Discussing my history with a fellow martial artist, I was asked; “what keeps you motivated after so many decades in karate?” I reflected that motivation changes with the passing of time. This piece documents some of that evolving drive, but by setting it against significant moments in my career I present readers with an introduction to me and what I am about.
1970s: Striving for Acceptance
When I was about 9 or 10 years old, my next-door neighbour was taking judo lessons. I’d read that a small man could defeat a big man with the techniques of “the gentle way” so I thought I’d give it a go. It turned out it wasn’t that easy. For a small-for-his-age, weedy, bookish type this wasn’t a natural fit. At that time, what kept me attending classes was nothing more than a reluctance to admit to my mum that judo wasn’t for me. I entered (unsuccessfully of course) a couple of tournaments, but my judo career didn’t last more than a year or two. I didn’t realise at the time that my teacher, Alf Bates would go onto build quite a reputation for himself. Clearly though, the basics drilled by Kancho Bates hit home as many of those early principles stuck and would come back to me later in my martial arts career.
As a young pre-teen I was short, sensible and scholarly, with no interest or aptitude in sport. One of my chums however was part of the cool set, and he was doing taekwondo. Desperate for peer recognition, I leapt on a flyer posted though my door offering karate lessons. The style was “Henka-Ryu”, an offshoot of Kyokushinkai, founded by Glenn Wylie. Again, I never found the exercises natural, intuitive or easy, but most lessons were heavily focused on kihon in lines and replicating shapes in the air ̶ whilst it seemed a million miles from practical self-defence ̶ appealed to my academic proclivities and I religiously copied and drilled these shapes until they looked a bit like those being demonstrated by my teachers.
1980s: Impostor Syndrome
After 5 years of diligent study, I passed my shodan test under Wylie and the late Frank Kelly. At this point I was just turned 18 and ready for university. I took the Cambridge entrance exam and was invited to interview at Selwyn College but was not successful. All my other university applications were to institutions with or near karate clubs of repute. I won a place at Sussex, near Brighton, where Chris Kent was teaching Wado Ryu and kickboxing. The first thing that struck me (literally!) was the skill of Chris’ students at kumite. I was getting schooled by his kyu grades and knew I had to up my game if I was going to justify to myself my black belt rank. My persistence with my karate training was a major factor in the falling-off of my academic studies and, after a couple of disciplinary procedures from the faculty, no one was more delighted with a lower second-class honours (a 2[ii], or “Desmond” in the parlance of the day) than I.
At this time my home club was affiliated to the KBI (karate Budokan International) and I vividly remember attending a course with their head, Chew Choo Soot. A young 3rd dan, Lim Kee Yan, made a particular impression on me, with his athleticism, precision of technique and and body control. I wondered if it could be possible for a mortal such as me to even get close to this level of skill. In pursuit of such superhuman excellence, the karate training continued, and I began to test myself by visiting a wide range of clubs and competitions around the country (older readers might remember the Cliff Hepburn CHP tournament circuit). In many of these open competitions I found myself up against the rock stars of the day, and found little success. At the same time I attended residential and one-day courses in diverse styles including Wushu Kwan kung fu and aikido, soaking up the knowledge and treating each under-achievement as a new lesson. Training in different systems, I was able to see both the multiplicity of ways to achieve the same goal, but also the common principles applicable to all styles. This kept my curiosity alive.
1980s-90s: The IBF Years
My original club, Biggin Hill Henka Ryu, had affiliated with Nobby Clarke’s International Budo Federation (IBF). Their world-famous Summer Camp had been running since the 60’s. I attended this camp from the mid 80’s until the late 90s, first as a student and later as a course instructor. As well as great grapplers such as Martin Clarke, Trev Roberts, Mick Poole and Simon Ford-Powell, there were some accomplished karateka, notably Steve Merrett and (now Professor) Richard Bailey within the ranks of the IBF. Many of these estimable martial artists became lifelong friends and I had to constantly push myself to justify to myself the privilege of training in such exalted company. You had to be tough just to stay on the mat with these guys. Alongside the physical, the IBF fed my cerebral needs too. Geof Gleeson was an international judoka, artist, author, educator and philosopher. He devised and delivered the IBF coaching programme in the days when British martial arts barely knew the word “coach”. A true genius and polymath, Gleeson was erudite, authoritative and questioning. He awoke in me a curiosity, and scepticism for the established truisms of the martial arts, always asking; “why do we do it that way?” I joined him in the Academy of Coaching and briefly chaired the Academy after his untimely passing in 1994. Geof’s Wikipedia entry really doesn’t do the man justice, but his influence has informed much of my practice, and all of my teaching since.
1990s-2000s: Politics
By now a parent to a young family and with a burgeoning career in marketing, I was still squeezing in the karate training both at club and on the competition circuit. Trev Roberts had introduced me to Joe Tierney, and I was competing on his Shorai team whilst still travelling the country in search of the best tuition and inspiration I could find. To name drop just a few; Morio Higaonna, Julian Mead, Steve Cattle, George Andrews, Mitsusuke Harada and Steve Morris were notable teachers I met and trained with. I moved away from the North West for a while pursuing my marketing career, and in 1999 came back to my adopted Lancashire, where I met my good friend Andy Allwood, founder of Tower Shukokai. A new style, a new set of katas to learn. Tower was affiliated to the Amateur Martial association (AMA) and my karate career went from Association squad member to coach, and ultimately to a seat on the executive board. I represented the AMA on a series of National Governing bodies: English Karate Governing Body; English Karate Federation; English Karate Council. The path to unification was never a smooth one (recent news of unrest in a major NGB reminds us of that fact!) but these appointments meant I got to sit at the table with many of the hero role models I recalled reading about in Combat Magazine in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
By the early noughties I was active on the competition circuit and starting to win a bit. The job was going well, with lots of national and international travel, and I was parent to toddlers. The only way I could fit my competition training into this crazy schedule was to eschew sleep. It was not unusual to hit the gym at 11pm, and I always took running shoes – if not my keikogi – on my business trips.
2000s-2010s: Rediscovering Okinawan Roots
I was now coaching at Andy’s club and we continued to compete both as individuals and as part of the AMA squad. Meanwhile our penchant for practical, combative karate took us to an annual residential camp in Brecon, run by Martyn Harris and John Burke. Training with these guys centred around kata bunkai (analysis) and the exploration of application of kata to realistic conflict situations. I’ve written elsewhere that I don’t see a contradiction between “traditional” karate and sport and it’s certainly true that pursuit of medals and honours on the international veterans or masters circuit was a key driver for my motivation at that time. I’ve tended to be at the top end of fitness and speed for my age group, and the desire to test myself against my peers kept me in the dojo and gym into my fifties and beyond.
With John Burke, I made a pilgrimage to Japan and Okinawa on the sesquicentennial of Funakoshi’s birth. Training in the birthplace of karate under old-school masters felt like a special privilege. Not striving to do my best karate would have felt like a betrayal of those who went before.
2020s: In Search of Lost Youth
By the standards of my childhood, I am now an old man. Coaching the AMA national squad reminds me of what the human body can do at the peak of its physical fitness, and it’s true I still strive to be a role model to the current generation of athletes. As a referee I try to be an exemplar of the standards of behaviour I’d expect in a budoka, athlete or citizen. As an official and coach, I aim to uphold the values of the greats who came before. As a karateka I still practice most days because, as world-famous cellist Pablo Casals said, in his 90s; “I think I’m making progress”. Whilst my body most days feels like a grandad, my mind still feels like a kid, and the veterans’ circuit still offers kumite events for over 50s and over 60s. Indeed in 2025 I took a version of a world title (WKC) in 61+ years kumite. Life in the old dog yet I think.
In the end I guess motivation comes down to three factors: looking up to talented role models and trying to achieve a bit of what they have; wanting to know more, how, why, and pushing the body to still do – or at least try to do; and the constant realisation that with every skill, concept or nugget of wisdom I pick up, there is more to learn – yet deeper to delve. The Broadway and Hollywood lyricist Lorenz Hart put it best. I’m Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.