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post #12 of (permalink) Old 04-04-2010, 10:49 PM Thread Starter
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Join Date: Feb 2010
Location: Ohio
Posts: 35
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Dojo Kun

Running. I've run twice in the past three days. The day in the middle was spent at a cookout in my backyard with North and a mutual friend, along with my grandma, my dog, and a tremendously exorbidant(close?) amount of food. I have also begun practicing Shotokan hand strikes on my heavy bag. Ridgehands, Knifehands and Spearhands specifically. I now have sore wrists and possibly a jammed finger or two.

I downloaded the plans for a makiwara. For anyone reading who doesn't know, a makiwara is a traditional karate striking post. The term makiwara refers to the fabric pad made from rice straw strapped to a carved post. It is designed to help develop proper form as well as increase the power of a punch. It is hypothosized to be better than a heavy bag in this respect in that as you punch a makiwara it becomes harder to move than on the moment of impact. This works the opposite way a heavy bag works.

But on to the title of this post, and the point of me writing it. Tonight I was running. It remains an unknown distance, though I hope to be able to determine its actual length tomorrow on the way home from work. I was nearly home when a group of hoodlums from down the street yelled something to me across the street as we passed. It was a definite challenge. Every fiber of my being screamed to turn and bark something in return, there were seven (approx.) of them, but I didn't care. These bastard harange about the neighborhood and their lttle asshole dog is a yippy bastard. How I would love to tear them apart! But instead of the small voice being the one calling for not fighting out of fear, tonight it was something different. I heard my own voice in my head reciting the fifth stanza of the Dojo Kun I recite before every training session:

"Refrain from violence and guard against impetuous courage."

I couldn't refuse the words I'm trying to make myself live by, so I ignored them and continued on home. I'm annoyed at myself for not ripping them apart, even if I was messed up, it would have been okay if I took a few of them with me. But at the same time I'm proud of myself for rising above my lesser urges. Its kind of a strange feeling.
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