So, what the heck is Chinquchi?

American Self-Defense Federation

The Okinawan term “Chinquchi” deals with the concept of proper body management. In the world of karate, that means coordinating the use of the body’s various muscle groups through the proper order and timing of muscle contraction and relaxation (dynamic tension) during the execution of any given technique. And, on top of all this, you also have to coordinate the proper timing of your breathing during the technique as well.

Or, as Sensei Harrill would simply say, execute your techniques with proper focus.

This is one of the key focuses in Isshin-ryu Karate’s version of Sanchin Kata. In Isshin-ryu Karate, Sanchin Kata is performed slowly for a long time. The karateka first focuses on proper posture and structure. Then second, on which muscles are doing what and in what order while executing the techniques during the performance of Sanchin Kata (or, any technique). And finally, how the breathing times to…

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Iron Will Is Required

Leading an adventurous life

Life takes some interesting turns now and again, doesn’t it?

I have done some adventurous things during my sixty-two years of life – backpacking in the Rockies, canoeing in the Canadian wilderness, New Year’s Eve campouts on top of the tallest mountain in Massachusetts, patrolling in the DMZ between North and South Korea, swimming in the Panama Canal, graduating from the US Army Jungle Warfare School, building transmission powerlines in seven states, repelling, practicing and teaching martial arts, etc. I have come way to damn close to dying on more than one occasion, but I have to say I have no regrets. To me, a life without adventure and a little risk is no life. I have always liked a good challenge and hope to take on several more in the years I have left. For instance, I have often thought about how cool it would be to compete in something like the Eco Challenge, or maybe the Iditarod. I mean, how awesome would that be?

The Iditarod

I remember seeing the movie, Iron Will, in the late 90s. Iron Will is a fictionalized account of a 1917 dogsled race sponsored by the Great Northern Railway, and the forerunner to what is now the Iditarod. The movie’s hero, Will Stoneman, is a character based on two real-life participants in the 1917 race. In the story, Will Stoneman’s father dies, and he is left alone to take care of his mother and their land. Needing money to manage things, he decides to enter a cross country dogsled race in hopes of winning the prize. This race is a test of determination, strength, and endurance – requiring several days of racing for long hours, through extremely harsh Alaskan weather and terrain. Will Stoneman will need a lot more than courage and a good dog team to even finish this race; he will need an Iron Will.

The first actual Iditarod was run in 1973. The idea originated with historian Dorothy Page and the race was brought to reality by Joe Redington Sr. and other volunteers – including the US Army. Redington wanted to save both the sled dog culture and Alaskan huskies (a non-AKC breed), that were quickly being replaced by the invention of snowmobiles, as well as preserve the historic Iditarod Trail between Seward and Nome. In addition, he wanted to highlight a historical event that took place in 1925, when a life saving diphtheria serum was delivered via a relay of 20 different mushers and their dog teams from Nenana to Nome, almost 700 miles, in just over 6 days. This heroic effort exemplified the spirit and determination of those who continue to race today, as well as the grit and determination of the Alaskan husky and their mushers. These same traits are carried into the future by the courageous dogsled teams racing in the Iditarod today. Clearly, the Alaskan husky is truly an amazing breed of dog. Oh, and the mushers must be pretty tough as well.

Colleagues and Coincidence

Yesterday, I was talking to a colleague of mine from the University of Tennessee. Ben Jones has an interesting hobby. He designs and builds top quality watches. Because we occasionally have some interesting conversations, I have known about this hobby for a while. But today, Ben mentioned that he was shipping a watch he’d made to Alaska. He had built it for his cousin who needed a specialized watch because she is competing in the 2023 Iditarod. I said …. “Wait a minute … What?”

And, it was a very cool watch!

Jennifer LaBar and Rocking Ridge Kennel

Iditarod 2023 will be Jennifer LaBar’s first 1,000 mile race. And that is a big deal! Beginning in 2011, Jennifer “dreamed of racing 1,000 miles across Alaska” and set several goals for herself after she got her first sled dogs in 2014. Her goal was to do this by the time she turned 40 (Jennifer will turn 41 a couple of weeks after the 2023 Iditarod). She also wanted to run the race with dogs she’d raised herself. I understand that completely. Nothing beats that bond between loyal dogs and their owners. Most of Jennifer’s dog team were born at her house. A few were given to her as pups from other mushers. And her team of dogs have competed in several shorter dogsled races in preperation for the 2023 Iditarod.

Her husband, Andrew LaBar supports her in this goal one-hundred percent, and through their kennel, they also offer others seeking adventure the chance to experience a genuine dog sledding trip.

Alaska is on my bucket list, and when I get there, I may have to check this out. I really think I would enjoy a dogsled adventure.

Perhaps Ben will hook me up, and I can do a follow up post on Jennifer LaBar and her dogs. And just maybe, I can swing a post about his watch making. I was really impressed with the Iditarod watch! Time will tell …

In the meantime …

Rocking Ridge Kennel & Outer Range Dogsled Tours

Check them out! Visit and explore their website.

And if you want to sponor a very cool team in a very cool race, you can. I’m going to … simply because this is so freaking awesome!

A Very Martial Christmas …

American Self-Defense Federation

Christmas Day, I drove up to Arden, North Carolina, to have dinner with my dad at Ardenwood, a very nice retirement community where he lives. Ardenwood sits on mountain ridge overlooking the surrounding Appalachian Mountains. It is an incredible view, and they’d hired a new head chef and the food is pretty darn good. I was looking forward to the visit. We visited in dad’s apartment for about two hours, and then headed to the dining facility for dinner.

There were seven of us at the table, all friends of dad. Besides dad and myself, there were Gabby, Elaine, John, John’s son (also John), and his wife, Alita. Gabby was from Switzerland, Elaine had a PH.D in Organic Chemisty, John Sr. was a retired Army colonel, and John Jr. was a retired Marine Corps major. I am not sure what his wife, Alita, did. It was a very interesting group…

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Sensei Louie Grinnell inducted into The Isshin-ryu Hall of Fame

American Self-Defense Federation

Sensei Louie Grinnell

Previous Isshin-ryu Hall of Fame Visit

Last night after work, I drove up to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, for the 2022 Isshin-ryu Hall of Fame banquet. I’ve been to this event three or four times in my life. The last time I went to the Hall of Fame Banquet and Tournament was several years ago, in the late 90s, if my memory serves me correctly, when Sensei Sherman Harrill presented at the Friday evening pre-banquet seminar. My brother, Dan, a very accomplished aikido instructor, drove down from Gastonia, NC, and attended with me. We had a great time and even got to sit at a table and drink a couple of beers with Sensei Harrill and Sensei Harold Mitchum. Sensei Eddie Satterfield was there as well. So, it had been a while, but I attended last night’s banquet for a very particular reason.

Sensei Louie Grinnell

I first met…

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Author Story: D.C. Gilbert

1106Design posted a nice little article about yours truly on their Indie-publishing news, education, and resources blog. 1106Design created the newest cover for my first book, Serpents Underfoot. And I think it was a fantastic cover. Check out the article.

D.C. Gilbert’s Author Story

D.C. Gilbert is an Army veteran and the successful author of the high-octane JD Cordell action-adventure series. After his dreams of becoming an Army Ranger were crushed by the Army’s discovery of his speech impediment, Gilbert served in the infantry. When his enlistment period was up, he decided to leave the military, and that’s when JD Cordell was born.

The adventures Gilbert imagined he might have had if allowed into Special Ops became JD’s adventures. Gilbert’s thirty-eight years of martial arts training and four years of military experience served as the bedrock upon which he built his series, and his extensive research only furthered the realism of his novels. D.C. Gilbert is just one shining example of how author experience and research can pay dividends when it comes to the success of a novel. But there’s much more to Gilbert’s success than that…

Read the full article here to read about D.C. Gilbert’s publishing journey and author insights.

Bad Daddy’s Burger Bar

Yep. I love Bad Daddy’s Burger Bar! I get the Badass Burger, and skip the fries … which is kind of a shame because the fries are awesome too!

Atelier Whootique

I had to steal the photo of the location from Google Maps because honestly, I didn’t even think to take a picture of the place while I was there. But afterward, it really hit me just how good the burgers were. I have been CRAVING a badass burger so much since we got home. They don’t have any locations near me otherwise I would totally go again soon.

There’s such an epic menu. I didn’t even try anything too heavy when we went for the first lunch. I got stuffed just on the Philly and the housemade chips! My SO had a salad and it was fantastic. I snuck a bite…

You can get pimento cheese as a dipper along with your homemade potato chips. I think you can get dipping sauce along with your fries and tater tots. Both of which really looked and smelt amazing too. I just…

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A Well-Balanced Seminar

American Self-Defense Federation

What a great seminar last weekend. The seminar was planned by Senseis Steve Gower, Chris Moulinier, and Bob Noel, and was held at Balance Martial Arts in Morrisville, North Carolina, which was a great location. I actually lived about two miles from there for about three years, and never stopped by. That was my loss!

We had eight instructors covering nine different martial arts. Attendees included both children and adults, and I must admit I was flabbergasted by the wonderful behavior, attentiveness, and serious practice of all of the younger attendees. What a great bunch of folks. Everyone trained hard, asked thoughtful questions, and I think, came away a better martial artist.

Saturday’s Line-up

Chito-ryu Karate

Sensei Manuel Byers demonstrates bunkai from a Chito-ryu Karate kata.

Sensei Manuel Byers opened the seminar with a great session on Chito-ryu Karate by teaching one of their basic katas. Chito-ryu is a style of karate founded in 1946 by Dr. Tsuyoshi Chitose. Sensei…

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No More Chances …

This is not a typical post for me, but the recent death of a fellow karate instructor has been on my mind for a few weeks now, and I guess this is my way of dealing with it. I hope my readers will understand.

Suicide is an issue I have become much more attuned to over the last few years, especially since joining Veterans Referring Veterans and learning of the many private organizations that work to help prevent veteran suicides. The good news is that veteran suicide rates dropped from 22 per day in 2017 to 17 per day in 2021. Unfortunately, however, that is still far too many.

Of course, it is not just an issue for veterans.

We all know suicide is not an issue that exclusively affects veterans. And, anyone can reach a point in their lives where they are so desperate, so full of despair or pain, that suicide seems the only way out. And from my experience, it looks like the people who should know something is wrong, who might be in a position to reach out and help, are often shocked when someone they know commits suicide. Too often, you hear comments like, “I had no idea there was something so wrong,” or “Why didn’t he talk to me?” or “She seemed so … uh … normal.”

I am not sure why this is. Are these people just too busy to notice or did not care? I don’t think so. I know some of those people, and they do care … often they are teachers, close friends, or family members. It is more likely that people in that much pain get really good at hiding it … so they will “be left alone.” Of course, this “being alone” increases their isolation, pain, and despair.

Speaking from personal experience …

I have been affected by the suicide of someone I knew twice in my life. The second time was just a few weeks ago, so this has recently been cycling through my brain.

The first time was many years ago – in the mid-90s. Caleb was a high school student who joined my karate dojo, and he was a great kid. Several of his friends were already students of mine, and he seemed to really enjoy karate and clearly got along fine with his friends in the class. In addition, he was a personable young man, good-looking, a good student, and played in the high school marching band.

Then one day, his classmates came into the dojo and told me Caleb had just killed himself the previous day. They were in shock … and they had no idea …

I was shocked. Caleb had seemed fine, and maybe I could have done something … I am a karate sensei, for Pete’s sake! But the truth is, if you don’t know, there is nothing you can do. His parents stopped by the dojo to tell me they appreciated all I did for Caleb. It was incredibly kind of them under the circumstance, and all I could think was that … clearly … I did not do enough.

A fellow karate instructor located in Chicago took his own life more recently. I first heard that Patrick died when another instructor in Michigan posted the funeral arrangements in his dojo Facebook group. I had traveled to Chicago several times to attend karate seminars Patrick hosted. And while we were not close friends, I had talked to him on several occasions, sat in on one of his promotion tests, and had read a novel he’d written a few years ago. He always seemed friendly, he was an excellent karate instructor, and I think he was a teacher in one of the Chicago school systems, or at least was at one time.

When I read about the funeral arrangements, I contacted a mutual friend that following Saturday and asked him what had happened. Was Patrick sick? He was a good bit younger than me. Was it cancer? I was then told Patrick had taken his own life the previous Thursday.

I remember saying something like, “Oh no! Why? That is so sad.”

John’s reply was, “Yes, it is. I had no idea anything was wrong. And right now, I am more angry than sad. He should have talked to me.”

On a more personal note

I am about to share a personal story. And, it is not about me looking for anything. But, I just feel that if someone reads it, and it helps anyone, anytime, anywhere – or the reader takes away something positive from it, that is a good thing.

I grew up a stutterer. And, in my younger years, it was a much, much worse problem than it is for me now. During elementary and middle school, I pretty much hated myself. I mean, stuttering is kind of an invisible handicap, right? You look normal enough, all the way up until someone asks you your name – then the fun begins. The laughing, the questions … “Don’t you even know your own name?” Then there were all the fights! And if you need more proof you are not as good as everyone else … now you have to go to speech therapy!

This started to change for me as a junior in high school. That change was started by my best friend at the time, Chris Lemoine. Chris was a popular guy; he was fun to be around and well-liked by everyone; he had a Camaro and a great girlfriend! We became good friends as sophomores, and that friendship continued a little past graduation. Eventually, we went separate ways. Life sometimes does that.

We were headed somewhere in his Camaro one day, and he said something to me that blew me away. I don’t know what prompted the comment. Chris just turned to me and said something like, “Darren, I want you to know something. The fact that you stutter doesn’t matter one bit to me; you are one of the coolest guys I know. I am glad you are my friend.” That one statement began to work a change in me and has stuck with me my whole life.

Sometimes it just takes one statement …

Before this, one point in my life was very, very low. I must have been about fourteen or fifteen years old. Something had happened, but I really can’t remember what it was. Maybe my girlfriend broke up with me, I had a terrible stuttering situation that day in school, or perhaps I had an upcoming oral presentation. I hated those … and would break out into a cold sweat even at the thought of one. Or, maybe I just couldn’t borrow the car to go to the Rush concert. It doesn’t matter, really. It was probably a culmination of several things.

But my dad had noticed. I was up in my room with the door shut, hating life when he knocked and came in. He asked me what was wrong. I am sure it took a while to pry it out of me, but he did, and eventually, I said something along the lines of, “I hate my life, and I wish I had never been born. I just want it to end.” As an adult, I look back on that and understand that it was quite a hurtful thing to say to your dad. But I guess he understood. I do have an amazing dad.

I remember him saying something to me about how some people say suicide is the “coward’s way out,” but he did not believe that. He said it had to take a lot of guts and determination to actually go through with killing yourself. But then he said, “the real problem is that once you are dead, there are no more chances; no more opportunities to make things better, fix what was wrong, and make things right.” And that is another statement that has stuck with me my whole life.

So, if things are terrible for you, and you can see no way out, and you are thinking of ending it all, Please remember 1) that someone out there probably thinks you are pretty cool, and 2), once you take your life, there are no more chances to try again or make it right. And please, find someone to talk to!

On a lighter note, maybe growing up a stutterer is why I like to write so much. It just comes much easier to me!

Reciprocity: First look …

Prologue

Damn, it’s hot!

Taylor wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, then glanced across the make-shift ring at his opponent. The man was huge, definitely not Filipino.

Must be Samoan, Taylor thought. He’d seen a few Samoans during his time in the special forces and respected them. Solid operators.

Taylor stood just a bit under six feet in his socks and weighed in at a solid one-hundred-and-ninety-five pounds. His opponent was about four inches taller and a good bit heavier. He could also hit. The big man had trained, probably Muay Thai. While the Samoan’s technique was a bit sloppy, he moved like a Thai boxer; and his elbows and knees were wicked. It had been a punishing knee to Taylor’s ribs that had prompted the end of the first round.

These unsanctioned fights typically went for three rounds. However, there was no timer or bell, nor were there anything you could really call rules. If a fighter got injured, the center referee would pause the fight long enough to ensure the fighter could continue. That pause effectively ended the round. While a few fights Taylor had fought in had gone two rounds, he’d yet to see one make it to three. They were too brutal for that. Tonight was Taylor’s twelfth such fight.

A few weeks back, broke and badly in need of a drink, he’d stumbled into a bar that happened to be playing host to a local “fight night.” After watching the first two amateurs go at it, Taylor, unimpressed, started to leave. But then he saw the winner handed five thousand Philippine pesos, roughly the equivalent of one hundred and fifty dollars, so when the promoter called for two more volunteers, Taylor made his way out onto the dance floor.

The fight was short despite, or maybe because of, Taylor’s dire need for a drink. His training saw to that. Collecting his winnings, he’d headed straight to the bar and, after a few shots, felt steady enough to venture down the street to the liquor store where he picked up a bottle of his self-prescribed medication. From there, he’d stumbled back to his apartment.

Since that night, Taylor had participated in eleven more human cockfights. He’d lost the next two simply because he was too drunk even to stand, never mind defend himself. However, the instinct for self-preservation combined with the need for cash and Taylor modified his drinking habits enough to fit his fight schedule. Then he began to win, quickly becoming a favorite with several locals who started betting on him instead of the local Filipino fighters. As his winnings grew bigger, those betting on him began to win a great deal of money. His fans were happy. However, some of the local gangs began to take notice. They also had their favorite fighters, and they were not very pleased about constantly losing to this American drunkard.

This fighter, tonight, was the toughest Taylor had faced so far. Although they were pretty matched size-wise, this man was tough as nails and knew how to fight. That last knee to his ribs had hurt.

Lucky I don’t have a few broken ribs, Taylor thought.

He took a swallow from the beer he’d left sitting on a stack of crates when called up for his fight. The venue for tonight’s fight was an old warehouse along the Pasig River in the Tondo district of Manila. Tondo is the largest district in Manila in terms of area and population; it was also the district with the highest crime rate in the Philippines. Taylor figured there had to be at least one murder per week. Fortunately, most of these killings were drug-related and did not involve foreigners or tourists. However, he also knew some extremely dangerous men and women lived there.

While not precisely Madison Square Garden, someone had set up the rundown warehouse with chairs and tables circling a marked-off fight ring. A make-shift bar sat along one side of the building and seemed well-stocked.

A pungent combination of cigar, cigarette, and marihuana smoke filled the air, and the alcohol flowed freely. A sizable crowd of people had shown up for tonight’s event. Taylor had begun to notice that the clientele attending his fights had improved as he continued to win. More affluent spectators were now in the crowd; some appeared to be successful business people, and a few Taylor recognized as leaders of some of the more prominent local gangs. He saw fewer and fewer of the societal dregs who’d frequented his earlier fights in local dives. The fact that more women were now in attendance did not escape Taylor’s eye either. They were typically attractive women, often on the arms of well-dressed men. But then there were also a few women who seemed to be on their own. Two had caught his eye, especially since both had been present at his last two fights. They looked to be twin sisters, and both were stunningly beautiful.

The referee called. Wiping his forehead again and taking one last slug from his beer, Taylor made his way back into the center of the ring.

Time to end this before I screw around and get hurt.

The Samoan, confident he’d hurt Taylor badly with that last blow to the ribs, came on strong, pressing his advantage. First, he fired a hard cutting kick at Taylor’s right leg, which Taylor narrowly avoided; he immediately followed with a left jab, then a hard right elbow strike toward the temple. Taylor slipped the jab and raised his left forearm to deflect the elbow. It was what the Samoan fighter was waiting for, and he launched a brutal shin kick at Taylor’s bruised ribs.

Taylor shifted slightly to his right as his left arm dropped suddenly, hooking around his opponent’s kicking leg and trapping it against his left side. Ignoring the screaming pain from his badly bruised ribs, Taylor shifted back to the left and slightly forward, taking his opponent off balance. Grabbing the fighter’s windpipe in a vise-like grip, his right leg swept the Samoan’ ‘s left leg out from under him, driving his opponent to the floor. The big man hit hard. Taylor followed him down while maintaining control of his opponent’s right leg. He dropped his right knee into the man’s groin, and a loud groan escaped from the Samoan’s clenched teeth. Pressing the man’s leg toward his chest with his left shoulder, Taylor reached down with his left and grabbed a handful of hair. Jerking the man’s head around, he slammed his fist into the right side of the man’s massive jaw, which must have been chiseled from granite because it did not shatter. However, the Samoan still collapsed back onto the floor. He was out cold; the fight over.

Taylor released his grip on his opponent’s hair and stood up. Then, swaying just a bit, he paused, looking down at the unmoving form. Abruptly, Taylor turned and walked over to the stack of crates to finish his beer.

Okay, time to collect my money and get the hell out of here.

Sensing a presence behind him, he turned. A woman stood there looking up at him. It was one of the twins he’d spotted earlier. She was even more breathtaking up close. The woman smiled.

“That was a great fight. You are an excellent fighter.” She paused, her eyes boldly roving over his six-foot frame. “I have made good money from your last two fights.”

Taylor nodded. “Glad to hear that, ma’am. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get cleaned up and collect my winnings. It was nice talking to you, ma’am.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait.”

Taylor paused and looked back.

“There is a shower here at the warehouse you can use if you like. And, I can make sure your money is safe until you are ready to leave.”

Taylor frowned, then chuckled. “Why would I do that,” he paused, “… trust you to keep my money safe?”

“I like you, and let’s just say I want to … uh … buy you a drink. After that, who knows.” She smiled again, then shrugged, leaving the possibilities hanging.

Taylor’s mind began to consider those possibilities.

I could use a drink, he thought.

And this lady was damn pretty, even if she did only come up to his chest. “You don’t think the owner of the warehouse would object to me using the shower?”

Again, the woman smiled. “I can guarantee it. I, well, technically, my sister and I own the warehouse. So, Taylor? What do you say? Can I call you Taylor? Or, would you prefer I call you something else?”

“Sure, Taylor will do. And what should I call you?”

“My name is Blessica, Blessica Baguinda.”

Taylor knew the name. Everyone in the Tondo district, and probably throughout the entire city of Manila, knew the name. Blessica and her sister, Mahalia, ran the Dalawang Mga Ate Na Mafia, or Two Sister’s Mafia.

Blessica saw the look on his face. “I see you have heard of me.”

Taylor nodded. “I have. You and your sister are, uh,” he paused, “shall we say, well-known in some circles.”

“Does it matter?”

Taylor thought about that, then shook his head. After all, he was not exactly a model citizen himself. “I guess not.”

Blessica smiled widely. “Great. Let me show you to the shower.”

More to follow …

Jealousy is mental cancer

This intelligent 16-year-old young lady has a post here that a lot of Americans should read and then real spend some time thinking about.

Jealousy. I have touched on this topic before but feel an unsettling urge to dwell on it a little deeper. Recently, I have been jealous of someone at school, for reasons we can talk about later, but the point is: it turned me into a green-eyed monster!

I despise this feeling. Every bit of it. But I can’t help but envy her. As I analyze this emotion, there is one thing that becomes clear…

We live in the age of envy. Human beings have always felt what Aristotle defined in the fourth century BC as pain at the sight of another’s good fortune, stirred by “those who have what we ought to have”. It is true, I feel innately uncomfortable about this girl’s great accomplishments even though I don’t want to feel this way one bit.

However, I recently came across the Growth Mindset. When we have a…

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