Valoración de una opción: Factores que intervienen y cómo intervienen

he roar from the crowd is deafening. They just witnessed history in the mak- ing: Teddy Riner has won his fifth World Judo Championships. He stands over the opponent he just threw and, raising an arm, sends a message to the audi- ence: Five fingers are extended, signify- ing his fifth world title.

Granted, Riner is a giant. He stands 6 feet 8 inches tall and weighs 270 pounds. He’s deceptively agile, however. Taller, heavier judoka usually rely on their weight and strength to overcome their opponents. They tend to lack the coordination enjoyed by their lighter counterparts. Usually slower, they often force techniques to a lesser conclusion. But not Teddy Riner. He has the power of a heavyweight, the speed of a light- weight and the technique of a Japanese champion. But this article is not about him; it’s about the Zen of judo waza. Ri- ner just happens to exemplify what we seek when learning waza.

In Japanese, waza means “skill” or “technique”—something that enables us to get a job done more efficiently. In the budo, however, it’s deeper. Studying the martial ways is all about the path we follow to arrive at a destination, and in this case, the destination is the acquisi- tion of waza.

In my book Judo Heart and Soul, I mention levels of techniques that speak to the esoteric nature of some moves. I explain how in the quest for excellence in waza, we gradually go from learning a technique step by step to almost in- stinctively executing it. However, much more is involved. Because we can go through the steps of a throw and use it doesn’t mean we’ve succeeded in devel- oping it. What if our opponent starts to move—can we still get into position and throw him? What if he resists? What if he tries to throw us at the same time?

The question then becomes, out of 10 attempts, how many times can we throw our opponent? If we get 10 out of 10, does it mean we’ve arrived? Can we repeat our performance ad infinitum? Although many books will tell us how to execute a technique, none will tell us

how long it takes to truly master it. What allows us to execute a technique successfully under extreme conditions such as at the Olympics? How do we develop winning technique? What does Zen have to do with the practice of judo? These are some of the points we’ll ex- amine in this article.

Begin at the Beginning There are several ways in which we’re introduced to a judo technique. Often, it’s via a demonstration at a dojo or a match at a tournament. No matter how much we see or read, we have to physically try the technique to see how it feels and works. Bloom’s Taxonomy of learning refers to this as psychomo- tor learning. In actuality, most of what we learn is facilitated through the body. Some may argue that we learn through our brain, but where does the brain get the input from? We see with our eyes, hear with our ears, taste with our tongues and smell with our noses. Per- haps more than anything else, our tac- tile sense, which comes through touch, is crucial for understanding and learn- ing judo waza.

Yes, we use our eyes to see a technique and our ears to listen to pointers about how to execute it, but it’s our sense of touch—and especially our sense of our moving body parts—that makes the difference. Our sense of our body parts moving through space is called kinesthetic awareness. It’s facilitated by millions of nerves that send messages to the brain, where they’re interpreted and eventually sent back to the muscles to tell them to contract to move bones in a manner that accomplishes a task—in this case, a waza.

Point to ponder: These nerves pass through the lower part of the brain, which controls cognition related to fear, anger, survival, revenge and tribalism. It’s a primitive part of our collection of gray matter, one that’s often called the reptil- ian brain. The brain includes the cerebel- lum, which deals with movement, coor- dination, posture and balance; the limbic system, which manages the autonomic

nervous system, emotions, homeostasis, short- and long-term memory, and the endocrine system; and the neocortex, where much of our cognitive thought oc- curs. All these parts are interconnected by neurons, and all of them play a role in learning and refining waza.

Weird Science

If not for the “reflex arc,” human be- ings would not exist. While the abil- ity to neocortically think is important, the ability to react without thought is equally important to our ability to survive. The reflex arc is what enables us to yank our hand away from a hot stove before our brain has registered that our fingers have been burned. If we had to think about it, it would take so long that the burn would be much worse. Because of the reflex arc, we can withdraw our hand in a split second.

It’s possible because the sensory input travels from the nerves in the fingers to the spinal cord, and the response goes directly to the muscles, bypassing the neocortex.

Closely related to this phenomenon is the reptilian brain. Among its functions are regulating emotions and blood pres- sure, controlling breathing and doing what’s necessary to ensure our survival in a threatening situation.

Sophisticated movement-based re- sponses to threats are likely the result of experiences modulated and sent by the lower brain to the neocortex for storage and later use. For example, an adversary grasps for our collar, send- ing a message to our midbrain and then our neocortex. We block and pull him forward with our left hand while pivot- ing on the ball of our right foot, which is in front of his right foot. With our

knees bent, we slip under him, plac- ing our right biceps in his right armpit. As we continue to pull him forward, he slumps over our back. Our left foot circles counterclockwise as our knees straighten. The motion is fast enough that the impact lifts him up and over.

We’ve just executed an ippon seoin-

age, a noninstinctive technique that

requires a fair amount of training to de- velop. How did it manifest in this situ- ation? The experience of having some- one grasp our collar signaled danger and prompted our lower brain to act. The movements we used were remem- bered partially by our limbic system, which interacts with the neocortex to make preparations for such encounters through training. All this added to the training that was stored in our memory and sent a message to our muscles to re- act. The throw was the result.

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Putting in time

Redundancy is the key to success in learning a technique. In the best-seller

Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell says we have

to invest 10,000 hours to become an expert at anything. This is an enormous amount of time when you consider that the average American recreational ju- doka practices for 90 minutes twice a week. Minus warm-up time, that comes to 100 hours a year. How can it take so long to become an expert?

At the basic level of judo, we have the technique. Take a throw as an example: It’s usually taught in steps. We’re en- couraged to repeat the steps needed to get in position for the throw until we’re familiar with them. Called uchikomi practice, this is usually done at a me- dium cadence to ensure good form. After we’ve done this entry 100 to 500 times, we’re allowed to complete the

throw. When done as a drill, the com- plete throw is referred to as nagekomi or sutegeiko. Because our opponent doesn’t resist, we learn what the com- plete technique feels like.

Next, random movement is added to the drill. In essence, we must find a way to hit a moving target with the tech- nique. In this type of practice, known as half-randori, there’s no resistance or throwing. The object is to get used to finding ways to enter while both parties are moving randomly.

Finally, when we’re fairly confident, we’re allowed to try the throw in ran- dori. That means both sides are trying to defend and attack. The more easily we’re able to throw the other person under these conditions, the more con- fident we’ll be in the application of the technique.

While this type of learning takes time,

the total is nowhere near 10,000 hours. It’s possible, however, that by the time we begin to have confidence in the tech- nique, we’ll have effected 10,000 entries or throw attempts. Physiologically, the many attempts and entries change not only our hormones, nerves and muscles but also our psychology.

Kinesiology studies indicate that in- creased numbers of neurons and motor end plates are found at the muscle sites of mammals that perform continuous specialized tasks. The question that aris- es is, Does the constant bombardment of the extra neurons and motor end plates result in nerve signals that travel all the way up to the neocortex or does some type of mechanism allow for the reptil- ian brain and midbrain to take over and create something similar to the reflex arc to occur with a trained response?

If we had to think through every step

of a technique we wanted to use against a determined opponent, the outcome would seldom be in our favor. Before we could finish a thought such as “For step one, I move my right foot diagonally and plant it in front of his …” we will have been slammed to the mat. So what’s the secret? And, still, what does all this have to do with Zen?

IntangIbles

In Zen in the Art of Archery, Eugen Her- rigel explains how difficult it is to con- centrate on every facet of kyudo if it’s done correctly. In Japanese archery, you engage in premeditation, approaching the bow, notching the arrow, raising the arms overhead, and evenly pulling down the bow and arrow until the tip of the arrow is properly positioned. All this must be done while not over-con- tracting the muscles and while breath- ing correctly and effortlessly. Then, relaxed, we wait for the right time to release the bowstring. This action must be practiced thousands of times before it becomes second nature. In the end, it’s not thought of; it’s just done.

After viewing a master named Kenzo Awa, Herrigel writes: “He placed, or ‘notched,’ an arrow on the string, drew the bow so far that I was afraid it would not stand the strain up to the strain of embracing the All, and loosed the ar- row. All this looked not only very beau- tiful but quite effortless.” It takes on an almost spiritual quality.

Judo, being a budo, likewise has this quality, but it’s of a different nature. There’s still the search for perfection, and there’s a type of mental and physi- cal pattern that must be followed. How- ever, unlike kyudo, which offers the ability for reflection/non-reflection in shooting an arrow, judo offers nonstop action against an unpredictable, aggres- sive adversary. It’s in this chaotic envi- ronment that the judoka must be able to function effortlessly.

The Zen of it all is that judo waza are done automatically and without hesita- tion. To the novice, they appear effortless, beautiful and natural. Although it looks as though the novice could mimic the move- ments with little effort, he cannot, even if he faces the weakest of opponents.

To succeed, in our mind must be an image of what the technique should look like—not just a snapshot of the midair portion of the throw but how it is set up, where our feet are initially placed, how our hands pull or push, the

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way the opponent becomes off-balance and eventually goes airborne. In our mind, the sequence has to be practiced constantly. Often, at the end of the day, as we fall asleep, the throw is still there, so real that it causes our body to twitch on its way to deep sleep.

MiMicking the MaMMals Like the aforementioned mammals, we must develop specific patterns in our muscles so that when called on, they’ll automatically fire in a manner similar to the reflex arc. To arrive at that goal, judo uses uchikomi, or repetitive entry drills. It’s not uncommon to do 400 or 500 such entries, in which we physically go through the motions of the throw with- out actually throwing the opponent, in a single practice session. This can be chal- lenging because we must do them with perfect form even when the angle of entry is difficult to negotiate while mov- ing slowly and when gravity is working against us because of that slow motion.

The advantage of doing slow-motion uchikomi is we become familiar with the phases of the technique in which corrections and adaptations can be made. Also, it develops strength in muscle groups that wouldn’t otherwise be used. However, to really develop a technique, we eventually have to amp up our speed.

In speed uchikomi, we need a sturdy partner—one who will offer the proper amount of resistance while staying up- right as we pound him with our throw. Caveat: When entering into a throw, the object is not just to have a fast entry. It’s to have a fast but correct entry. A fast entry is of little value if it doesn’t result in a throw.

Another popular practice method is power uchikomi. It’s done with three people. The opponent stands in front of us, and the third person is directly behind him, holding his belt, anchor- ing him to the mat. We enter and try to upend both partners. Maximum tension is maintained for a few seconds, after which we attempt the throw again.

A form of anaerobic exercise, this type of training is very taxing on the muscles. Adding speed to the equation, of course, helps boost the power of the lift—so much so that occasionally both oppo- nents will be overturned.

The preferred way to approach uchiko- mi is to mix it up. We use the slow-motion variation to study the entry and to de- velop some of the necessary muscles. We

use speed uchikomi to decrease the time it takes to get into position to execute the technique. Lastly, we use power uchikomi to maximize our force on contact.

Coach’s view: Speed and power uchikomi are probably the most impor- tant types of training, and of the two, the speed drill is preferred in practice. No matter which one you perform, remem- ber to execute the movements swiftly but correctly. Your goal is to create mus- cle memory that mimics a reflex arc.

The next step in perfecting waza en- tails discerning the best moment to apply it on a moving target. Enter half- randori practice. In half-randori, no one actually attacks, and there’s no resis- tance. Our goal is to enter into a throw and, at most, pick up the other person. This enables us to fine-tune our timing against a moving target.

This is no simple task—as any novice will attest. Beginners usually move about while thinking, “Oh, there’s an opening … nope, too late!” As soon as the mind detects an opening, the opponent has moved and the opportunity is lost. For that reason, in half-randori, we practice our entries and combinations at a slower pace. And because there is no throwing, we have more time to search for open- ings. Experimentation is encouraged because, with egos out of the picture, there’s no need to escalate the intensity. War gaMes

Nothing prepares us for combat like combat—unless we die, that is. To avoid that possible pitfall while still develop- ing the qualities needed for success, hu- man beings developed sports. In judo, the combat is the match, and the type of training that safely mimics the match is randori. It’s a game we play in the dojo to prepare ourselves for battle.

All the elements we need to triumph in a match are essential to success in randori: strategy, preparation, physi- cal fitness, knowledge of one’s oppo- nent, secret skills, rules of engagement, smoke screens, courage under fire, sac- rifice, perseverance and so on. While we search for targets, we must fend off as- saults. We also need to monitor our en- ergy expenditure so we can last for the duration of the five-minute match. There are many other considerations: What if we end up facing a left-hander or an op- ponent who uses odd techniques? Will we be able to adjust? Have we invested enough time in honing the techniques we intend to use? Will they work?

Randori can be as easy as bowing, step- ping forward, grabbing our opponent and going for the ride. Usually, however, there’s an effort to get in more throws than the opponent gets in. If we’re re- ally committed to excellence, we should have an idea of what we want and try to get it during our workout. Here are a few examples of mantras that can be used in a goal-oriented randori session:

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“Today, I’ll try to execute at least one good throw on each person I practice with.”

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“I’ve done my preparations with uchiko- mi and half-randori; now I’ll try this new technique I’ve been working on.”

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“All I will try today is this one tech- nique—nothing else.”

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“The other day, I went against anyone who volunteered and had mixed results. Today, I’ll work with weaker guys and try to get in as many clean throws as I can.”

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“In this class, I’ll go at 75 percent so I can pay more attention to how I’m per- forming my waza.”

And then there are those times when we practice without a plan or a goal. Sometimes it’s best to jump into a workout without thinking too much— to just live in the moment. We may get lost in our activity to the point of losing track of time, but that’s OK because it’s time well spent.

It’s in these moments that we occasion- ally strike gold. A technique comes out of nowhere. We look down and are shocked