JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi Daniel Linden (feel good novels txt) 📖

I remember seeing Sonny Liston when he would come into the Twentieth Street Gymnasium in Denver, Colorado. You always knew when Sonny was in the building. We would be up there in the balcony with the ring, the speed bags, the heavy bags, the jump-ropes, weights and other training devices. Some guys would be hitting the speed bag and a few others would be working on combinations with their trainers and then you would hear this sound. It was like an explosion without the fireworks; it was like a collision without the crash. It was Sonny hitting the big bag. Whump! Whump! Wwhhhuuump!

With each smash the whole building shook and the fighters would make their way over to the railing to look over and see the legend making the huge old bag of sand and canvas and duct tape dance. He was old then and wore a towel around his neck as he hit the big bag, sweat running out of his thin, graying hair into his thick, creased neck. No one stared at him long because the trainers would bark at you if you did. No one ever bothered him for an autograph. As far as I know no one ever spoke to him. He would suddenly be there, and the building would shake as he pounded the big sand bag down in the gym and then he would be gone. After a bit some of the guys would drift downstairs and you would see them try and make the big bag move like Sonny Liston had done. What he made look effortless was beyond the capacity of anyone in the place except him.

He threw punches from his sides like his arms were too heavy to lift. You would see him raise one ham sized fist up and throw it at the bag and the whole thing would lift six inches into the air and then crash down at the length of its chains and the rafters would reverberate. He did this so slowly you could hardly believe it when you slipped down the stairs and threw that solid hook into the big bag and it didn’t move at all. It did not move at all. In fact it hurt. No one could make the big bag move.

I really don’t know what the big bag was for because it weighed so much that no one ever used it, no one except Sonny Liston. He was a bear that growled and hunched his way around it and slashed at it and for him and him alone that bag danced the tango. It was hanging in the corner downstairs away from all the rest of the boxing gear and although some of the karate people like to kick at it, no one ever made any good use of it. After Sonny died they took it down and I can’t imagine any good end for it. I learned that you could break your wrist if you hit that bag wrong and that if you hit it right you could make it jump for joy. I never once hit it worth a damn.

***

I was sipping beer in a tall glass when I finally heard the tired old screen door to the dojo squeak and then slam. Christian went into the luthiery studio where we let the guys change if they’re shy or want some place to hang their clothing. After a while he walked up the steps and sat down in the deck chair on the other side of the table. I reached out and poured him a beer from the pitcher on the table and when he had taken a long sip he sat back.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” he said.

“Okay.”

“I mean, haven’t you ever felt that something just sucks in your life, but that you couldn’t name exactly what it was?” he asked.

“Well, not since I was pretty young,” I said. “I understand that when a young person doesn’t know what he or she is feeling, it can be disquieting. I also know that indecision and uncertainty over your future can also be unsettling, but it happens to everyone. So normally when I see someone your age going through all this angst I assume that it is really what we used to call growing pains. I haven’t heard that expression in a while. It must not be politically correct in this age of youth worship.” I filled my glass and sat back again. “The thing I am concerned with is that you are sound. Not if you are uncertain about your future. I expect that. I am concerned about your direction. I already know you don’t know where you’re going. “

“You’re right, Sensei. I don’t have a clue where I’m going.”

“Having actually been somewhere significant always helps a person decide where he ought to go next. Or at least this is what I’ve found.” I waited, and when he didn’t take the bait I continued. “See, if you attack someone you set a course into motion. This is ukemi. We begin and then nage does something; either he moves out of the way and we continue our attack or he does something to dissipate our energy and guide us elsewhere. Oh, you know, a thousand possibilities. But it all begins with our initial movement of attack. We are someplace and decide to go someplace else. Nage is not an objective, you know. In the training process nage is not even a target. We attack because it is our job, or rather the nature of an uke, to attack. We move from the heart to the heart, relentless, unforgiving, unshakeable, totally focused until nage captures our energy and dissipates the force of it with a technique.

“See, Christian, life is exactly like being an uke. Everyone wants to be nage. Most people don’t realize that being nage is not very interesting. They see it as fun,