The CBT

In the UK, if you wish to ride a motorcycle, you must receive a day’s instruction with an approved school on the finer nuances of controlling a bike. This is NOT the test for the licence, no, no. This is training on how to learn.

To explain.

Years ago, those wanting to buzz around on a Yamaha would simply buy a 125cc model, bung L plates on it, strap on a helmet and off they went. Problem was that, without a rudimentary knowledge of how the bike worked, a lot of accidents (many fatal) occurred. 

So…to solve the issue of motorcyclist pizzas littering the highways of the country, the government introduced a thing called CBT or Compulsory Basic Training.

It’s a course of about 6 to 7 hours, with approved motorcycle instructors, learning how to brake, use the gears, apply the clutch and ride with a basic level of proficiency when on the roads. It reduces your chances of making stupid mistakes and teaches you the fundamental things and the more subtle ones such as a “lifesaver glance” or “counter steering”.

I did this course in August 2016 with a school based at a civilian airfield near Stratford-upon-Avon. The 60-something instructor named Bob was top notch, reassuring and friendly and took us through the day with basics, a theory test and finally a trip out with him to Stratford for a couple of hours. We had radios with earpieces and every so often you’d hear Bob say “Lance, turn your indicator off” or “Gerry, move away from the white lines please”.

Despite having what are known as Grandfather Rights on my car licence, meaning I can drive a bike up to 50cc without CBT or a test AND I can drive a shit load of vehicles that you now have to be tested separately for, I thought the day’s training was fully worthwhile and took away a LOT of my nervousness about using a motorbike when I went backpacking a short time later.

The certificate is valid for 2 years, meaning that in August of this year I will need to retest if I want to ride a bike again. But…and this is the crucial point once more. This only allows me to ride with Learner plates on the machine. I would still need to, at some point within the 2 year window, take both a theory test and a practical one, to prove that I am road worthy and competent using motorcycles from 125 to 600+ cc.

Only then would I be granted the coveted ‘A’ licence for a motorcycle, meaning I could ride Harley’s, Honda’s, and Yamaha’s to my heart’s content.

Which brings me to…

I haven’t touched any training with KMG since I failed the final test for the General Instructors’s Course last July in Melbourne. This isn’t out of a desire to sulk or say “fuck you”, but only down to the fact that I live 16 miles from the nearest club, in an area with limited public transport and I only have a bicycle to get around on. I still fully intend to graduate and gain the black, instructor’s T-shirt but for the time being I am not involved in that world. It’s been recommended to me by a national KMG chief instructor that I repeat at least part 2 (or 2 and 3 depending on location) again before retrying for the final assessment, even though the form I signed after failing had “no retest or resit required” which meant that I had, in theory, only to retake my G1 grading again. Skill fade will be a serious issue, especially with 9 months living a life bereft of Krav. The only way I can train is to watch the videos of P1 to G1 techniques with Eyal Yanilov that break down the various moves required for the techniques. This will give me some knowledge as a foundation for when I go back. It does not however help my teaching skills (but I’m an English teacher as a main job so my daily work will help with that). I recently asked an E5 level instructor what he thought about me using the videos as a basic tool to try and keep my skills fresh. He replied that while it would help, it wouldn’t be enough and I needed to get back into training before trying for the GIC again

What I realised after this conversation is that at this level (wannabe instructor) I need to not only learn, but have a basic knowledge to enable me to learn, a CBT of Krav Maga to build upon. It won’t be enough to learn how to perform a forwards roll or a overhead stick defence, I will also have to be able to teach those moves. The CBT would be watching the videos and copying them so that, when I finally return for the 12 days of GIC 2, I will be able to build upon what I know, and be able to break them down so I can instruct others on how to do them.

CBT for motorcyclists was designed to give a basic proficiency so that the core skills could then flourish under a learning process. The same thing exists with Krav Maga. I want, very much, to become in instructor but I need to keep a foundation at all times of the rudimentary knowledge so that I can come back and learn again on the higher aspects. 

Learning how to learn. Or in this case, learning to learn to teach.

Defy Your Destiny

In July 2017 I checked my luggage in at Heathrow airport to take an Etihad Airways flight from the UK to Abu Dhabi. This was the first phase of a two-part journey back to Australia to complete the Krav Maga Global, Australia & New Zealand General Instructors Course (or KMG ANZ GIC 2017 for short).

Over the preceding week I had had many thoughts about my future and the very real possibility that I would fail the GIC. 

The course comes in three parts in most countries, two in some. KMG ANZ do it in two. Part 1 had been in the Gold Coast of Australia and was 12 days of learning under the tuition of Expert level 4 examiner Rune Lind**. The course, while enlightening, educational and mainly fun had also been bone jarringly exhausting and physically painful. 7 to 8 hours per day of training isn’t that hard to handle if you are even reasonably fit. But with the necessity to teach, make notes and stay mentally aware, it was VERY draining.

I thoroughly enjoyed it but on the last day, when Rune took us to one side individually to give us our personal feedback he said to me “If you carry on as you are, you won’t pass part 2. But do it anyway, because then 1 is locked down and you can retest 2 later on if you need to”.

I have covered the anxiety issues, and how it felt to fail, in my blogs Schroedinger’s Pussy and After A While… but recently I realised just why I really did it.

Just why I went back at all.

When part 1 was getting closer I was exercising as much as I could. I was backpacking in New Zealand at the time and, in order to get my mind on the right wavelength, I booked the return flight back from the UK to Oz for part 2 months before it was due to happen. Retrospectively this wasn’t necessary as you can do part 2 in any country where they are happy to accept you on the course, if you’ve completed part 1. However at the time I wanted to convince myself that I could see this through.

A tourist visa to Australia (or at least, the one I had) is valid for 9 months per year from the date of first entry. However, you must leave every 3 months in order to keep the visa active. So I had no choice but to quit Oz after part 1 had finished and I intended to spend it with my dad in Greece. 

When it came time to pack up my groin guard and fly to Melbourne for part 2, I had figured out how to “not go” and also get the money back. A lost passport would have been covered by my Platinum insurance and the non-refundable return flight as well. I decided only when I handed my luggage over at check-in desk to actually go back.

After another, more arduous, 12 days of training I failed the GIC as I had known I probably would.

Now…

All my life I have dreamed of being brave, being a warrior and defeating monsters. My earliest dreams, at the age of about 5, involved me as Lance cowboy, a hero of playschool*** who other kids held in awe and was loved by all. However, growing up my reality was very different. I had no ability to fight and while I wasn’t a coward (I’d stand still and take a beating to prove I wasn’t scared) I gave up trying to make a difference to my own limitations by about the age of 14. 

If something came unexpectedly, then I’d deal with it as best I could, but I would avoid situations that could cause me pain, loss, humiliation or other draining emotions, and keep my life on an even keel.

When I was 19 two bouncers in a pub I worked in, held me down and forcibly cut my hair. I did nothing and tried to laugh it off.

When I got a job after leaving uni, I quit due to bullying from my supervisor after making zero effort to fight back against her behaviour. 

My next job was populated by a bunch of wankers who were banal and bullying in equal measure. Again I did nothing.

A job I got in 2002 where my boss refused to pay me properly on my final day, I put up no resistance.

When I fell in love in 2004 and couldn’t deal with my emotions I ran away and hid for over 8 years, telling myself outrageous stories about how the woman must have felt about me.

When, in 2010, and a police officer, my sergeant bullied me gleefully until I resigned, I put up only token resistance and only made peace with the situation after publishing a book about it all.

Any key event in my life I wouldn’t see it through. I would stop and say that I’d stood my ground long enough and now it was time to move on.

And then GIC came. 

I had been training in Australia and New Zealand at a few clubs when I asked Adam White, the head of KMG ANZ if he’d let me take the course. I made it clear I couldn’t promise regular training but that I would still give it my all. Problem is, techniques need to be absorbed into muscle memory and by not training in clubs more than once every month or so, there was no way I was ready and deep down I knew that.

To fly back to Melbourne from London was going to take me about 30 hours. It was winter in Australia in July so I would not only be tired, I would be cold and uncomfortable too. The training would start early and end late. I would have homework to do. I would be facing a range of negative emotions and would hopefully be able to get over what I found out later is called The GIC Hump. This would be hard. It would be one of the hardest things I had ever done and to top it all off, I had little chance of success. I simply wasn’t ready. 

On day 12, the last day, I gave it as much as I could. I had passed both the theory and teaching exams on days 10 and 11 and while I knew I was bollocksing up the techniques that part 2 examiner Franklyn Hartkamp was asking us to demonstrate I still lived in the moment. After 5+ hours we all got our results and Franklyn made it clear that while I had got good passes on the first two exams he wanted me to wait a year before retesting, my techniques had been that lacking in polish. He also expressed surprise when I said I would be flying back to Europe in 2 days, asking “But you’re coming back?” and then saying that he’d never had this situation before, where someone had been in a country ONLY to take the exam and was leaving straight after.

Through all that pain, and eventual disappointment, I had spent a lot of money, time, sweat and pain on something that I now needed to do all over again if I still coveted the Instructors’ T-shirt.

But then….

I had come back. I’d sen this to the end. I’d not made a false insurance claim and told myself that I could do part 2 “another time”. I’d travelled a ridiculous amount of miles and gone through a world of pain. And that was the achievement. For possibly the first time in my adult life I had, with my eyes wide open, decided to not turn the ship around, tuck tail and run, or do a U-ey. I’d faced my fears of both failure and pain and both participated in and completed something that, even three years previously, I NEVER thought I would be able to do. I had fought with guys both better and worse than me, and had my 42 year phobia of fighting finally cured during the sparring on day 11 of GIC part 1.

I resigned my jobs, I didn’t protest when two thugs cut my hair for a laugh, I hadn’t been able to tell the woman I loved how I felt about her, but now, knowing that I was 80% likely to fail I had still gone back and done this. 

This was the achievement, not the G1 patch or the Instructors’ certificate and T-shirt. To know that I could trek across the world to pursue a dream. Something I’d always wanted, and not back down when the odds were against me. I’d faced my demons and I’d had a good time. A video of me fighting during the grading shows me getting my arse handed to me by a much bigger, better and stronger opponent (who at one point, kicks me in the HEAD from a standing position). The same video also shows that while I’m out of my league, I’m also not backing down. He was the personification of the GIC. I knew I couldn’t beat him, but I tried anyway and stood my ground.

This experience gave me back a lot of the self esteem I lost growing up. In 2010 I had a tattoo done on my left arm that said “Defy Your Destiny” and for once I tried to. 

I now know that even if I never retake the GIC I have the power to try whatever I want.

** Now Expert 5.

*** Kindergarten to Yanks.

After A While...

As I sit here, my hips aching and bruises in places that I didn’t know I even had places, there’s a temporary reprieve from the last 12 days.

I’ve just finished the final exam for the General Instructors Course, or GIC. This is run by Krav Maga Global and, if you pass it, means you become an instructor for the organisation and obtain at least a Graduate 1 grade (after all, you have to be at least a G1 to teach Practitioners 1 to 5). There are myths, rumours and even substantiated claims of some GIC candidates passing out with a G2 or even a G3 patch, some of which were not even a P5 when they went in.

My body is, to put it politely, completely f**ked. This was the second part of the training. In April up in the Gold Coast of Australia, I did part 1. That was the initial chunk, the first half. The reason that KMG no longer do the course Monday to Saturday with Sundays off, is that 24 days in a row is unsustainable for anyone except badasses who have just come out of the army or those who run ultramarathons for a hobby. 

After 10 weeks off, we then came back to Melbourne and began phase 2. Another 12 days. I have been pushed both physically and emotionally to my absolute frigging limits. I’ve felt like giving up, I’ve taken cocktails of painkillers, I’ve eaten like a pregnant Sumo wrestler and not put on an ounce in fat. Seven to eight hours a day of fighting training. Not just learning HOW to fight but learning how to teach OTHERS to fight….and also how not to.

Having to learn technical skills, then write down the technique, then have to teach it. It’s been beyond hard. This was a course I came into knowing it would be something to test my limits. I nearly didn’t come back for the second part, seriously considering “losing” my passport so I could get my non-refundable, return ticket from London to Melbourne refunded. 

As the days went by, in both phases, I gritted my teeth and marked off little points of victory.

Survived the first day. Whoopee!

Got through the first quarter (3rd day). Awesome!

Got to the end without being injured to the point of having to withdraw! Brilliant!

We also had homework to do almost daily. Lesson plans, theory revision and also a test on Krav that we were obliged to spend a great deal of time doing properly with a pass mark of 75%. I got 88% and momentarily felt immortal. 

Then we had the teaching test. I was assigned “Release from static choke from behind”. I had to teach this to six of my peers. I passed that test too and my hopes were high for the grading on the final day. 

There had been 15 of us but one person had to drop out due to injury. 14 candidates on test day. I shouted “Who else hasn’t got a partner?” and I got the huge Serbian guy. 

We started and it went on and on and on. After 4-ish hours we began sparring and my badass partner virtually handed me my ass. Seriously don’t think I’ve ever been roundhoused in the head in a standing position before. Determined to at the very least, stand my ground, I did exactly that, too tired and too inflexible in the back hips to try and retaliate in kind. As we tumbled to the floor my adrenalin kicked in and I could hear myself yelling “F**K YOU! YOU F**KING C**T!!” before he got me in a choke hold and I had to tap out.

The sparring and ground fighting finally came to a close and with my clothes sodden in sweat and my hair hanging so far over my face that I had about 30% visibility, I joined the other guys for the icing on the cake. 50 push ups, 60 sit ups, 70 squats and 20 brownies (imagine if a burpee decided to become a Satanist…THAT’S a brownie).

Staggering off the mats I gulped down literally about 2 litres of water and forced granola bars and glucose gel into my bruised stomach. The Serbian guy was next to me and I said “Don’t take the swearing personally, I don’t really think you’re a c**t”. 

He chuckled and said, wiping sweat from his forehead, “It’s OK, you needed the adrenalin rush”.

Now…about half an hour after the final test has ended, we are sat facing the examiner. Franklyn Hartkamp. Expert level 4 in KMG and a part of the Global Instructor Team. A nice guy, with a sense of humour but I have no illusions about any one of us being given the GIC unless we deserve it. 

He starts with my Serbian partner and after brief feedback tells him he passed and we all clap and smile at the guy, pleased for him yet still cacking it for ourselves. Franklyn then moves to another guy, feedback given, constructive criticism forthcoming and he too has passed. Then it’s the guy’s partner and yet another pass. As Franklyn moves around the candidates, he is giving the feedback to the partners who trained and fought together in the test. This sets off my internal alarm bells. I was bypassed after my Serbian roundhouser buddy. I think maybe I haven’t made it after all.

The feedback moves on and on, each person being told they’ve passed and all of us clapping and offering words of congratulations. Then finally someone has failed. The feedback is fair, the tone level and friendly but Franklyn says that some more time is needed before this person can retest. I see the crestfallen look in their eyes and the hurt and pain and realise that feeling is something I’m going to be getting soon. But I hold out hope that maybe….maybe not.

Finally everyone else has had their feedback. 13 passes, 1 fail. Franklyn says “Is there anybody else?” and I raise my hand.

He looks at me and after a slight pause says, “After a while I stopped writing”.

I know in that moment that it’s over.

I had kind of guessed this would happen. I’ve been backpacking for the last 8 months and my training has been, to put it mildly, sporadic. While travelling in Australia and New Zealand I trained now and then. While in Greece with my father I would travel once a week-ish to a club 57 miles away  to train. I hadn’t done enough and deep down I knew that. I decided to go for it anyway though, determined not to be Schrodinger’s Pussy.

I feel calm, not upset or bitter like I imagined I might. Franklyn compliments me on my theory and teaching results and says that he’d like me to wait at least a year before trying again for the grading. You are allowed 3 fails of techniques on a GIC grading. I clearly hurtled past that number if he stopped taking notes or evaluating me. I thank him for his feedback and say that I accept 100% responsibility for failing. I also add that I’ll be back. Franklyn smiles and puts on a Schwarzenegger accent, repeating “I’ll be back!!”

We all then stand up and those who passed get their T-shirts, G1 patches and certificates. Excitedly they rip open the packaging and pull the shirts on. It reminds me of Christmas morning. I feel a little sad but resigned to the situation, knowing that this isn’t personal and with enough work I can come back, try again and pass.

Then the guys start posing for photos and me and the other failee are stood at the side. I have to turn away at this point, the disappointment and the realisation of what I’ve failed to achieve hitting me hard. 

I move to the changing room and a few minutes later a couple of guys join me, both saying they’re sorry and shaking my hand. I tell them I’m pleased for them and I mean it. I’ve trained with them for just shy of a month and they deserve what they’ve achieved.

After a few goodbyes I make my way back to my lodgings. My friends there initially refuse to believe I failed but cheer me up with hugs and reassurances about the future. 

I get a shower and change and then head back out for the final dinner with my fellow trainees. The mood is good, and although Franklyn couldn’t make it we send him some photos via WhatsApp and wolf down steak and ice cream in a great, riverside restaurant. The Serbian guy sits next to me and grinning, points to a cut on his lower lip. “You did that”, he says.

“Seriously? I actually landed one on you?”

He smiles again and replies “Yes, you fought well”.

After a few hours I say my final goodbyes to the guys and go home. I sleep until about 12pm the next day and the day after I’m on a plane home. 13 hours to Abu Dhabi, 7 hour stopover then a further 7 hours to London. 

Hubba! Hubba!

My body aches all over, my hips feel like they are at least 20 degrees out of alignment. My appetite is still raging and now I have about a 30 hour journey ahead of me to get home. 

I took GIC and I failed it. Of the initial 15, one guy had to stop due to injury. Me and one other failed the final test.

Was it worth it?

Of course it was!

Little Voice

As I posted last blog, I have recently been accepted to take the General Instructors Course in Australia.

Excited doesn’t describe how I feel as I get ready to do what I once considered an unobtainable dream. I’ve been doing yoga every day. Stretching. Push ups (tricep ones, not those fairy ones with your elbows poking out) and a LOT of walking.

I’m basically getting ready for one almighty big training session lasting 12 days…and that’s just part one!!!

As confident as I am about going for this, and as relaxed as I was about applying to do it there has been a little voice going off like a gossiping fishwife in my head for about a week now.

Basically the problems arose when I realised that the pain in my left knee and lower back AND left hip were not going to simply bugger off after a brisk walk or three. They remained. I need to be at the very least, physically fit for this training and back problems twinned with knee ache are not good omens.

In September 2015 I had my left knee’s anterior crusciate ligament rebuilt in surgery that lasted about 4 hours. It hurt like fuck for about 2 weeks after and hurt like a bitch for a good few weeks after that. Finally, months later, the knee was deemed fully fit and I went back into training for Krav Maga. 

Since I’ve been in Australia & New Zealand I’ve been doing a lot of running to try and get my cardio levels up. Problem was that last week I went on a 7 mile run and my knee decided to throw a tantrum. 

For the last few days there’s been an acidic pain in it and research has led me to believe this is something torn in the knee itself, or alternatively aggravation of something that was already a bit wonky. 

I realised that the yoga I was doing was only partially helping as a position called Full Pigeon was putting too much stress on the knee joint. Also, by trying to assume the Lotus position I was also stretching it further than it wanted to go.

For a little while now I’ve had this type of monologue going off in my head.

“You should bail now. Think of all the money you’ll save. It’s going to cost you over £2000 just for the course and then there’s accommodation on top. Then you have to come back to finish part 2 in June which means another £700 for the flight. It’s better if you just do the P&G camp the days before and then change your flight to go home about the 10th. You can see your Dad in Greece earlier and you can catch up with friends in the UK. It’s nice but think of ALL THAT MONEY and what if you end up crippled? I mean how are you going to get home? You’ll have a month of being stranded before your flight on May 2nd. Best to leave this. You weren’t cut out to be a General Instructor. Best stick with the Kids Instructor Course you already have. After all, you could use that money for other things. Play it safe.”

This goes on most of the day and I analysed what it was telling me in its whiney, nasal tones and most of it is just scaremongering. My self preservation skills are kicking in and part of me is not the fearless adventurer who set off in August of last year with a backpack and a bandana. Part of me realises that I’m 24 hours MINIMUM from home, in a time zone of 12 hours difference and am very far from what I knew and felt comfortable with. While I have a safety net it is one that it takes a long time to set up and activate. 

Today I told my inner voice to go fuck itself, and I went to a medical centre. The robotic receptionist told me that it costs $50NZ just to see the doctor so instead I went to a little Chinese guy who does massages and paid him $30NZ to look at my back and knee. He put that tingley, electrode thingy on my back and kneaded the hell out of the sore bits. Afterwards he said that if the knee didn’t get better his recommendation was that I didn’t do the GIC, something I knew anyway. 

I went home, drank at least 2 litres of water (ever seen piss after a deep massage, not nice, best to flush it out) and am now feeling more positive about it all.

Bailing if I’m injured is something I knew I’d have to do and had prepared for it. Bailing in anticipation of it…that’s just paranoia & insecurity. 

Thanks little voice but I’m now switching you off.

Junior Safe Krav Maga (JSKM) Grading

27th September 2015 

Stratford upon Avon High School, UK

I help out at JSKM on Mondays with Russell and it's always loads of fun. An hour or so, playing games and teaching little kids from ages 5 to 10 the finer points of how to avoid being grabbed, hit or picked up along with striking work. Great for me and great for them.

The kids had wanted to have a grading for quite a while and Russell agreed a couple of month ago that it would go ahead in late September, getting the holidays out the way and meaning as many children as wanted to could attend. Last year there were about 10 students but with the class numbers having risen considerably (with classes in Leamington, Stratford and now Redditch) it was clear that attendance would be high.

I had a knee operation in early September meaning I would be out of all sports related activities for at least four months. Annoyed at being unable to attend to help out with the actual grading, it was good to be healed up enough so I could watch and support the students, especially the ones I teach in Leamington with Russ.

The grading was 10am to 3pm and when I got there at about quarter to ten, the sports hall was busy with parents and little kids milling about. Russell and newly qualified Kids Insructor Al Natrins were there and organising everything. Helping out were my equivalents from Stratford and Redditch, Graham Matthews and Jason Tipping, along with Russell's girlfriend Jane Bracey. The children looked hyper keen, running around and climbing on the wall bars. I saw quite a few familiar faces plus a few more I hadn't seen before as they attended one of the other two venues for training.

At 10am Russell and the others got the children into a big group and explained how the day was going to unfold. There were three levels. Young, Junior and Teen with the teenagers off to one side and the main group of students on the mats in the middle of the room. Russell and Al would be assessing and grading them with Graham, Jason and Jane helping out. Once the initial 'Kida!' was out the way they got warmed up with some games. The instructors were chasing them round the mats with foam covered mallets or 'boppers' and the kids had to avoid them. Once they were good and sweaty, they moved on to specific techniques and were kicking and punching the strike shields with gleeful abandon. Most were clearly having the time of their lives, working hard while grinning from ear to ear. I chatted to Tanith and Dave Swain whose daughter Evie was up for her second JSKM grading, having achieved the grade of Young 1 at last year's event. They said she'd been super excited about the whole thing and we could see her getting stuck in to the techniques she was required to demonstrate. 

The Teens groups had just three students, one of which is Graham Matthews' daughter. The difference between them and the other kids was very clear. They were just a couple of notches below adult Krav Maga in terms of what they were required to do. Proper kicking and punching drills were being performed and assessed and Russell turned up in protective gear at one point as a 'sparring' partner. He said that they were to hit two focus mitts that he was holding, in a two minute pressure drill BUT if they dropped their guard at any point he would try to strike them in the head with one of his hands. They also had to perform other pressure drills involving kicking & punching strike shields plus being on the ground and trying to stand up while the others attempted to prevent them doing so.

As time moved on the students were getting tired. Having graded myself, I know how gruelling these things can be and the fact that it was not as intense as a 'grown up' exam did not make it any less daunting for the kids. After another five minute break the children moved on to forward rolls onto crash mats (and going over a crouching instructor) and then into the final pressure drill. The children got around a crash mat each and three other students held strike shields. They then had two minutes to punch and kick the shields. The twist was that behind them was one of the instructors wearing a helmet and groin guard who would occasionally try and pick them up or grab them. The child was required to kick out and struggle to get free, then carry on hitting and kicking the shields until their time was up.

The little girl from this story was initially involved in the drill, holding pads for the others but got scared very quickly. She had already sat out the 'boppers' warm up at the beginning and was adamant she didn't want to have a go when it came to her turn. I work with her on the Monday classes in Leamington Spa and know just how easily she can become scared. Me and Al Natrins had a little chat with her and eventually persuaded her to join in with me and her mother holding the pads. She really tried hard and me and her mum were very proud that she finished the whole thing.

Finally it was over and the kids ran to their parents for some snacks and a drink while Russell and Al compared notes. All the kids looked tired but happy and were nervously waiting for the awards to be given out. After a short time Russell called them into the middle and got them to line up according to level. One thing I picked up on was the pride in the faces of the three students in the Teens level. They were allowed to stand while the others knelt and were clearly very proud to be achieving what was effectively only one step down from an adult Krav grade. I remember how this felt as a child, to be privileged enough to be considered a senior member of an organisation, both at school and in the Cubs and Scouts and I hope these kids go on to have a lot of success in Krav Maga in later life.

The awards were read out, with Young going up first. Russell gave the certificates while Al handed them the patches and gave the students a high five (in 'adult' Krav gradings, we shake hands). All the kids looked super pleased and finally a photo was taken before the babble of voices could be heard as coats were pulled on and little voices could be heard, excitedly telling their parents everything they'd just done.

A little 6 year old lad from the Leamington class ran up to me beaming, with his patch and certificate to ask "Can I 'ave my picture taken wiv you?" Very touched by the gesture I got a few photos with him and also some of the other students before we all headed off home.

Very enjoyable to see just how much fun these kids had and how a grading that last year had only 10 participants had now jumped to over 20. Every child should learn self defence and Krav Maga offers common sense tactics and approaches to the real world we face every day.

The Investment

In late 2001 I snapped the anterior crusciate ligament in my left knee. I was sparring with a kickboxing instructor named Bertram who was basically kicking my ass. When I tried a roundhouse kick,  I kept my entire left foot on the floor instead of balancing on the ball of it, and the strain snapped the ACL. There was a "crunch" noise and I signalled to Bertram to stop beating me, then hobbled off the mat in order to soothe my sore appendage.

Next day the knee was horrendously tender and swollen to the size of a small grapefruit. I didn't know what was wrong and simply waited for the swelling to go down and then strapped the leg up and carried on. Months later I was told that I had almost certainly snapped the ACL and while I didn't think much of it, as the knee was 'manageable' and the pain almost non-existent, I found out in 2004 that this was a much bigger deal than I'd imagined.

I applied for the City of London police Special Constabulary (volunteer cops) and was rejected on medical grounds due to declaring the knee injury. The force medical officer was polite and to the point, and said that if I'd waited to apply in 2005 it wouldn't matter as new laws were coming in that would make it wrong for them to reject me on these grounds. However...now the old rules applied and she reluctantly had to say no to my application. I asked if I could be allowed an appeal, if I could get the knee repaired. She said yes.

So I went back to the doctor and began the long process of consultation, MRI scan and visits to a specialist. After several months I was booked in for an operation and spent the night in a hospital bed, in preparation for my early morning op, kept awake by two old men squabbling in the adjacent beds. Morning came and the anaesthetist arrived to prep me for my time under the scalpel. Then he told me to put on a backless gown and wait. An hour or so later the consultant surgeon arrived (a man I had only glimpsed from afar up to this point and had always been seen by his underlings). He breezily asked me to swing my legs up on the bed. I'd had the foresight to keep my undies on, despite being told not to, which was a good job as he was with two junior, female doctors. To make matters worse, one was very pretty. He then proceeded to twist and manipulate my lower leg, regularly asking "Does this hurt?" When he realised it didn't he then said "Leg's healthy. You don't need the operation. You can go home."

Overjoyed, I sped home and sent the forms off to the COLP medical officer who then accepted me as healthy, I got interviewed, accepted and joined in October 2004

However....

It turned out that far from what I naively believed had been a case of 'self healing', the leg muscles around my knees had simply grown bigger due to the amount of cycling I was regularly doing in London. The ACL was still broken but, like having a strong set of core muscles in your belly, all that exercise meant that the knees were now having the majority of the strain on the surviving ligament, dealt with by the increase in muscle.

Years later and the knee still twinged. Like tectonic plates grinding into each other, the knee cap would rub into other bits and acidic, sharp pain would shoot up my leg. I was rejected by both the Territorial Army and the RAF Reservists on my paper applications, without even being seen, solely due to the ACL damage. Both said "Get it repaired, then reapply after 18 months."

In Krav training I would have to wear not one but two knee supports on that leg and also take a shit load of painkillers after gradings, due to the soreness and swelling after 4 hours of beasting, with at least 30 minutes of full on sparring to top it all off. I couldn't sit on my heels when I knelt down. I was advised in the strongest possible terms by a knee specialist that I NOT go jogging. The impact would cause inflammation to the knee and put me back. Cycling was fine but running, which I love, was out.

This year I decided what I really want to do is be fully fit again. I want to run, jump and twist without fear of having to open the Ibuprofen. I want to grade in Krav Maga without fearing that someone will boot me in the kneecap and send me howling to the floor. I want above all to be a Fast Defence instructor with Wayne Hubball in 2016.

I went for another MRI scan on my knee a few months ago after referral from my local doctor. I then got to Warwick Hospital to see a consultant. They put me on a waiting list and last week told me that my operation to repair the ACL will happen on the 25th of August 2015. Convalescence time is 6 months, meaning no Krav for that entire time.

This dictates that I will miss both chances to retest my P5 exam in October and December. I will miss shit loads of training and also the seminars run nationally and by my own club Krav MagaMidlands. Guys who are currently P3 will be probably taking their P5 the same time as me. Guys who are currently P4 could well be taking G1.

But....the light at the end of the tunnel is that I will come back fitter, healthier and with more endurance. Things I cannot do now without pain and physical instability will be much easier to perform. I will be able to fight without the paranoia of wondering if my knee will get hurt during the kicks and punches, takedowns and ground work.

It's an investment and one I wish I'd taken a long time ago

Short term gain gives short term pleasure. One thing Krav Maga has taught me is that sometimes you need to be patient and put your ego and desires to one side in order to be all you can be.