Disability in Martial Arts – My story, part 1 – The Fighting Stance

In 1991, I began my journey in the world of self-defense training in Tiverton Rhode Island on a sunny day in mid-march. My Dad had taken me to my first and only Tee-ball game to play in. On the way home we passed by a dojo that had a sign of the Ninja Turtles and I asked my Dad, “Can I do that?, I want to do that!”

I ended up meeting the Sensei who would change nearly everything about my life and (little did I know it yet) he would start me on the journey where I would find my purpose of life. As required I watched a class and was awe-struck with the way the class ran, the punching, the kick, running to hit the heavy bag and the belts. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Sensei was a powerful figure in the dojo and he would be able to help me.

I have cerebral Palsy. I am disabled. On paper, I should not be a part of this world. I should not have advanced beyond a few classes, never mind having a school nor having a black belt. However, I have defied the odds and pushed up against everything to get to where I am.

These stories are not meant to brag but show that it can be done. Martial Arts is a beautiful gift to my life and my hope is that in these articles for martial journal is that you see how martial arts saved this disabled boy and can help everyone reach their potential.

“The Fighting Stance”

 

There is a classic story that every parent has shared with their children, “If you put the hard work in, you will be handsomely rewarded.”  Hard work has a very different meaning when you are disabled, especially in an early 90’s dojo. With Cerebral Palsy, I have severe nerve damage that causes one side of my body to not know what the other one is doing. It can be managed but you need to work at it. In this case, I needed a mirror.

I advanced in rank and I began learning how to spar. My very first match was with a younger kid. We were in the ring and i had all my gear on for one of the first times. I had watched sparring matches before, I was nervous and excited. I held my left fist up in a 2-knuckle position and the kid ran into it 5 times. 5 to 0 I won! I remember looking at my Mom smiling and thinking that this is so easy! I went back to the side of the ring and awaited my next match. I was ready, no nerves at this point! My time had come, I walked back in with a sense of cockiness. My opponent was a taller kid. I held my fist out, Sensei gave the signal and he smacked away my fist and kicked me in the chest.

0 to 2

I am startled but figured it was no big deal. I get into a fighting stance. Sensei gives the signal and my opponent smacks away my fist and lands a kick in my stomach.

0 to 4

Am i bad at this? I thought.  I picked myself up from the floor and set up again.

He nails a punch in my chest as soon as the signal is given.

0 to 5, I lost!

The gift of having a disability is that I knew I had to look into the mirror every single day. If anything was off, I’d be in a doctor’s office soon. I walked out of the ring and looked in the mirror. I see my right arm sticking out, all the way up to my shoulder. It looked like a chicken wing. My nerves got the best of me without me knowing. The mirror was my friend, an honest relative that I could never lie to. I could run from it or i could use it. You probably know what I did… Right?

After school, I would spend an hour or two in the bathroom mirror at home. I would hold my hands up in a fighting stance and watch my reflection. Any sudden movements, I would make a mental note. I worked my body and mind to a point where I could trust myself without looking in the mirror and knowing where my limbs were at all times.

Most kids at that age were playing games, I was looking at myself. I had a mission. I had to work on being better than I could be day to day. Not just to be the best person in the dojo, but to grow in the dojo.

With Cerebral Palsy, it requires you to control your central nervous system as much as possible and as often as possible. To get yourself into a position to be the calmest person ever. With this comes practice, practice at a point where you need to do the moves so much that they are played in your head in your sleep. The fighting stance is just one example and there will be more to come in future articles. Back to the practice, Bruce Lee once said, “I do not fear the man who knows 1000 kicks, I fear the man who has practiced one kick 1000 times.”

Classes in the dojo ran Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, with Wednesday reserved for Sparring. As I practiced at home and did my homework in the mirror, I noticed that my awareness of my body got much better. A right hook was a lot more powerful and a block could be done without exerting a lot of energy to perform the proper technique. What surprised me as things progressed was my breathing. I have a student now who has this running joke that “things are much easier when you breathe.” My response is always “Oh wow, you are a genius!” Honing in on a proper stance and keeping myself grounded and stable was a key to growth and the start of how the kid who on paper didn’t belong made the dojo my home.

I remember a fight a few years into my career against one of my best friends in childhood, Ryan. Ryan was as tough as they come, big, and liked to get in the sparring ring to have fun. In his eyes when we first met I was the “warm-up act.”

It was a bright sunny day and the mat was freshly cleaned. Ryan and I squared off and Sensei gave the signal. His fists were fast-moving. I was ready!

A left hook came to me, I blocked and landed a left kick under his ribs.

2 to 0

Sensei gave the signal again and I jumped in with a jumping sidekick, turning hook with my left to the back of his head.

 

4 to 0

I let him come at me. I blocked the punches with an outward block, double high blocks, and followed with a double uppercut to the chest.

 

5 to 0. I won in a shut-out.

 

After the fight, he told me that, for years I could have been beaten on his worst day, “today I went in with my best and did not stand a chance with you at your best.” It stuck in my head that the practice was worth it. I had great motivation to keep going.

As a disabled person, I had to focus on the basics daily in order to win. This is how I pushed ahead in life as time went on. Nothing complex about it, just focusing on the little things, even one thing at a time.

As I grew older and prepared for job interviews, I would practice answering questions clearly, paying careful attention to the words that I spoke and where my hands were. Not every time was successful, but I was stronger each time. Taking lessons from the mirror in a fighting stance, knowing where my hands were, and practicing over and over until my breathing was right and what was being done was just another task on any other day.

In conclusion, A disability is a small part of your life, but this does not mean that it is an insurmountable object. The work you put into the dojo will teach you how to be able to overcome the obstacles that you will face in life. It all starts with getting yourself into the right stance. Practice as often as you can and you will be rewarded with growth you never imagined.