When To Quit

This is from my other blog Lance Wandering, but is relevant to Krav Maga. I decided to use what the head of KMG UK, Jon Bullock calls "the least creative option" in order to be safe. When I started out on this walk I had every intention of finishing, when I bailed I was 100% certain that continuing was not a safe option.

Safety before ego...as someone probably said.

One of many things to do for tourists in Sydney, Australia is a walk of just over 150 miles. It goes from Macquarie Place in Sydney all the way to Queens Wharf in Newcastle. It was purpose built from existing trails some years ago and officially consists of 6 separate chunks, that take from just under a day to several days to finish. The terrain ranges from piss-easy to bastard-hard and it is signposted at semi-regular intervals. There are camping spots and most of the time the trail is no more than 3 miles from civilisation at the very most, so you can always wander off to find water/ medical help/ a cold beer.

I had wanted to do this walk for a while now. It sounded awesome and was going to be a test of stamina, with a safety net just on the borders for an inexperienced novice like myself.

Now…

I’m not naive, nor am I foolhardy so I took what I thought would be adequate precautions before I set off. I made certain I had an appropriate amount of gear (first aid kit, TWO cell phones, tent, loads of sun tan lotion and dried food, etc.) and made certain that I had good shoes. I bought a floppy brimmed hat and a dry fit T-shirt. I worked out the various points on the walk and how long I thought I could walk each day. I even enclosed my passport in a waterproof bag and always carried it in my shorts pocket. I even bought an electronic mosquito repellant thingy to back up the spray stuff I’d got.

When I set off I had a streamlined backpack with only essentials plus a LOT of water (including a thermos of “emergency water” buried deep in the darkest recesses of the rucksack). I got a photo at Macquarie Place and set off to catch the ferry to Woolwich, getting off at Valentia Wharf and starting the two hour slog through the town of Hunters Hill before I got into the actual North Walk.

The first bit was tiring but OK. I only took a 5 minute break every hour and got a refill of water into one of my bottles from some guy hosing his front garden (who also was generous enough to spray my feet). I got into the Three Patriots Walk around 5pm and was happy to simply stroll along, not yet using my extendable walking pole (the model being a “Strider” no less) and marvelling at the scenery and the changing views as I moved along.

When I got to a place called Fairyland I was starting to get tired and the day was getting a little greyer. I found a clear spot near the river bank, pitched my tent, made some soup on my converted beer can stove, and watched the sun go down before drinking half a litre of water and crashing out.

I woke at 7am and the morning was beautiful. Peaceful and calm. I made a coffee and sat on the bank while the sun came up. About 7.45 a squad of canoeists paddled up the river and assembled near to where I was, getting into formation before setting off on a practice run (I know it was a practice because I asked the nearest guy to me) while a guy in a boat bellowed enthusiastic encouragement via a loud hailer.

I “broke camp” at around 8.15, packing up and setting off again, looking forward to a good day’s hiking. 

Problem…

The fatigue from the day before kicked in again pretty quickly. While the sleep had refreshed me, my body wasn’t used to this type of prolonged exercise and as I moved onwards the terrain became a little more difficult, with rocks to climb and twisting paths to navigate. My hourly 5 minute breaks began to become 40 minutes, then 20 and finally 15. I got to a rangers’ station and asked for directions and the guy was super helpful, giving me a free map that normally costs $10, and taking great care to show me the best way to go. He even gave me his mobile number in case I got lost or needed help.

I moved on again and then found that the walk was very rocky and involved climbing. While my feet weren’t hurting, my legs, hips and shoulders were now crying out in protest at carrying 30-ish kilos of weight in 32 degrees celsius sunshine. 

By the time I got to a place named Thornleigh Oval I was in constant pain, I’d used most of my water and my rest breaks were every 10 minutes. 

I threw in the towel at that moment and, to reaffirm my belief in guardian angels, a guy then came down the track on a mountain bike…even though the last time I’d seen another human being was at least three hours previously. He told me how to walk out and get to the nearest shops, where I strolled up, bought a can of soda and while glugging it, booked a room on AirBnB via my phone and caught a bus over to it. The lady driver took one look at me and went “You walking?”

When I replied I’d just bailed on the Great North Walk she tutted and said “Good. It’s not the weather for it, better this way than they have to come and rescue you”.

I got to my lodgings an hour or so later and after a shower and chat with the owner, collapsed into bed, my shoulders and hips still hurting like hell.

Next morning I found out that I’d done the official first bit of the walk, a distance of around 20 miles from Macquarie Place to Thornleigh Oval. I’d done that in heat of up to 32 degrees while carrying a pack weighing 30 kilos and achieved it in a time of about 8 hours. I’d also done it alone.

As disappointing as it was to bail after what I later worked out was only 13% of the Great North Walk, I’m pleased to have at least tried it and to have spent such a lovely time (up until all I could focus on was the pain my body was in) in such beautiful country. Camping by the river in Fairyland was wonderful.

The record for completing the whole walk is apparently 54 hours. That gives me a sense of scale for how B.I.G the whole thing is as the two people who achieved that, couldn’t have stopped moving and just did it like an ultra marathon. While I never even dreamed of competing with that, I never once thought when setting out that a little thing like stamina would get in the way.

I’ll be back. Next time with a partner and a week or two to finish it all.

The Long Way Round

As a child I thought bravery meant not crying, keeping your word and standing up to bullies. I also thought it included not showing fear and not making "silly" noises when confronted with something scary.

As I got older I realised most of that was antiquated rubbish from the pre and post war era, still lingering around like a bad smell from people who had their hair clipped "when we were your age" and had possibly done national service.

At about 10 or 11 when I started fancying girls I thought bravery meant actually being able to ask a girl out. I would add into that also that bravery meant not showing any emotion AT ALL if she laughed at me. Bravery extended to continuing to be stoic if, months later the girl in question and her friends would point at me and giggle as I walked past.

Watching far too much television, films and reading shed loads of violent comics and books, I had rather moulded ideas as to what bravery could and did encompass.

Bravery when being tortured by baddies would mean keeping your mouth shut and if necessary, dying to protect secrets. It was only much later in life that I realised that no matter how hard someone is, if you attack their testicles with nut crackers or flay them alive, then they are 99% certain to confess to everything including the assassination of JFK.

Bravery was a long list of things but most of them came under the sub headings of stoicism, suppression of emotion, standing up for yourself and not being afraid to voice an opinion/ answer back.

I considered myself Not Brave for a long list of perceived failures. I don't know about now but in the 1980s, if you were attacked by another kid or even a teacher, be it verbally or physically then unless you were known to be "hard" you had to just batten down the hatches and take it until the storm of abuse had passed.

What a pansey!

Not answering back as 'Errol' stole my lunch money and stamped on my foot for half heartedly attempting to stop him. Not saying or doing anything as 'Chubs' repeatedly punched me in the face while I simply stood there crying.

Growing up there were a multitude of situations where I kept my mouth shut and to this day feel resentment for doing so. My aunt remarried a rather loathsome businessman named Barry. Very rich, very successful and a complete and utter wanker. Racist, right wing and judgmental of anyone below the 40% tax threshold, he once told a story at the FUCKING DINNER TABLE in my house about how he'd got an attack of the "screaming abdabs" while visiting a tyre factory and had shit himself. He stood up to mime how he'd been waddling with his undies full of excrement while everyone sat there and simply said nothing (or in my aunt and mother's case, giggled appreciatively like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard). If I had tried to tell the same story I'd have been shouted down or made to leave the table within the first couple of sentences. I wanted with every fibre of my being, to plunge a fork into the ill mannered twerp's eye sockets...but of course I didn't.

What a pansy!

Suppressing how I felt and simply "taking it" became a part and parcel of life. Problem was that when I got into my early twenties I then began to get a little more stubborn. I'd argue a 'little bit' and regard that as 'better than nothing' when I reflected on the incident later.

When I got into my thirties my obstinacy had become obnoxious but rarely productive. I'd stand my ground in arguments and tell people to go fuck themselves but it was mainly because I considered that the alternative was to simply stand there and take it and if I did that well...

What a pansy!

I joined the UK police in 2006 and never once stood up to my Sergeant,  a 'man' who bullied me until I quit the job. I did however get my own back by writing a book about what he'd done. But did I get my own back? Maybe not.

When I was in my late thirties my father told me over a beer the following opinion.

"You're not a coward Lance, you are in fact very brave. You're prepared to stand your ground but you just can't fight".

Later as I took up Krav Maga and tried to adopt the philosophies about Conflict Resolution and what the UK head Jon Bullock calls "the lest creative option" to solve problems I realised that bravery is a lot more complicated than simply standing still and taking a beating to prove I wasn't a sissy.

Bravery can and does include keeping my mouth shut. I had a row recently with a rude man in Boots (chemists) in town. What started off as me telling him that I didn't' like how he was speaking to two female cashiers, quickly devolved into a Monkey Dance that would have (as Rory Miller said), looked highly impressive to a female chimpanzee.

Bravery to me used to mean walking down that dark, narrow lane to prove that I wasn't going to be intimidated. Bravery was standing up to a guy (who was with about 5 of his mates) for insulting a woman I was with. Bravery was refusing to be the one that reversed when in a narrow bit of road where only one car can pass, and both of us took the initiative and now someone has to back up.

Bravery can include these things but something I've found recently, partly through Krav and partly through just being alive for 45 years, is that bravery can also be going the 'long way round' to avoid that narrow lane. It could be NOT confronting that racist guy who insulted my lady friend. It could also be biting the bullet and putting the gear stick in reverse. 

Bravery includes being able to swallow pride and anger and let yourself be humiliated if it is necessary to avoid potentially greater nastiness. A Krav Maga instructor named Nick Maison is Expert level 3 (black belt 3rd dan equivalent) and when in a verbal argument in London with a big guy who had queue jumped, he showed submission and lowered eye contact. He has my respect for this as it took what Mr Miller calls the Human Brain to be this controlled and above all lacking in ego to resolve it this way.

Being able to take the path of less badassery or what may feel like the 'coward's way' is one of the bravest things you can do, if it is to resolve a situation in a way you 100% feel is the right one, not just the easiest one.

A quote I read years ago sums this up for me:

"A true hero is someone who does what he does not knowing if anyone will ever find out why he did it".

Nuff said.

Egone

I am currently reading a very informative book entitled The Little Black Book of Violence by Lawrence Kane and Kris Wilder. It has the subtitle "What Every Young Man Needs to Know About Fighting."

This book was lent to me by a fellow practitioner** at my club, Krav Maga Midlands.

While perusing it last night, something struck a chord that is fundamental to the principles of Krav, but is sometimes oh so very easy to overlook in favour of the "sexy" bits of what we do.

A preface by Rory Miller (a police sergeant in the US when the book was published) states that he believe most people reading the book will simply cherry pick the parts they like. He goes on to say, "I don't think you can see past your own ego. I think that you will risk your own life and piss away good information to protect your daydreams."

Something that has occurred to me a lot lately is how violence is best stopped by anything other than violence.

I used to be a UK police officer and the experience was soul destroying in its stupidity, lack of basic common sense and political correctness over officer safety. We weren't trained to fight, only to subdue through holding and baton strikes absolutely COULD NOT be aimed at the head, regardless of what the Bad Guy might be coming at you with at the time. We spent 6 weeks on Race & Diversity training, but a measly 4 hours on use of baton and 1 hour on how to fire pepper spray (the only weapons 95% of UK cops carry on patrol).

Krav Maga to me is what the English police should be about. It teaches you to avoid conflict. That "FUCK OFF! STAY AWAY!" shouted at the top of your lungs is the best method to try first, if you have the distance and time. Krav talks about avoidance, de-escalation and getting the hell out of there if it can be achieved. It says violence is a secondary alternative that is played only when less confrontational options won't work.

But as we know, Krav also teaches us to be as brutal as possible, as quickly as possible with the minimum of effort and THEN get the hell out of there.

It's how the English police should be. Common sense and a lack of ego but able to be baddasses if the occasion demands it.

Problem is for me that it's very easy to get enticed by the funky side of Krav. We've all seen sparring sessions at our clubs where two good fighters go hammer and tongs on each other with grace and power. I personally imagine being whoever is the victor.

Then there's the everyday interactions we see where we wonder exactly what we would have done had someone called us a "c**t" in traffic or pushed in front of us in a queue. I personally imagine them being humiliated, maybe even working in an Educational Block like Krav Vader, to make certain they keep their distance.

Problem is that my daydreams quite often cloud my judgment.

I don't like sparring cold bloodedly, although I'm not bad at it when I actually have a go. I can assess threat reasonably well and I'm not a coward. But all my badass fantasies, as I move further into Krav Maga and up the grades (currently P4). I got a busted finger 6 weeks ago in training for trying to block a stomp kick with my fingertips (I was tired, error in judgment...that I'm still paying for). Having seen movies where people simply pop dislocated joints back into place I never envisaged in a thousand years, having to be on restricted duties at work for 9 weeks, repeated visits to the fracture clinic and a special splint being made at Warwick hospital.

The least useful appendage on my entire body has affected my ability to train and means my cardio is so out of practice that I get out of breath running up the stairs.

Ego can be a killer. I've had it for most of my life and always imagined it to be a friend, mistaking it for confidence. Ego isn't confidence. Confidence is feeling that you are able to deal with what is in front of you. Ego is feeling that you can not only do it but do it perfectly and then have loads of women want to shag you because you're such an awesome badass.

It has taken 30 minutes of Yoga a day for over 2 months before I've become supple enough to kick higher than the belly button level of an opponent. My lack of flexibility was something I worked around until I became a teaching assistant at a Kiddy Krav class, and was having rings run round me by 6 year old girls (not to mention wincing as my back strained every time I bent down to pick something up during the class). I now have flexibility again, like I did in my 20s. But it's through adherence to a regime of stretching instructed by someone who knows more than me on the subject.

I see rude or threatening people in public a lot and 10 years ago I'd have jumped in to tell them to leave Mrs A or Mr B alone and be on their way. On some weird level I used to take all obnoxious behaviour as being somehow directed at me, if I was around when it happened. I think my logic was, "You know I'm here and are still doing this in front of me. Therefore you must think I'm a pansy who won't try and stop you."

Krav (plus a few other things, like getting dumped by my ex on a Skype call...just after she'd flown back to Europe on a flight I'd paid for) has helped me to mould and tailor my ego so I no longer feel that I'm a superhero. When I'm drunk, all bets are off, but over this past year particularly I've got involved in things that have made me realise my own limitations and not to be ashamed of them but work with them.

Nick Maison and Jose Silva's Air Safety seminar was a sobering experience and as close to a hijack on a plane as I ever want to get. Forget being a hero, you are lucky if you can even see straight as the "terrorists" shove you around, order you not to look at them and do their best to disorientate you. Nick even said before we started, "If any of you feel like taking on any of the hijackers then feel free...but we WILL give you a kicking and then throw you off the plane"***

Having met both Eyal Yanilov and Zeev Cohen they are both softly spoken and humble men who appear without ego BUT are badasses. After the second day of P Weekend in December I was in reception at Harlow Leisure Zone when they both left for the evening. They did not stand out at all, did not swagger and would have blended into any crowd.

Ego can be dangerous. It ties me into adolescent fantasies about vanquishing the evil hordes and being the bully hunter I always wanted to be. It's only be accepting the drab reality of my own limitations that I can now build upon that and walk through life in a way that means I will assess situations logically and with my mind, not my ego.

Egone.

--------------------------------

** Bloke is a Christian priest in his late 50s and one of the nicest chaps you could ever meet. Hell of a right hook too.

*** Actually a decommissioned 747 on the runway of Bournemouth airport. We weren't airborne.