Tuesday, October 15, 2024 by C. Michial Jones
There is a common misconception in the martial arts world: if you aren’t seen at the local tournaments, if you aren’t active in the political squabbles of the “establishment,” or if you aren’t running a flashy commercial school with hundreds of students, then you must have stopped training.
I recently ran into an old friend who remarked, “I didn’t know you were still around, let alone training.” It made me chuckle. If you ask my wife, she’ll tell you I am always doing Karate or Jujutsu. The reality is that I haven’t gone anywhere; I’ve simply changed my focus.
Quality Over Quantity
When I retired from the police department and opened a large, full-time commercial dojo, I expected it to be my primary focus. Then, life happened. I went back to university, pursuing a dual bachelor’s in education and special education, followed by a Master’s, and now I am closing in on my PhD. Then, the pandemic hit.
Our student base, once fifty strong, dwindled to a few dedicated members. And honestly? I’m okay with that. I have reached a stage where I prefer the “quality over quantity” model. Some of the most elite dojos in Okinawa are small, tucked-away spaces with only ten people training. There is a depth of instruction found in those intimate settings that a commercial “factory” can never replicate.
The Unbroken Chain
My training began in 1977. Since then, there have been very few interruptions. Even when physical setbacks occurred, the “chain” remained unbroken:
- Foot Surgery: I taught from a chair.
- Kidney Stones: I returned as soon as I could stand.
- Radical Cancer Surgery: Even recently, I made it to that same chair to keep a watchful eye on my students while I recovered.
Just because I don’t follow the crowd or support the local “establishment” doesn’t mean my karate is subpar. It means I have outgrown the need for the spotlight.
A Student Once More
These days, I find the greatest joy in the simple things: training with my sons, teaching the handful of students who truly want to learn, traveling to Okinawa to touch the source, and enjoying my grandchildren.
I have returned to the role I love most: being a student. I am happy to be alive, and as I recover from this latest surgery, my goal is simple—to get back on the mat and do what I have always done. I may not be “around” in the eyes of the tournament organizers, but in the places that matter—on the mat and in the heart of the art—I am still right here.
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