Are Tournaments Worth It?

        I remember my first tournament. I was a Purple Belt from the U.W. Eau Claire Martial Arts Club in Eau Claire, WI. January 1984, I got beat 6-1 in about 30 seconds because earning a 5 point advantage was an automatic win. I only received a point because my opponent hit me in the head twice, allowing me to get a penalty point. I bowed and quickly changed my clothes so no one would know I was even registered, and I got back out on the gym floor before our division was over. Later in the event I saw my future instructor go through everyone like grease through a goose. Wow. Impressive. When I went to congratulate him, he said to me, 'Why don't you start coming around more often and we'll show you how to do this stuff?' I joined his school the next week.

        I was lucky. I was in the right place at the right time. I had finally found something to give my life meaning. Many of my friends were chasing degrees in business, accounting, finance or information systems, but I just couldn't see graduating and sitting in a cubicle somewhere as just another cog in the wheel. I guess I was a little immature and saw too many movies as a kid, hoping that life would have more adventure. After karate class I would come home to our college house while they were having frat parties, and everyone was dressed up in suits and ties except for me, and I'd be the one walking around usually with a icepack for my black eye or something, thinking that they were the weird ones. (Oh, by the way, a lot of them are general partners, managers and company presidents now.)

        A year later, I decided to leave school, move to a different town, live in poverty for the next several years and be a karate instructor, and weekend tournament fighter. There wasn't a lot of recognition outside the local karate gang, but I wouldn't exchange those years for anything. It was through these years that I forged life-long friendships, met my future wife, and developed a sense of meaning for myself. Although it didn't dawn on me at the time that I was setting in motion an exercise in character training that I probably wouldn't have got anywhere else outside the military-(two shoulder surgeries kept me out)

        Nowadays, when I here someone talking to kids about competition and how it builds character, all I usually hear is a bunch of platitudes about how they shouldn't 'let losing bother them.' Yet for all of the ones that I know that talk that way, losing bothered them quite a bit.

       So many people speak out of fear: of loss, of looking stupid, of discovering that they may not have what it takes, that they focus on trying to keep things from going wrong, rather than focusing on making things go right.

         What do I mean? Well, let's say you have an instructor, boss, mentor, or  coach (like my old high school football coach) and all he says are reactive comments, "If 'x' happens, we're gonna have to do 'y'!"
That is the talk of a scared leader, and you can sense the fear of losing seeping out of his pores.

         My instructor was a winner. He would get eye-to-eye with me and say, "Establish your side kick and be first, make them play catch up to you." Heck, even typing those words 25 years later causes my hands to shake a bit, and my heart to beat a little faster - Someone believed in me! I could feel it in my gut that I was going to win, or at least give a good showing. I should also mention the difficult workouts; the hills, the sprints, 1000 kicks a day, the sparring sessions that went on for hours - they were the acts that gave his words so much iron.

          For most karate students tournaments are a lot of fun, allowing them a challenge to test themselves, get some experience and maybe win a trophy, and that is all that they need to be. I don't push competing on my students because most of them joined for far different reasons than the ones that compelled me to start lessons. My experiences don't need to be theirs.

           Are tournaments worth it? For me they were. Are they for you? That is for you to decide.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.