Ken high-jumping at Lafayette High School in Lexington, KY 1970.

I was on the track team in high school. My specialty was the high jump.

I was not a gifted jumper but I enjoyed pushing myself to see if I could improve, even a quarter-inch at a time. I was just shy of six feet tall, not a tall, lanky kind of athlete like the famous high-jumper Dick Fosbury.

Paul Carter was a buddy of mine in school. His father attended the track meets and always came over to watch the high jump competition. He always spoke to me and watched me compete.

I did not always win, but I enjoyed the competition. Months after our senior track season, I was talking to Paul and he mentioned his father.

"My dad really loves to watch you compete," he said. "Do you know why?"

I told him I did not know.

"Because he says even when you don't win, you are still smiling," Paul said.

Really? I did not know that I had that kind of impact on anyone.

It was an enlightening moment.

I did not enjoy losing, but I did not consider myself a loser. If you compete at anything, you run the risk of losing. If you enjoy it, does it matter?

This was 25 years before I started teaching martial arts.

By the time I began teaching in 1997, I was also competing regularly in martial arts tournaments, often in open tournaments, with competitors from all styles and judges from all styles. Very often, the judges did not really understand the internal arts.

My students were good, but I noticed the impact that losing had on some of them.

Some students could not handle losing in a tournament. Some of them quickly dropped out of martial arts if they walked away from a tournament or two without carrying a trophy.

I felt the same about martial arts tournaments as I did about the high-jump. I was not a gifted athlete, but I enjoyed the arts and I enjoyed the competition. But there is one more important thing I got out of competing.

I learned about myself. I learned how I reacted to pressure, how I responded when another black belt was trying to kick my ass. 

And I learned to analyze each victory and each defeat and look for lessons. I learned to walk away with information to improve my skills.

One day, I was competing at a huge regional tournament in Dubuque, Iowa. The team of judges included mostly black belts from Karate, Taekwondo and other "external" arts. One of the judges was a woman who tended to score me lower than others.

On this day, I did a strong Xingyiquan form and I did not place. She scored me low again.

I approached her after the event and asked, "I notice you scored me low. What advice would you give me?"

She seemed surprised, but she said, "You run through your kata like a house on fire. There is no pacing."

For a moment, I reacted as most people would react. I thought, "Oh, she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about."

But I thanked her, and as I walked away, I mentally ran through my form. As I did, I realize that I had a tendency to barrel through it hard and fast, with power and speed.

She was right. There were little moments in the form when I should ease up, slow down, pause for effect -- add some "pacing."

I worked on it and I began winning more forms events after that day.

This kind of attitude can help you in every aspect of life. In 2006, I began working on an idea for a Media Relations Coach website. I was the director of media relations for ACT, the company that makes the college admissions exam. My goal was to teach media relations to other people starting out in similar jobs around the country.

I worked like crazy on this website, but when I launched it, there were crickets. Nobody seemed to be interested. It was a resounding defeat.

In 2008, after taking a job in Tampa, Florida, the job did not work out and I suddenly found myself unemployed.

I decided to use what I had learned in my failed Media Relations Coach website attempt, and I would create a website teaching the internal arts. 

Within three months, I launched www.InternalFightingArts.com, and people began signing up immediately. I am proud to say that it is still in business more than 12 years later as I write this post, and it is doing better than ever.

Losing gracefully is very easy if you use each competitive situation as a learning moment. If you win, what do you learn? 

If you lose, can you use the information from that loss to propel you forward?

You can't win them all. And maybe you don't want to win them all. You don't learn a lot in victory.

It is in defeat where you can mine gold, not just about your technique, but also about yourself. And from there, you can work to get better. 

Go get 'em. And keep smiling.

--by Ken Gullette

Do you want to see an "old school" martial arts tournament match that will show you what things were like before safety gear?

This is the title fight of the U.S. Open in 1968 between Jim Harrison (on the left) and Fred Wren (right). Jim just died recently. He was an outstanding martial artist and one tough competitor.

Fred won this match with a sidekick at the end. It is an amazing fight.

A lot of tough old guys like to say that this is when a black belt "really meant something," but I don't agree. 

Yes, a black belt really meant something back then. There were not many McDojos in those days.

Yes, these guys were tough and hard as nails. They could probably eat lightning and crap thunder. 

But they both went to the hospital after this match. You don't take punches and kicks like this without suffering damage.

I have had a black sash for well over 20 years and I have not been sent to the hospital. I sparred without pads when I was young, and I was injured plenty -- cracked ribs, injured elbows and knees and black eyes.

Something inside of me, however, just didn't want to go too far, and I also tried to make sure I pulled my punches and kicks on my opponent. I had too much self-esteem to get myself hurt or to hurt someone else.

If you required everyone to go through this type of thing to prove themselves worthy of a black belt, a lot of people would very wisely say, "No thanks."

When you are young like Jim and Fred were in 1968, sometimes you just go for it. By the time you get a little older, you realize how useless it is to damage yourself, or other people, to prove yourself to be ready for a street attack that may never come.

Fred is still alive. He and Jim were both excellent teachers long after this, I hear. And also good people.

This match is FUN to watch! They are young men at the top of their game.

Check out my Tournament Point Sparring DVD for real tournament video and detailed instruction that can help you win matches. Free Shipping Worldwide.

Ken Gullette doing the high jump at Lafayette High School in 1970.

When I was in high school, Paul Carter's dad used to come to our track meets. I was on the team and did the high jump. Paul's dad would always say hello and talk with me a little bit. It was Lexington, Kentucky, but he grew up in the rural part of the state. He was the type of friendly Southern guy you would expect to see in Mayberry, talking with Andy Griffith. 

One day Paul told me that his father enjoyed watching me high jump because, "He says whether you win or lose, you smile."

I enjoyed hearing that when I was 17. When I competed, I always wanted to do as well as I could, but I loved doing the high jump. I wasn't going to get a college track scholarship or anything. I wasn't a talented, gifted athlete, I just loved it.

A few years earlier in middle school, Coach Pieratt set out the high jump one day in gym class. None of us had ever seen it. He wanted each boy to try jumping 4 feet 10 inches. He explained to us how to jump doing the old Western Roll. The Fosbury Flop was so new, he didn't consider teaching it. He set the bar at four-ten and, one by one, each guy ran up and jumped, and knocked the bar off. 

My turn came. Let's see, you run up, jump off the left leg, throw your right leg over and then, when you are above the bar, kick your left leg to help propel your body over.

It seemed difficult. No other boys could actually clear the bar.

I ran to the bar, jumped, and landed on the foam rubber on the other side.

There was a gasp in the gym. I had cleared the bar by a mile.

"Well," Coach Pieratt said, "we finally found something Gullette can do."

Instantly, the Coach put me on the team. I did the high jump for the middle school track team and then for my high school, Lafayette.

Sometimes I won first place and sometimes I didn't. In the four years that I did the high jump, I never remember leaving a meet disappointed. I loved doing it, but I didn't think of winning or losing. I knew I was just an average high-jumper, and if a "natural" showed up, I wouldn't win.

When we compete in anything, we are trained to look at it in dualistic terms. If you don't win, you lose. But I never looked at it that way. I had fun. And whether I won or not, I smiled.

It's a shame we have to ruin activities we love by getting upset over winning and losing.

In 1974, I competed in my first martial arts tournament. At first, I let the macho "kick ass" attitude take over. Winning was everything. It wasn't much fun, because I didn't win first place until 1983. In 1988, at a tournament in Lincoln, Nebraska, I was very upset when the judges ignored some very good points that I scored, and they gave the trophy to my opponent. It was not much fun.

By the time 1999 rolled around, I took a different approach. I started having fun. When someone would score on me, I would nod my head and say something like "Great kick," or "Good shot." If someone landed a good kick, I would look at the judges and say, "Yep, he got me." Or I would wobble back to my spot in a comical way, making the judges and spectators laugh.

I am not a naturally gifted martial artist, but I had fun. I won some, I lost some. But I became known for my skill AND my sportsmanship.

According to Zen philosophy, our intellect sets up duality of thinking -- right and wrong, pretty or ugly, hot and cold, good and evil, winning and losing.

We become trapped in a "this or that" mentality.

But an enlightened person rises above intellect; rises above duality of thinking.

Now, in 2020, the unenlightened person thinks, "You have to be training to kill someone or you're a pussy. If you can't defend against an MMA fighter, your art is useless!"

My advice is to rise above that type of chatter. It comes from people who don't understand that once you develop self-defense skills, there are many other reasons to train.

I'm 67 years old now, and so far, I have not been attacked by an MMA fighter on the street. I doubt it's going to happen. 

My favorite part of the arts is to unlock self-defense applications within the movements and to learn how to flow with a partner in creative, effective ways.

Some of the best things I have learned have happened because I "lost," when a training partner or tournament opponent landed a good shot on me. 

My attitude is, "Thank you for that. I did something wrong there, and now I can learn to do better."

Invest in loss. Even in losing, we can win especially if we learn. There is no losing because if you learn, you win.

And above all, love what you do. Don't let the duality of other peoples' thinking trap your mind. The next time someone asks, "Did you win?" you should reply, "Yes. I learned how to improve." 

Ken Gullette in red, sparring and connecting in Keokuk, 2000.

A little old man kicked my butt at a tournament in Keokuk, Iowa in 2000, and it is one of my favorite memories from my years competing in martial arts tournaments.

It was a hot, August day in a gymnasium that was not air-conditioned. I had been out-pointed by a black belt from Georgia in a match for first place, so I was next paired with a nice old guy to fight for the third place trophy.

My opponent was short, feeble, very slow, left himself open, had slow reaction time, and could hardly get a kick above his own waist. He wore hearing aids in both ears.

I had seen him perform at the tournament at least two other times, but he never went home with a trophy. He didn't even come close. It was a fluke that we were put in the ring to fight for some hardware.

The center ref told us to bow to each other, then bow to him. He signaled us to begin.

In that moment, I felt a connection to my aging opponent. In other tournaments, I had encouraged him to stay with it, even though he competed and never won anything. It was great just to see him there, still plugging away despite not having the tools to succeed.

But now, for the first time, I was in a position where I had to dispatch him, and I had a surprising reaction to it. Or, considering my personal philosophy, not so surprising.

What would his children think; how proud would they be if at his age, and with his limitations, he brought home a martial arts trophy for sparring?

And how much would another trophy mean to me if I won under these circumstances? 

We touched gloves and the match began, and I approached him. He threw a kick, then a punch.

I could imagine his children bragging to his grandchildren, showing them the trophy he won late in life.

I didn't want to make it obvious. He needed to do some blocking, so I blocked some of his punches and threw a few that he blocked. Then I left my stomach open just a bit for a kick to land.

Two points.

The match resumed and I threw a kick for him to block. He threw a couple more kicks and one landed.

Two points.

At this point, I knew my students, who were in the stands recording the match, would be wondering what the heck was going on. And on the video, you can hear one of them give an "Awwwww," in frustration as my opponent got his second kick in.

We touch gloves and the match resumed. I needed to act a bit more desperate, so I came in with a little more energy, bouncing, threw a few quick punches that were easily blocked, and I kept my head out front and open. 

He landed a ridgehand for his fifth point.

The judges called it and had us bow to each other. My opponent and I slapped each other on the shoulder.

"Why?" my puzzled student asks on the video.

He found out why a few minutes later when I explained.

As I walked out of the ring, an Asian judge approached with tears in his eyes.

He slapped me on the back and said, "That was one of the most generous things I have ever seen."

I just nodded at him and said, "Thanks."

Later, a couple of other black belts came up and commented on the match, thanking me for displaying such sportsmanship.

But the best thing that happened was one week later, when I went to a large regional tournament in Dubuque, Iowa. One of the more prominent black belts, Ken Dunkle of Dyersville, was standing across the large high school gymnasium when I walked in carrying my gear and my weapons.

I watched as Mr. Dunkle walked across the gym, directly at me, like a man on a mission. When he reached me, he stuck out his hand.

"I heard what you did last week in Keokuk," he said, warmly shaking my hand. "I just want to tell you that I think it was great."

I don't remember exactly how I replied. I was probably surprised and just said thanks, it was nothing, glad to do it.

Attitudes seemed to change towards me at the tournament that day. I could feel a greater sense of respect from my black belt peers.

I always tried to have fun in martial arts tournaments. When my opponent landed a good punch or kick, I congratulated them right there in the ring. I didn't try to brush it off or act as if it didn't happen, as some competitors do to try and fool the judges. And I did not get angry. I never got angry.

No, I felt that if someone scored on me, they were pretty good, and I appreciated their skill.

Sometimes, I would joke in the ring. At least once, a younger, faster opponent would score, and I would take out my mouthpiece and loudly say, "He's young and fast. I HATE that." And the judges would all laugh.

It is a lot more fun for everyone, whether it is at a tournament or in the workplace or at home, to enjoy yourself, help everyone else enjoy themselves, and not take yourself too seriously. Good things happen when you get out of your head and connect with others.

Do you live your philosophy or is it all about you?

I have won a lot of trophies in a lot of tournaments -- in forms, weapons and sparring. But I think my warmest memory comes from the day in August, 2000 when I got my butt kicked by an old man in Keokuk, Iowa. That was the day I saw a judge with tears of gratitude in his eyes, and I saw an old man take home a shiny trophy to show his grandchildren.

I think I won that day, too.

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I stepped into the ring, holding my broadsword and feeling butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to do well in my first tournament performance as a black belt.

It was February, 1998 in Cedar Falls, Iowa, and at 45 years old, I had studied different martial arts for 25 years, had been in the internal arts for more than 10 years, and had practiced qigong diligently for more than a decade.

"Just get into the zone," I told myself as I calmed down and prepared to do my broadsword form.

God, there are a lot of people, I thought.

"Settle down," my inner voice said. "Detach. Rise above the pressure."

It was the worst advice I could have given myself.

A few movements into the form, I turned to my right to do a sweeping cut and noticed a young boy was walking across the ring, just a few feet from me. 

Within another movement or two, I completely spaced out and forgot where I was in my form. For a flash of a second, I was mentally paralyzed, then I made up some movements, wrapped up the form, and bowed out.

I did not place in weapons forms that day.

I was disappointed at myself. After using qigong in my life so effectively during the past decade, why was I so nervous and unable to hold it together when performing for the first time as a black belt in front of a jury of strangers and a gymnasium full of spectators?

Shouldn't I be a bit more "one" with the universe? Shouldn't I be able to detach my mind? 

Last night, a member of my website -- a man who is becoming a friend -- told me how he was very nervous during a recent karate test (which he also studies) and had the same thoughts about how qigong is supposed to help him remain calm in those situations.

But here is the real secret of qigong practice.

It does not prevent you from being human.

Qigong is not intended to prevent the normal human emotions that we all experience. The key to effective qigong is that you do not hold on to emotions like fear, anxiety, greed, and other negative thoughts. 

To suppress negative emotions is to give them even more power.

And that is where the mindfulness component of qigong comes into play. It is actually an important part of our quest to calm and center ourselves -- to "be in the moment."

When you are "mindful," you are completely in the moment, giving attention to the people or the situation that needs your attention. Your mind is not wandering, and if it does, you simply bring your attention back to where it needs to be.

The negative feelings, the butterflies in the stomach, the fear of failure -- it's all part of the experience. No one ever brags about doing well when nothing was at stake. We don't sit around in our golden years reminiscing about all the boring times we had. 

The best moments in life -- when you are most alive -- happen when you are testing your comfort zone and feeling every sensation.

And so I realized that calming and centering were not enough. I needed to be in it.

Over time, I developed a joy of being in the moment, whether that was a happy moment or whether I was about to perform in front of a panel of judges and a crowd at a tournament, or whether I was going to be grilled in a job interview by a panel of staffers and VPs.

When I was being interviewed by a panel at the University of South Florida in 2007 for the director of media relations position, I sat down, smiled and said, "Take your best shot."

I enjoyed every moment of that interview, fielded all their questions, was honest and let my creative mind flow. I started a month later.

I want to experience it all -- to be in the now and fully feel the experience:

• To enjoy demonstrating my arts in a tournament and show martial artists something different.
• To enjoy the competition of sparring without being overjoyed or upset about individual point calls by judges.
• To enjoy the "competition" of a job interview, and display my experience and knowledge in a creative way.
• To be in the moment in a tense personal or job situation, where I can take care of problems without exploding.

Qigong helps us relieve stress, calm our minds and body, and helps us to center ourselves. The goal then should be to recapture that calm, centered feeling in times of tension or crisis.

You should not think of qigong as a way to detach your feelings or your mind from the moment. That is not living.

A key part of qigong is mindfulness: the joy of living and being part of everything; the unpredictable nature of challenges that are thrown at you, then learning from them so perhaps the next time, you can handle them even better.

I got better at tournaments. I still got nervous occasionally, but I felt it fully, I experienced it completely, and I sure did have fun.

-- by Ken Gullette

Check Out Ken's Qigong DVD with Exercises for Stress Relief

Want a more in-depth interview on Mindfulness? Check out Ken's podcast interview with Mark W. Muesse

My opponent in this match provided an example of NOT using the Three Internal Harmonies.

He was in his twenties -- young and cocky. I was in my late forties. I could tell by the way he carried himself and the way he looked at me that he thought it was going to be easy. He thought he was going to kick my butt.

It really made him mad a moment after the match started when I swept him to the ground. He hit the wooden gymnasium floor hard, and when he got back up, he was STEAMED! 

I always loved to spar in tournaments. It was great competition, and it refined some of the skills you need for self-defense on the street. Even in "no contact" tournaments, a lot of contact was made. Ribs were cracked, jaws were jacked, gashes were opened up sometimes. Damn, it was fun.

In a tournament match, I never lost my cool. If my opponent scored on me, I would congratulate him. 

"Good shot," I would say. The referees loved the sportsmanship. I never got angry. If my opponent was good enough to score a good shot on me, he deserved a pat on the back. And then a roundhouse kick to the head, heh heh.

This young karate guy I sparred in 2001 was one of those guys who proves the validity of the "Three Internal Harmonies" concept in the internal arts.

When you are successfully using the Three Internal Harmonies, your "heart" or "spirit" is in harmony with your "intent," or your logical mind.

If you are afraid or nervous, your spirit (Shen) is weak. If you are courageous and calm, your spirit is strong. You have the "fighting spirit."

When your logical mind (Yi) is strong, you clearly see your opponent's techniques, his strengths and weaknesses, and if your energy (Chi) is strong, you take advantage of them by applying strength (Li). In the internal arts, it is expressed this way: the Shen harmonizes with the Yi, the Yi harmonizes with the Chi, and the Chi harmonizes with the Li. 

When your "heart" and your "intent" is strong and in harmony and your "energy" is strong, you can then use your "strength" and skillfully defeat your opponent.

A Cincinnati tournament in 1983 - the Eye of the Tiger.

This is the best example of what the Three Internal Harmonies really means. There is nothing mystical about it.

At this tournament in 2001, this strong, cocky young man came at me hard. But when I swept him, he lost his cool. He became angry and his "intent," or logical mind became scattered with anger. His "heart," or emotional mind took over. He was no longer in harmony. He couldn't focus his strength or technique and became out of control.

I never could understand why guys would get angry in tournament matches. I met a lot of really great competitors with good attitudes, but I have to admit -- I enjoyed it when my opponents got angry. It was a good sign that I was going to win.

As the years passed, I grew to enjoy sparring so much, I stopped keeping score during the match. It didn't matter to me who won any particular point. The judges would stop us, they would rule on the point, then tell us to resume fighting.

I remained calm and centered, and took each point as it came. Sometimes, at the end of the match, I was surprised to find that I had won.

The lesson of the Three Internal Harmonies can be applied in self-defense, but also at work and even in your personal relationships. When faced with an impossible deadline at work, when faced with an angry spouse or child at home, simply understand that you have the ability and the skill to solve the problem, focus your calm attention on the problem at hand, and get to work.

The Three Internal Harmonies can really help you out when someone is trying to kick your butt. But this concept is intended to be used not just as a method of fighting, but also as a way of life.

The first DVD I made was instruction on Martial Arts Tournament Point Sparring. For some reason, it was not on this blog until today (you can find it on the right side of the page in the DVD and Ebook section).

I've always believed in being a complete fighter, and that helped me win dozens of martial arts tournament competitions between 1974 and 2006. I also trained students who won dozens of competitions. By using this DVD as a training tool, you can improve your strategies and techniques.

Tournament point sparring might not be the same as real fighting, but the skills required to win are some of the same skills you need on the street:

1. The ability to remain cool under pressure

2. The ability to read an opponent quickly

3. The ability to take misdirect and take advantage of your opponent's weaknesses.

Whether you are into kung-fu sparring, karate sparring, or taekwondo sparring, you'll get something out of this instruction. As I got older, I enjoyed the competition and it forced me to stay in top condition. Any type of sparring is extremely demanding physically. It's also a lot of fun.

As an internal artist, a lot of fellow tai chi folks scoff at tournament sparring, but that never bothered me. There are a lot of good reasons to put it on the line before a jury of your peers. Tournaments are not always run fairly. Sometimes it can get political, when judges score people from their styles higher, but after a time or two you just stop supporting that particular tournament. Most of the time, people do the best they can to be friendly and fair.

You can learn a lot about yourself at tournaments. How do you respond when people are watching (in forms or sparring)? How do you respond when a trained martial artist is trying to punch and kick you. It's not just a game of tag. People get injured in every tournament I attend. You can learn about your own weaknesses, your mental strength, and your ability to deal with defeat.

I made a lot of friends at tournaments, too.

This DVD runs an hour, and I demonstrate techniques with my friend Hector Lareau, then I show actual tournament video that we taped over the years showing the techniques being used in real action. Most of the video was shot between 1998 and 2003.

The clip below shows a couple of strategies to use against kickers. If, after watching the clip you are interested in learning more, click this link to go to the DVD page and order. 

John Morrow on the left with Ken Gullette on the right, judging a sparring match at Morrow's tournament on Oct. 12, 2013.

John always puts on one of the best tournaments in the area, drawing mostly friendly martial artists who are fair in their judging and talented in their technique. But over the years, the tournament has shrunk in size.

If any of you were involved in martial arts back in the 1970s, you remember how the stands were packed with spectators and there were hundreds of competitors, including kids, adults, men and women -- the Bruce Lee craze fueled the flames and there were martial arts schools on every corner, it seemed.

Even in the 1990s and around 2000, the tournament scene was thriving. I was in the black belt competitions at Morrow's tournaments and others in Chicago, Keokuk, and Dubuque. Sometimes 15 or 20 black belts -- men, women and seniors -- would compete in forms and sparring. On Saturday, only one young black belt showed up to compete. The rest of the competitors were under black belt. Several prominent local teachers who have their own schools didn't support the tournament and didn't send students, or attend to help judge the events. I'm very disappointed in them.

It's easy for people to dismiss tournaments. Even some martial artists look down their noses and complain that "it isn't real." The sparring matches are "low contact." They are supposed to be "no contact" but that's virtually impossible. If someone isn't hurt, judges generally allow it. I've always loved tournaments. You train for it, practice your forms and techniques, then put it on the line in front of a jury of your peers and mentors.

You can learn a lot about yourself in tournaments. How do you respond to pressure? Can you detach from the eyes staring at you and perform with precision and power? In sparring, can you size up the weaknesses of your opponent and score? Do you freeze up? 

I still think this is one of the greatest sports, and find it hard to believe more teens and adults don't take it up. The skills you learn are not only helpful in self-defense, they build confidence, which carries over into all areas of life.

In the old days, a school owner could earn a living with a school. Now, a lot of martial arts school owners have full-time jobs to supplement their income. Children are involved in several activities throughout the year but martial arts isn't usually one of them. Young adults seem to be involved in other things. Adults 35 and over think they are too old (they're not). MMA has drawn some young guys who think they want more realism, but the truth is that when these young guys see how difficult it is, and how hard you have to work, they drop out of MMA, too.

Some outstanding traditional arts are being taught. You can learn without worrying about getting a concussion. You can learn self confidence, get in shape, and learn to control your mind and body in ways that will surprise you. And you can learn to defend yourself and the people you love. That's an ability that is always good to have tucked inside in case you need it. 

I started for self-defense and philosophy. After I learned self-defense, I became interested in developing my skill. I am particularly interested in how beautiful movements can be powerful fighting techniques. Arts such as Tai Chi and Bagua just get deeper the more you study them. They are arts that keep on giving.

There have been many changes in society and technology during the past 40 years. In 1973, Kung-Fu and Karate were mysterious and amazing. It was all so new. In 2013, even 20 and 30-year-olds have never known a world where martial arts schools were not around. It is no longer something cool and new. It's nothing special. Except to those of us who remember just how new and cool it was. For us, it's still cool.

I would love to see comments on this topic. Do you still study? Why do you study and what do you get out of it? If you don't study in a school, why not?

I've made some outstanding friends because of the martial arts. One of them is a high-ranking black belt in the Shinkyudo Karate Association. His name is Dan Gray.

Dan was a college student when I met him in the mid-90's. I was in my 40's and we met while competing against each other. The first time we met, he seemed like a nice young guy and when we sparred, he kicked me with a surprising stop kick to the solar plexus that had me gasping for air for a moment. He beat me in that match but we kept congratulating each other when the other would score a point, slapping each other on the arm between points in a friendly way -- it was a very positive match.

The next time we competed against each other, we talked more and again, we fought for first place. In fact, we've probably sparred a dozen or more times for first place in tournaments around the area.

By the third tournament, we started joking around and having a lot of fun. We were very serious about our sparring, but we enjoyed each other just as much, and we began making the judges and the audience laugh by taking "kung fu" poses as if we were in a bad Chinese movie.

I've posted four pictures here from a tournament about 10 years ago -- probably 2000 or 2001. In the first photo, I'm striking a pose like in the Karate Kid movie as the center referee tells us to resume fighting.

In the next photo, Dan actually rolls across the mat like a kung-fu action hero. You can see me and the corner referee smiling. He hopped up and we resumed sparring.

The third photo shows me getting him with a hook kick, and the final photo shows the hug at the end of the match. I had to show me scoring on him. After all, it's my blog. :))

I barely won that one, and it could have gone either way. Usually, it depends on what the judges are able to see as much or more than the points that are actually scored. The fourth photo shows the end of the match -- no matter who wins, the friendship is intact.

We went to a Chicago tournament together around 2000 and had a great time. We've competed against each other many times since -- he would win one, I'd win one, and we'd go back and forth. His skill and speed, and outstanding techniques, forced me to practice harder so I could compete as I entered my 50's. We has shown that it's possible to be friends and have a lot of fun even during the heat of competition, and I believe it has been appreciated by the judges and by the audience.

Earlier this year, after encountering serious health issues in 2009, I wasn't able to spar at John Morrow's tournament in May. It was frustrating watching my friends spar and having to serve as a corner ref. I don't like the thought that I may never again be able to step in the ring with Dan.

Dan is one of the people who make the martial arts a positive experience. His brother, Aaron Leisinger, sister Chelsea, and others in the art, including Frank Martinez and Samantha Roach and Craig Schaul, are examples of the type of martial artist everyone should know and aspire to be.

I don't respect the martial artist who wants to be a tough guy and wants the world to know it. I respect the martial artist who is a tough guy and has the balance to also be a very nice, respectful person -- and who brings a sense of seriousness but also fun to the arts.

I just wanted to use this post to salute the folks in the Shinkyuko Karate Association, and especially my friend Daniel Gray.

One of my students, Kim Kruse, won first place at a big karate tournament in Dubuque a couple of weeks ago. She was competing in the brown belt division with the Chen 38 form (she's not yet a brown sash, either).

We enjoy performing Chen tai chi among martial artists of different styles, to drive home the fact that tai chi is a powerful martial art.

The beauty of the 38 is that it combines fluid, spiraling movements with fa-jing, and for a tournament like this, we put fa-jing throughout the form to emphasis the martial aspects.

Everyone else was busy that weekend, so Kim was our lone representative. She took third in sparring in her division.

Congratulations, Kim!