Learning To Be Silent

Editors Note: This is the first in a three part interview with Seabolt Sensei, chief instructor at the Aikido Center of Jacksonville. The full interview can be found under the Sensei tag.

Jerry: When did you start training?

Sensei: In Aikido? I began in 1996 with Chris Rozette. I had actually tried a little Hapkido before joining the dojo. And later on, when I wanted to try grappling, I enrolled in San-Jitsu for a bit.

What I wanted back then was to learn a martial art. A coworker had taken some Aikido lessons with Curtis Rosiek, who started our school. He suggested I give it a try.

Jerry: What was the school like in the early days?

Sensei: For me, it was incredible. Back then we were training in a dance studio. But it didn’t matter! I just loved training. Chris and I would travel to every seminar we could. I probably attended a seminar every three weeks or so my first two years. I wanted to learn everything.

Jerry: What seminars did you go to?

Sensei: [Laughs] Every one I could! Boston, Montreal, Atlanta, New York, Fort Lauderdale…

Jerry: OK. How many students were in the school back then?

Sensei: Around six to eight, on average. After Chris left, our black belts were Mike [Sands] and Brett Jackson.

New York Aikikai

Jerry: Tell me how you first met Yamada Sensei.

Sensei: I first met Sensei in Atlanta, at Dogwood Aikikai. Yamada and Kanai Sensei were teaching. I had asked Chris to make the introduction, because I knew I wanted to train in New York. Chris introduced me to Edwin, who was a deshi in New York. Edwin then introduced me to Sensei.

Jerry: And then you stayed in New York?

Sensei: Well, the first time I went to New York, I stayed for one week. This was in December 1996. I then went back in April 1997, and stayed for five weeks.

Jerry: What was it like for you in New York?

Sensei: It was amazing. I was in awe of everyone. You have to remember, when I first went, I was just a 4th kyu. I was 35 years old. I worked out a lot with the deshis, who were in their early twenties, and male.

The talent there is unbelievable. Not just the instructors, but the students as well. When I first went, I didn’t want the deshis to think  I was a wimp. I wanted to be tough, so I trained hard. I would take, on average, three classes a day, and on Tuesdays I would take five. And of course I would never miss class when Yamada or Sugano Sensei was teaching.

Soft Ukemi

Jerry: Is that where you learned soft ukemi?

Sensei: I was first introduced to soft ukemi through Joey Turner. But yes, my real education was in New York, with Donovan Waite Sensei and his students.

Jerry: It must have been thrilling learning a new way to take ukemi.

Sensei: It was. I was so excited about all the new things I had learned. I couldn’t wait to bring it back with me.

Jerry: What happened when you did return?

Sensei: [Laughs] Well…It was difficult.

Let’s just say that my reception wasn’t all positive. The ukemi I was taught was different than what my fellow students had been practicing here. It was something new and different. Some even refused to learn it.

Jerry: A lot has changed though, right?

Sensei: Yes. Now, soft ukemi, the kind I learned from Waite Sensei and his students, is very common. But when I first brought it back to Jacksonville, that wasn’t the case.

I’m happy that it’s become a standard type of ukemi here locally.

To Be Continued…

By Maggie Schill

At this point in my training, if there is one truth about Aikido I have been able to discover, it would be this: Aikido is circular, not just in movement, but in concept.  Uke is as fundamental to nage, as surely as nage is to uke.  To focus on one is to learn the other.

I’ve heard instructors tell me how important ukemi was to my Aikido.  In the past I thought this meant I should take good ukemi for the sake of my nage.  It was my gift to nage.  I thought ukemi was about helping my nage look good and train more effectively.  However, my experience at Winter Camp 2009 has altered my opinion.

On the last day of Winter Camp 2009, I took Yamada Sensei’s morning class.  There, he demonstrated a throwing technique that required a huge extension and a low cut.  Sensei separated us all into groups and told us to have at it.

Unfortunately, in my group I was the first Aikidoka in line.  There were about fourteen uke waiting for me to throw them, but I just couldn’t figure the movements out.  After about four failed attempts, I was unbearably embarrassed over my 5th kyu inadequacies.  Sensei approached me and grabbed my uke from me.  He demonstrated the technique for me once more and spoke sharply: “Extension! This is why I failed the shodan!”  I was completely embarrassed.

I tried the technique two more times, and failed.  I ran to the back of the line, forgetting to bow the next nage in, feeling utterly defeated.  With my pride crushed, I readied myself to take the best ukemi I could for the nage in my group.  I thought I could prove I’m not a totally useless Aikidoka by taking great ukemi.  Maybe I could win back a little bit of my pride.

As uke, I exaggerated my movements, expended a lot of energy, and did everything in my power to maintain connection.  I’m sure my ukemi wasn’t the best; especially in comparison to all the black belts and deshi present at Winter Camp, but it was my best.

Finally, the line went around until it was my turn as nage again.  I bowed in with great apprehension.  I was sure that my second time up would just be a repeat of the first, and I prayed to God that Sensei wouldn’t be around my group to see me fail again.

My first uke approached me.  I met him, and to my surprise, I knew the movements.  I understood then what Sensei meant about extension in this technique, and I understood why I couldn’t get my uke moving without it.

With my first uke I ran through the movement slowly.  With my second, I got more of my hips into it, and by my fourth uke I felt like I wasn’t a total embarrassment.  My fifth uke was an older black belt.  He grabbed me, moved with me, and said: “There you go girl, you got it.”  His words were encouraging.

This experience has convinced me of the interplay between uke and nage.  The art is circular.  The parts are interconnected.  If you learn one aspect of the art, you are in a sense learning them all.  Not until I was thrown some fourteen odd times did I understand what Sensei was trying to tell me.  Not until I was forced to feel the technique did I understand what I needed to do to make my uke feel the technique.

So in closing, the lesson learned is this: Ukemi is not just a side note, or a means of making nage look great.  Take as much of it as you can, and be grateful every time it is your turn to be thrown.  If you want to be a great nage, become a great uke.

I wanted to post a brief addendum to my initial article to clarify and expand on a few points. Although I feel my original post is technically correct, some topics weren’t addressed with the detail I believe they deserve.

I stated previously that uke’s muscles and joint cartilage take the brunt of stress during a fall. Although correct, I would point out that the energy absorbed by uke’s body is in reality quite negligible. Otherwise, the integrity of uke’s body would be compromised by the throw itself. By the same token, the amount of energy lost to friction is likewise miniscule. For our purposes, therefore, the majority of energy expended by nage is transferred directly to uke, which must then be exchanged, ideally in a non-injurious way.

Perhaps a clearer way to visualize this transfer is that of a bowler (the sport, not the hat). The energy expended by nage forces uke to roll in much the same way as a bowling ball when released from a bowler’s hand. Uke assumes a rounded shape, like a ball, specifically to facilitate this transfer of energy in a safe manner. When uke stays rounded during the throw, force is turned into work, as opposed to shear stress. It is the difference between rolling a ball, and rolling a brick.

Which brings us to the crux of uke’s dilemma. Since energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only exchanged, the energy transferred to uke is still very much present. How uke deals with that energy determines whether the exchange is injurious or not. By naturally allowing the forward force (i.e. the throw) to create a “moment arm”, uke is caused to rotate, which allows him return to his feet. Should uke resist the throw, and therefore not rotate, the energy transferred becomes shear stress on uke’s body, as he is thrown headlong into the mat.

As an engineering exercise, I was recently asked to give my analysis of a forward roll.  Before I begin, however, full disclosure: I am an electrical engineering (EE) student, and make no claim to have any kind of expertise in human anatomy, mechanical systems, or thermodynamics.  However, as part of my education as an EE I have a basic understanding of these subjects.  This particular problem is fairly straightforward, though.

Rigid Bodies, Exchanging Energy

At the outset, please note that the projectile (in this case, your body) is made to be rigid.  Since your body shape does not change, (at least during the roll itself, unless something has gone terribly amiss), and further, since no mass is lost, you possess, according to mechanical theory, a rigid body.  In fact, the rigidity of your body is augmented by your muscles and joint cartilage, which take the brunt of stress during a fall, thereby relieving at least some structural strain.  In mechanical terms, your joints and muscles act as a spring, which are compressed by the impact of falling.

Knowing this, the first step is to define the issue.  In our case, the issue is the interplay between a rigid body and an exchange of energy, or more plainly stated, a forward throw.

Sensei teaches that rolls are meant to be taken close to the ground, to minimize injury.  The principle behind her instruction is sound: the less distance an object travels from its original position, the less potential energy the object contains.  The less energy the object contains, the less severe the jolt your body will receive at the moment of impact.  (This is a good thing).  Since energy can neither be created nor destroyed, the energy escapes from your body into the ground, partly in the form of heat, but also as stress on your legs, since you lowered yourself to take the fall.

The question, however, naturally arises: Why roll at all?  Why not, in fact, fall straight down, if all we’re talking about is transferring energy from one system to another?  Consider figure 1:

Here, the rigid circular body drops straight down.  When force is applied in only one direction, or vector, there is only one point of impact, at the bottom of the circle.  Assume the circle represents uke.  Assume further that the point of impact represents, say, uke’s shoulder.  In the situation described, therefore, the entirety of force represented by the arrow acts upon uke’s shoulder, causing maximum shear stress at that point.  This is not a good thing, and may in fact cause injury.

We roll to transfer energy forward, so that the energy we receive is not just transferred downward, into the mat.  Consider figure 2:

Here, we add a force, in the forward direction.  This forward force creates a moment arm, which causes the body to rotate. 

This rotation causes you to roll, which again is a good thing, since the energy now has a path that doesn’t lead straight down.  (Ouch!)  Essentially, the energy is defused into the forward roll.

This is why we roll.  We use our rotation to transfer energy from an unwanted result, as described in figure 1, to one which allows us to practice another day.  Both scenarios expend the same amount of energy.  The difference is that in the latter, the structural integrity of uke is not tested, potentially to a breaking point.

Standing Tall

We have one more wrinkle to discuss: Returning to our feet.  Remember, a rigid body requires the same amount of energy to fall as it does to return to its former position.  (That pesky law of conservation again.)  The entire process, therefore, is balanced.  Ideally, we as Aikidoka should use that energy, rather than oppose it, to maintain our own balance, on and off the mat.

Before I wrap up, I want to address a misconception I sometimes hear about forward rolls.  It is a fallacy to state that the forward and downward motions described in figure 2 negate each other.  In reality, the energy transferred into the roll is still very much present.  If the vertical force was in fact negated by the horizontal force, then even a perfect sphere, (or the world’s roundest Aikidoka), would not roll.  Rather, the startled fellow would merely slide, on his shoulder in our example.  And yes, this would be a bad thing, since the unlucky Aikidoka could not make use of that rolling motion to transfer his energy into a graceful upright stance, ready to train again.

Editors Note: This article was originally published in the January 2009 edition of our dojo newsletter.

Update: Mechanics of the Forward Roll, Redux