FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
BOSTON (Allston), Mass., October 25, 2010
At 10:00 AM on Saturday, October 29, a team of walkers from Emerald Necklace Martial Arts, a karate dojo in Boston's Allston neighborhood, will participate in the Boston VisionWalk to benefit the Foundation Fighting Blindness.
This is the third consecutive year that Emerald Necklace Martial Arts has supported the Boston VisionWalk. The Emerald Necklace team will be lead his year by dojo member Jessica Smith, who organized her fellow students as part of her purple belt test. Under Jessica's leadership and guidance, the team has collected nearly $1,300 in donations.
"I require all of my students to demonstrate their character, compassion, leadership ability, and communication skills as part of their martial arts training," says Sensei Jason Gould, Director and Chief Instructor at Emerald Necklace. "Jessica has gone above and beyond in running a successful community service project. She has set a great example for the other members of our dojo to follow."
But to earn her purple belt, Smith had to do much more than community service. She also had to demonstrate her self-defense skills during a rigorous physical test that was held in the dojo. Read more about Smith's purple belt test here.
The dojo team will continue to collect additional donations for the Foundation Fighting Blindness throughout the week. To make a contribution, please visit the dojo's team page here.
Anyone interested in participating in the walk is welcome to meet up with and join the dojo team before the event. The team will be gathering at 95 Everett Street at 9:30 am on Saturday October 29. Directions to the dojo can be found here.
To learn more about Emerald Necklace Martial Arts and the work they do in the Greater Boston community, please visit the dojo website or contact Sensei Jason Gould at 617-202-3856.
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Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Gratitude for "My Marching Orders"
Many years ago, my parents would try to encourage me whenever I was down or facing tough times by giving me a card containing a few words of wisdom and encouragement. They tended not to give me any direct advice or face-to-face lectures (I, being stubborn, wouldn't have listened to them anyway), but somehow the written or printed word always seemed to do the trick. My parents knew exactly what they were doing.
Recently, while cleaning out some boxes in the basement to prepare for our family's move to a new home, I came across a box of decades-old letters and cards — mostly unimportant junk that was long overdue for the rubbish bin. But among the debris, I found two identical cards. Gems, really: One was from Mom, and one was from Dad. Each was given to me on separate occasions.
On the front of each the card is a print of what I now lovingly call "my marching orders." My parents, while not lecturing me in person, where telling me exactly what I needed to do:
Inside the card from Dad was a note hastily scrawled in his messy hand: "I hope this helps a little. Love, Dad". The note from Mom was also terse: "Hang 'tuff." You can do it. Love, Mom".
But between the words and lines, I realize, was the real and unwritten message that my parents wanted to convey: "We love you, We support you. We're here for you. Keep your chin up. You're bigger than the problem you're facing. So, trust, us — you'll get your ass through this."
Thanks Mom and Dad. I love you, too.
I was listening. Really. I have my marching orders. And I try to carry them out every day. And I'll be sure to tell my kids the same thing — in a way that will get through to them when it seems that I can not.
Recently, while cleaning out some boxes in the basement to prepare for our family's move to a new home, I came across a box of decades-old letters and cards — mostly unimportant junk that was long overdue for the rubbish bin. But among the debris, I found two identical cards. Gems, really: One was from Mom, and one was from Dad. Each was given to me on separate occasions.
On the front of each the card is a print of what I now lovingly call "my marching orders." My parents, while not lecturing me in person, where telling me exactly what I needed to do:
Believe in Yourself:
Dream freely
Envision excellence
Cherish your creations
Exude enthusiasm
Be inspired
Inspire others
Take pride in you
Recognize inner beauty
Draw on inner strength
Look inside your soul
Create peace
Seek truth
Spread joy
Embark on adventure
Launch new ideas
Think big
Invoke positives
Live fully
Reach out
Aim high
Find happiness
Expect the best
Be the best
Inside the card from Dad was a note hastily scrawled in his messy hand: "I hope this helps a little. Love, Dad". The note from Mom was also terse: "Hang 'tuff." You can do it. Love, Mom".
But between the words and lines, I realize, was the real and unwritten message that my parents wanted to convey: "We love you, We support you. We're here for you. Keep your chin up. You're bigger than the problem you're facing. So, trust, us — you'll get your ass through this."
Thanks Mom and Dad. I love you, too.
I was listening. Really. I have my marching orders. And I try to carry them out every day. And I'll be sure to tell my kids the same thing — in a way that will get through to them when it seems that I can not.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Ready Or Not, Here I Come
Last night — coldly, calmly — I aggressively and deliberately attacked a woman with a very, very sharp knife.
My student Jess (unbeknownst to her) was testing for sanykyu, first stage brown belt, in the dojo. And in the hours before I came at her with the knife, I'd been picking at her form in the dojo all night, and challenging her to perform other self-defense techniques under pressure when I knew she hadn't practiced them in months. I picked at her stance, her body dynamics, her breathing, and her timing. I even broke up the class and asked Jess to teach a small group on her own, and then checked in on her from time to time to "kindly" point out all of her minor flaws so that she wouldn't pass them on to the junior students she was teaching.
So by the time the knife came out, I'm pretty sure I'd already made Jess a "little bit uncomfortable." The look that appeared on her face when I opened the blade to attack her was a familiar one.
Fear.
But despite her fear, Jess held her ground and faced the challenge before her. I knew she was nervous. (Perhaps "terrified" would be a better word.) But I also knew — even if she did not — that she was ready for the attacks. (At least as ready as one could be, anyway.) For we had, over the past several months, rehearsed the defensive techniques in detail dozens and dozens of times in excruciating detail. We started off slowly with a soft rubber knife, then moved on to a wooden one, then a hard plastic one. And at each stage of the progression, I had increased the force and speed of my attacks. So the full-force live blade test was actually the last step in a very logical training process.
I cannot say that Jess performed the techniques flawlessly. I don't think that would even be possible under the circumstances. But controlling her fear, working outside of her comfort zone, and dealing with a genuinely dangerous situation? That was the biggest part of the test. (Oh, and not getting cut, either.) Overall, I'd say Jess performed her knife defenses fairly well: she even inadvertently delivered a pretty strong blow to my head and nearly broke my arm while vigorously defending herself. (Good for her. Not great for me. But sometimes, that is the way of our people.)
After the live blade portion of the test was finished, I had Jess perform a few solo kata in front of a panel of Black Belts, just for good measure. The lesson there? Whatever just happened is in the past. You survived. Now, focus on the present and move forward. (And oh, yes — deal with that nasty, debilitating, adrenaline fueled chemical cocktail that's rushing through your veins, too.)
So today I'm nursing a few bruises, and I'm happy to report that Jess passed the physical portion of her sankyu examination. It was a tough test. But beyond all of these things, I'm more proud of what Jess has done off the dojo floor for to earn her new rank. To demonstrate their leadership ability, compassion, and communication skills, I require all of my students attempting sankyu to conceive of, plan, and lead a community service project. No one gets a Brown Belt from me without showing me their character. Their humanity.
For the third year in a row, Jess is leading a team of dojo members during Boston's VisionWalk to benefit the Foundation Fighting Blindness. So far this year, Jess' efforts have raised more than $1,200, far surpassing last year's accomplishment. She's set the bar pretty high for those who will follow!
My student Jess (unbeknownst to her) was testing for sanykyu, first stage brown belt, in the dojo. And in the hours before I came at her with the knife, I'd been picking at her form in the dojo all night, and challenging her to perform other self-defense techniques under pressure when I knew she hadn't practiced them in months. I picked at her stance, her body dynamics, her breathing, and her timing. I even broke up the class and asked Jess to teach a small group on her own, and then checked in on her from time to time to "kindly" point out all of her minor flaws so that she wouldn't pass them on to the junior students she was teaching.
So by the time the knife came out, I'm pretty sure I'd already made Jess a "little bit uncomfortable." The look that appeared on her face when I opened the blade to attack her was a familiar one.
Fear.
But despite her fear, Jess held her ground and faced the challenge before her. I knew she was nervous. (Perhaps "terrified" would be a better word.) But I also knew — even if she did not — that she was ready for the attacks. (At least as ready as one could be, anyway.) For we had, over the past several months, rehearsed the defensive techniques in detail dozens and dozens of times in excruciating detail. We started off slowly with a soft rubber knife, then moved on to a wooden one, then a hard plastic one. And at each stage of the progression, I had increased the force and speed of my attacks. So the full-force live blade test was actually the last step in a very logical training process.
I cannot say that Jess performed the techniques flawlessly. I don't think that would even be possible under the circumstances. But controlling her fear, working outside of her comfort zone, and dealing with a genuinely dangerous situation? That was the biggest part of the test. (Oh, and not getting cut, either.) Overall, I'd say Jess performed her knife defenses fairly well: she even inadvertently delivered a pretty strong blow to my head and nearly broke my arm while vigorously defending herself. (Good for her. Not great for me. But sometimes, that is the way of our people.)
After the live blade portion of the test was finished, I had Jess perform a few solo kata in front of a panel of Black Belts, just for good measure. The lesson there? Whatever just happened is in the past. You survived. Now, focus on the present and move forward. (And oh, yes — deal with that nasty, debilitating, adrenaline fueled chemical cocktail that's rushing through your veins, too.)
So today I'm nursing a few bruises, and I'm happy to report that Jess passed the physical portion of her sankyu examination. It was a tough test. But beyond all of these things, I'm more proud of what Jess has done off the dojo floor for to earn her new rank. To demonstrate their leadership ability, compassion, and communication skills, I require all of my students attempting sankyu to conceive of, plan, and lead a community service project. No one gets a Brown Belt from me without showing me their character. Their humanity.
For the third year in a row, Jess is leading a team of dojo members during Boston's VisionWalk to benefit the Foundation Fighting Blindness. So far this year, Jess' efforts have raised more than $1,200, far surpassing last year's accomplishment. She's set the bar pretty high for those who will follow!
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