The Day I Stopped Trying To Win

Whenever you start a sentence off with the phrase, “Kids today…” people instantly know that you are old and probably grumpy.  Well, I have arthritis that keeps me up some times, I cannot do half of the things on the mat that I used to be able to do and I’m at a stage where dinner on the back deck sounds far more relaxing than dinner out.  I wouldn’t say I’m grumpy, though; just occasionally perturbed at things like taxes, government, and well…bullying.  Yeah, nobody likes bullies.  But most kids today have a much different idea of being bullied than we did back in the day.  For me, it was facing the same over sized, perpetual sophomore on the bus who wouldn’t allow me to pass without taking a shot to the gut.  Or the jocks who physically pushed me around, tripped me in hallways, shoved me against lockers, etc.  And they always did it in packs.  And of course, name calling, pranks and a lot of other crap that had a lasting impact until I decided to do something about it.  

It was the summer before my senior year in high school when I first started training in martial arts and I’ve been training ever since.  I just turned 61, so adding up on my fingers, that’s about 44 years or so of training.  I’m sure any one close to my age who has trained this long followed a similar path to what I’m about to describe.  I started out feeling very self-conscious and fearful, afraid of what I looked like, afraid of getting hit.  Gradually, I realized that if I trained hard enough, I’d see results and before long I made great friends and I developed a confidence I never had before.  Somewhere along the way, that confidence turned to arrogance.  This tends to happen when you’ve had a few “wins” and you stick around long enough to get a brown or black belt and sensei puts you in charge of beginners.  This is probably one of the most dangerous stages for a traditional martial arts student.  

My situation was a little different because I was in the military and we moved around a lot.  In order to keep training, I had to start teaching on base (at times) and I was a very young martial artist…young and naive.  I came from a dojo where every Friday night was “fight night” and people from all over Colorado Springs would come, pay their mat fee, pad up and go.  For the most part, I held my own, but there were a few sessions where luck prevailed and I won a match or two decisively.  This coupled with a general lack of reality spun by 80s martial arts lore and the primary source of martial education, Black Belt Magazine were the nails in the coffin that sealed my fate.  Arrogance is a prevalent disease in most combat arts.  

Early on, I always figured the best way to maintain my reputation as a martial arts teacher was to not only take on challengers, but ensure that all of my students knew what I was capable of.  In short, I had to win…all the time.  You see, that type of disordered thinking creates a narrative that forms unrealistic and often dangerous expectations.  And when those expeditions aren’t met, say for example, a clean and unseen shot to my face or a side kick that knocked me to the mat, those old feelings of fear and self loathing would reemerge, and that made me angry.  Angry enough to bring things up a couple of notches so that I could get some pay back and let myself know that I was still a bad ass.  And that’s how people get hurt.  That’s how you lose students.  That’s how you lose any sort of respect.  

You know, one of the reasons I still wear a uniform and my old, tattered belt is because every time I put it on, I remember what it means to me.  And that old belt (for me) isn’t about rank or status; it’s about distance and time.  It represents an entirely different life in the military and the struggle I had after retirement.  It represents my first marriage, raising my kids, working through the initial difficulties of civilian life….losing my wife to cancer.  Yeah, there was that.  And when I had nothing left to give and no one to go to because Covid was in full swing, I begrudgingly slipped into that torn up uniform and that tattered belt and I trained in an ice cold garage through tears, rage and acceptance in the middle of February…and started to make my way back.  

The day I stopped trying to win wasn’t a single day, but a lifetime of experience in and out of the dojo.  And when there is no longer the need to win, one’s cup is no longer full.  You see, you can’t really teach anything if you know everything and constantly feel the need to prove it.  So, I accept the fact that I’m not as fast as I used to be.  I get tagged a lot and a tap out a lot more often than I used to.  And that’s fine.  I actually “win” a lot more these days; a beautiful wife, a grandson…my kids are still my best friends and of course, all of the relationships I have through our dojo.  And while I have some retro-fitted parts and some that don’t work the way they should, I’m still on this side of the dirt and by God’s grace, I get to spend my days doing what I love to do.  Those are the biggest wins of all. 

Dave Magliano

Tatsu Dojo

Jissenkan Budo

Dojo Cho