. If you just trust the process and follow the instructions you get the result. Chef's method was counterintuitive: we worked the dough for several minutes by hand - directly on the wood surface. I would NEVER have put a sticky dough on a wood board, nor trusted myself that working it would eventually result in a beautiful dough that was not at all sticky. Sheepishly, I trusted the process and did as Chef instructed, stretching the dough and using my scraper to bring it back. A few minutes later, the result was a beautiful dough which became a beautiful loaf - the best brioche I have ever made.

It was a great day. A day that was meant to be. A day that gave me some lessons I had forgotten, that I will use both inside and outside of the kitchen.

Trust yourself.

Trust the process.


See you at class.