JudoNotes

This past week I took three classes at the new dojo, and they were great fun.

The brand-new mats are firmer, grippier, and springier than our old ones. Jumping on them is like running in well-cushioned running shoes; they add energy to your bounce.

Because of the extra firmness, my hands smarted from hitting the mat during rollouts, though not from randori. I probably just need to work on my rollouts.

I think the padded wall was a good investment. Not that we should be any less vigilant about people playing close to the edges, but it's nice to have a little insurance in case somebody does hit the wall.

I cheated during one randori and bounced off the wall to avoid falling, like a boxer bouncing off the ropes to avoid getting trapped. I got thrown a few seconds later anyway.

The plumbing improvements are appreciated. The showers feel luxurious — nicer, as someone commented, than some of us have at home. And it's convenient having our own restrooms instead of having to walk up to that shared one at Leonard St.

The place looks great. The bamboo floors are beautiful, and Sensei's sketches along the exposed brick add a unique charm. Along with all the shiny new stuff, it's nice having familiar artifacts from the old place, like Jeff's beloved scale and that hunk of wood we sit on to tie our shoes.

Most importantly — more important than the functional conveniences and the aesthetic touches — there was a great energy from the people there. Plenty of smiles, and plenty of enthusiastic judo. We were simply being our usual happy, judo-loving selves, perhaps a little more so. When one white belt got in a hard-won throw against a higher-ranking opponent, she got a round of applause.

Jeff has a joke about the three biggest lies you'll be told by your opponent:

• "Let's go easy; I'm coming back from an injury."
• "Let's go easy; I'm out of shape."
• And I forget the third, but I'm sure Jeff will remind me when he gets back from the Worlds.

Basically they're all reasons why you should go easy on him or her, while he or she proceeds to try to clobber you.

As I return from a conference in San Francisco, which was preceded by two weeks without judo while we moved the dojo, I'm running through my list of excuses. Sitting all week in an uncomfortable chair, hunched awkardly over my laptop, has been murder on my neck, shoulders, and knees… Having to use my laptop keyboard instead of the ergonomic one at home as been murder on my wrists, which means morote-seoinage will be difficult for a while… I meant to work on my wind by walking the steep streets of San Francisco, but never had time…

Somehow I doubt I'll get much sympathy for these excuses. But I thought of another excuse that I'm sure my randori partners will be happy to believe, and even help me with when we do newaza.

See, one reason I may play tentatively for a while is that no one has tried to choke me in three weeks. I have a theory that struggling against chokes makes my neck stronger and therefore makes me more confident about breakfalls. When my neck is weak I have to try harder to keep my head from flopping into the mat when I land. (Yeah, I'm that physically wimpy.) And anything that undermines my confidence in my breakfall makes me play tentatively and defensively.

So to my friends at Oishi: when I see you on the mat this week, please choke me. Strange as it may seem, you'd be helping me with my randori.

(By the way, I'm writing this at SFO. When I entered the airport, I saw the Sankaku sign above, and it got me thinking about chokes.)

Geido is the sushi restaurant that catered the dojo-warming party. I've never been there, but judging by the food and energy they brought to the party, and Sensei's longtime fondness for the place, it must be terrific.

There's a nicely written review, with photos, at a blog called "All You Can Eat NYC." The review gave me a sense of why Geido has a following, and not just customers. In this respect it reminded me of our dojo. The reviewer writes:

Most Asian restaurants are either very austere or intentionally over-the-top energetic. Geido is the first I’ve found that recalls the loud, laid-back Jewish delis of my youth. People come here to gab and eat and catch up with their neighbors.

[…]

I remember a few seconds leaning back against the wall, wishing I hadn’t eaten that last bite, taking it all in — the day was done and all of us were absolutely in the right place.

Geido
331 Flatbush Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11217-2813
(718) 638-8866

Directions:
B, Q at Seventh Ave.
2, 3 at Bergen St.
(map)

When I was writing the post on Sensei Williams, I wanted to get my facts right, so I asked a couple of people what rank he held. This morning Steve Friedman replied, and what he said was so beautiful I asked his permission to quote him:

As far as I know Sensei Williams is one of those grounded individuals (like Larry Yakata and Parnel Legros) who do not make rank into an icon. He achieved the rank of nidan many years ago and that was enough for him.

We are truly blessed to have Sensei Oishi at the helm who in turn attracts such gifted teachers like Sensei Williams and Sensei Pernambuco. Mr. Oishi is the kind of Sensei who is always teaching in each moment, with every interaction, and always with a smile.

I have nothing to add.

Here comes something you don't see often on judo blogs: an interspecies analogy.

When I saw this article about Lance Lameyse and Sandro's role in resurrecting his career, I was reminded of Seabiscuit. That's right, the horse. The one they made a movie about, with Spider-Man as his jockey.

Like Lameyse, Seabiscuit was a great athlete who almost drifted into obscurity but was rescued by men who sensed his raw talent: owner Charles Howard, trainer Tom Smith, and jockey Red Pollard. These men saw that to bring out the horse's full potential they not only had to train his body; they had to work on his mind.

Like the Seabiscuit story, the Lameyse story has a class angle. The racing establishment looked down on Seabiscuit, who looked distinctly unaristocratic and whose owner didn't come from old money. Likewise, Lameyse is no stranger to scorn; he was a "Graton Boy," from the wrong side of the tracks.

Of course, there are differences. In Lameyse's case there were two men, not three. And whereas Lameyse has fought in the 100 kg and open divisions, Seabiscuit was small — so small he looked more like a cow pony than a champion racehorse. Furthermore, he was old to be competing, he was lazy, he liked to sleep all day, and if they didn't watch his diet he'd gladly eat all day as well. Frankly, he sounds more like me than Lameyse.

Despite the differences, I stand by my analogy. It even gets a little support from Sandro himself. He tells me that like Seabiscuit, Lameyse is incredibly strong and could be incredibly stubborn.

By the way, to really appreciate Seabiscuit, I don't recommend the movie. I recommend the excellent book by Laura Hillenbrand.

I came across this discussion over at bullshido.net: Falling: Judo vs. Wrestling. The thread was started by Tom Kagan, a fellow I've met at the dojo a few times but haven't seen in a while.

Questions are raised about how wrestlers fall as compared to judo players, about why both thrower and throwee are told to hold on to each other's gis, and about whether it really matters if you slap the mat.

Somebody who goes by "AFS" says:

There is a study where they measured Uke's impact on the ground when being thrown. They did that ( german sports science study if I remember correctly ) to investigate if it is the arm which absorbs most of the impact . The conclusion was that the impact is absorbed by the body's core with body tension being the most important factor.

This result was quite an eye-opener – cause when you learn your ukemi a lot of coaches teach the importance of that arm " 45 degrees to the body, a loud noise equalling a good breakfall"

Although I'm not familiar with the study, and I'm no expert in sports physiology, it makes sense to me that tensing your core in a slightly scrunched position, stabilizing the neck and spine, would be the most important factor in absorbing the total shock of the fall. Imagine falling the completely opposite way, with a loose upper body and the back slightly arched. Your head and tailbone would hit the floor first, and your spine could be whipped in a random direction. Tensing the torso also prepares you for the possibility of tori landing on you upon completing the throw.

That said, I feel like slapping the mat protects one particular point of impact, and that is the shoulder. I think it could cause some pain or injury to land hard on the corner of my shoulder or even flat on my scapula. Slapping the mat gives me some protection from that, even if the main brunt of the fall is absorbed by the rest of my body.

At one point in the discussion, Tom mentions he consulted Oishi Sensei on the subject, which makes sense, since Sensei was a national champion in both judo and wrestling. Tom passes along the answers he got. I thought these two were the most interesting:

• Traditional Judo Tatame is not very forgiving. Falling safely was historically more significant.
• Wrestling is an art historically meant for the young practitioner. Judo was meant to be practiced into old age when knowing how to fall properly becomes very important.

What do you think?