From the Editor – JASON KARP, PHD, MBA
MOVES
I have a friend who has a son, Billy, who was born without a right arm. When Billy was born, his mother was very worried. She knew that life would be difficult for him. She promised herself to give Billy a normal childhood. She didn’t want to hold him back because of a disability and didn’t want him to be viewed as having one.
When Billy was seven years old, he asked his mother if he could take karate lessons. At first, his mother was nervous. After all, karate can be dangerous, especially for someone missing his right arm. But she remembered the promise she made to herself when he was born, so she agreed, hoping that Billy would be okay.
The first day of karate class, Billy met his sensei, who taught him a move and had him practice it. At the end of the first class, he sent Billy home and told him to come back next week. The next week, the sensei showed Billy the same move and had Billy practice it. With the sensei’s guidance, Billy practiced the move again for many weeks. After a couple months of lessons, the sensei said to him, “Billy, you are ready for your first karate tournament.” Billy couldn’t believe his ears.
“What?” he said, startled at the idea. “How can I be ready to compete? You’ve taught me only one move, and I don’t have a right arm.”
“Don’t worry. You’re ready,” the sensei said confidently. Billy was so nervous, he didn’t tell his friends at school or even his mother. He went alone with the sensei to the karate tournament. In his first match, Billy nervously stood on the mat, facing his opponent. He didn’t know what the heck to do. He had never been in this position before. He looked over to the sensei, shrugged his shoulders, and asked, “What do I do?” The sensei looked right at him and replied, “Do the move.” So, Billy did the move, and he won the match.
For his second match, again he was nervous. He stood on the mat, facing his opponent. Again, he looked over to the sensei, shrugged his shoulders, and asked, “What do I do?” The sensei replied, “Do the move.” So, Billy did the move, and he won the match.
For his third match, again he was nervous, albeit a bit more confident than he was before. He stood on the mat, facing his opponent. Again, unsure of what to do against his stronger, more experienced opponent, he looked over to the sensei and asked, “What do I do?” The sensei replied, “Do the move.” So, Billy did the move, and he won the match.
Billy did the move, the only one he knew, a few more times, winning each of his matches, until he made it to the finals. With each round of the tournament, he gained confidence. For the final championship match against the defending champion, Billy stood on the mat, facing his opponent. This time, he looked over to the sensei, but no words were needed. Billy nodded his head. The sensei nodded his head. Billy did the move, and he won the championship match! The crowd was on its feet. Billy was ecstatic! He had never accomplished anything like this before.
During the drive home with the trophy, Billy said, “Sensei, I don’t understand. How was I able to win the karate tournament? I only know one—” The sensei stopped him before he finished the sentence.
“Billy,” he said authoritatively, “you have mastered the most difficult move in karate. There is only one defense for that move. For your opponent to defend that move, he would have to grab your right arm.”
In this issue of Track Coach, we focus on mastering the most difficult move in track and field—training. To paraphrase New York Yankees’ Hall of Fame catcher Yogi Berra when he was asked to explain jazz music, anyone who understands training knows you can’t understand it. It’s too complicated. That’s what’s so simple about it.
