The Doldrums: GTN, Ronin Again
The Doldrums are an area at sea known to have frequent breaks in sail-able winds. This would cause the sailors of the age of wind sail to have to sit around, sometimes for weeks, waiting for the wind to pick up so they could get out of there. The hopeless boredom that came from the forced stagnation and the faint nagging that the wind may never come back would drive many to madness. The phrase Doldrums has now been incorporated into a colloquial expression meaning a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression. This, was my harsh fate the year after I finished University. The infinite possibilities freedom offered me, crushed by an interim of overwhelming mundanity. I had arrived in the States most recently from Australia, and had several reasons for needing to go back. I had a friend's wedding to get to, I had to pick up my diploma from the university, and most pressing, I had received an email that the house I was using as a base to store my things had been sold. I was to get the remainder of my effects out of that house lest they become sold with the property. Pressing matters had brought me back to the States for what I expected was a relatively quick stop. The reality proved otherwise.
The house I was getting the rest of my things from I had used as a base for storage and bouncing between adventures when I was in College and was, by most accounts, a shit hole. It was more than a little similar to the house from the movie “Fight Club”, except that it was a single level. When it rained or snowed I would sometimes need to turn off the power because the ceiling would drip water into the lights, which were long flickering fluorescent tubes, and then onto my head were I slept and I didn't want the ceiling to collapse electrocuting me in the process, or just spark a fire that burned the house down. The wiring hadn't been checked since the 1930's and instead of a breaker box, it had a fuse box, which is not at all the legal building code. The fuse box reminded me of the ghost containment unit from the movie “Ghostbusters”. The house had a thermostat that looked like it had been salvaged from a World War II submarine. I didn't use it. When I first moved in, the shower walls where made of drywall, which I thought must be OK if it was already there. After a few showers the wall was collapsing, exposing the plumbing, and proper shower walls needed to be installed. There was also a hand-crank pencil sharpener bolted to one of the shower walls, because why not? There was a garage door bolted to one of the outside walls to give the impression there was a garage. There was no garage. It was just a door bolted to a wall. I used one of the rooms in the house to convert into a dojo for my own training. The house itself was predictably not in the best of areas either. I was awoken in the middle of the night often by things you only hear in such areas. Once, in the night, I heard a clatter and looked out the window to see two prostitutes having a fist fight under the street light that was in my front yard. A couple times I awoke to the sounds of extremely drunken extreme domestic disputes. The house was also down the street from a hospital, which brought with it it's own collection of unique sounds. Also I was robbed WAY too frequently. The burglaries were so common that the same cop would show up each time and say things like “wow, did you move some furniture? How've you been? You still got the Dojo in the back?” If you are on a well known level with the cops because you get robbed so often, you may want to move. One time, the robbers kicked in my back door, stole my trash can, dumped the banana peels, yogurt canisters, and tea bags that were in it all over the house, then filled the now empty bin with all my things and left. Thankfully they only ever took electronics and nothing of actual value, and thankfully I was never there when the house was being burgled or there would be at least one more dead person in the world.
The house was a real winner is what I'm saying; Being forced to move out wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to me. After one day back in the states taking care of the house I immediately took off to Detroit for a Kudo seminar I'd been invited to a couple days prior when I was still in Australia. I told them I didn't know how I was going to get from Australia to Detroit, but I would manage... and I did! I crashed with the usual group of friends (and their friends who became my friends later) that I had met in Thailand. The organizer said he had no doubt that I would make it. Unfortunately I had had to put most of my training gear, like my Dogi and belt, on a ship in Australia to ship to myself in the States, to lighten the weight of my bag for the plane. This meant I needed to use my old gi and belt, which had seen better days. In fact, my gi was in tatters and my belt I had acidentally ripped in half and bonded back together with duct tape. I had actually been wearing those very items the first time I met the Kudo group. Fitting I should be wearing them then as well. I showed up with my gi and belt in tatters, looking ragged as it gets.
I walked in and those that knew me greeted me with a hearty “Osu!” and a somewhat surprised face “The wandering warrior!” some one said. Those that didn't know me took a look at me and said “Nash? Are you THE Nash?” Probably. “I heard you travel the world and are crazy!” another guy chimed in “ I heard the first time you were here you knocked a bunch of guys out!” The first guy came back with “were you really at the Shaolin Temple!?” One of my Kudo friends answered “This is the guy, and it's all true!” Yep. Nothing like the occasional episode like that to give the ego a much needed boost. It was nice catching up with everyone so soon after getting back, and even better getting some good group training after so long without it.
Once I left Detroit I set about my next task, moving to a new place. As my pendulous fortune would have it, my Grandfather's old house had come under split ownership since his death and no one had the time or resources to manage the property, so they needed a property manager. I volunteered for the job and got the place split into what amounted to a vertical double, and as long as I managed the property I had a new mother-base in the form of the lower level of this big, and quite nice house. Especially compared to the previous one I'd just come from. Aside from tending the physical property I had to also get renters in, and manage legal mumbo jumbo. Some choice tenants included a girl, which lasted longer than you might think, and an alcoholic deuchbag who wound up running up a 2,000$ cable bill under various names and then not paying his last month's rent and stealing a large number of my items when he hastily and sneakily moved out. He took my toaster and “George Foreman” grill! I would love a collector to put a bounty on his head and then get the satisfaction of hunting him down AND getting paid for it.
As it was though, I wasn't getting paid for anything. My job being property manager paid for my rent, but I wasn't getting any venture capital to take off for traveling and adventure. I had a venture in mind too. I was planning to leave with a certifying body to sail the British Virgin Islands for over a month and get a sailing certification, but couldn't do it with no money. I searched for work to no avail. Then a friend mentioned I was qualified to be a teacher, and they're always in short supply. I didn't want to be a teacher though, because it's almost a forever-style commitment, and I was just looking for something short term to leave immediately. “Be a sub!”
With that, I became a full time substitute high school teacher at a huge Midwestern US high school! The security clearance agency was obviously not doing their job the day they cleared me to work as a teacher. Everyone I know who heard the news, all had the same reaction: “ They let YOU around kids!?” Apparently. I wasn't just any teacher either, I was “Great Teacher Nash”! … GTN was on the scene ready to do all the things teachers should. For starters, I became the coolest kid in school... as an adult. I was hit on all day by beautiful high school girls... and sometimes guys, and the guys would always say they wanted to be me. Amazing what treating a kid like a human being will get you... but sometimes you can't because they don't deserve it. Case by case basis. Everyone said they wanted me as their full time teacher, but schools don't like it when you take off for over 9 months of the school year, so substitute would have to do. The other teachers were immediately tired of my presence, because all the students wouldn't stop talking me up. When the students were good, I would tell them one of my stories as a reward, and this proved fruitful. In fact it dawned on me that I had accidentally become like a certain famous TV character: I go on amazing adventures, but for some reason was now in a Midwestern town, I'm admired by all the high school kids and fix their problems, even though I'm kind of a delinquent and much older than them, and I very often dress like a greaser. I had accidentally become the Fonz! Being a teacher was great, but there was a few drawbacks.
The worst of the drawbacks was occasionally being mistaken for a student, the worst case of which resulted in a very heated altercation with one of the administrators. I was walking in the hall, when she saw me and told me to go to the “tardy room”. Every time I opened my mouth to explain the situation she would just yell “Tardy Room!” louder. She kept getting louder until she finally yelled “Tardy Room!” right in my face, to which I responded in kind with “I'M A TEACHER!” … The situation escalated from there, and that was the one and only time I went to my boss swearing up a storm promising action if this bitch did anything else. Nothing came of it. She's probably dead now from a heart attack due to a mix of her over stress and obesity. The other downside, if you could call it that, was all the high school girls wanting to have sex with me. I know they wanted to, because they would come up to me and tell me so. They were disturbingly sexy for their ages too. I never took them up on their copious offers though. Not because I didn't want to get fired, and not because I didn't want to end up on a sex-offender registry, but because I refused to violate the honor of the teacher-student relationship. On one occasion I was cutting grass shirtless on a hot spring afternoon, and one of the high school girls happened to drive by and notice me. She snuck a picture of me with her cellphone, and by the next day, I was even more popular with the girl students... and the gay guy students. Not more popular with the other teachers though...
Outside of those two things teaching afforded me all sorts of time related benefits. I read through my entire huge backlog of books, and had the time to create this very website. I also was afforded enough time to focus on my fighting and training while I was working fro money towards adventure. It was almost perfect.
My every waking non-working moment was devoted to preparing for fights that kept falling through. I was told something would always come up causing a fight to be pushed back, or outright canceled. I just trained on, always thinking the next fight was right around the corner. Six months of no drinking alcohol, focused training. Still the fights were falling through. There was one interesting thing that happened during that time period though.
One day while I was at the fighting gym, coaching the kickboxing class, an old lady came in. I saw her out of the corner of my eye talking to the general manager before I heard him say “talk to Nash”. I looked over to see what was up, and the lady came over and spoke with me. She was an older, gray-haired lady, with hearing aids in both her ears. She explained that she was an artist, and was working on a rather eccentric piece. She wanted to do a series of photographs showing the stages of healing. In the spirit of this she had come to the gym to get someone to punch her in the face, to give her a black eye. Apparently my reaction was the same as many others' : “What!? Use make up!” She explained the series of photographs was about healing, so the black eye needed to be real, so she could chart it's healing. Crazy as it sounded, artists what they are, I respected her for her commitment. I happened to be coaching a couple of college girls at that moment, and thought one of them would be perfect for the task. Even though the older woman had signed all the relevant waivers, I felt woman on woman violence would be easier to defend, should something terrible happen. I chose the more skillful girl I was coaching, and explained to her the situation. “You want me to what?... I don't want to do that.” I explained why it had to be her. “No way. You're the coach and you've got the most control, you should be the one to do it.” I'd rather not. The Artist though, was all about it. I couldn't get anyone else to do it, so it looked like I was going to do this. I had her sign more waivers and do a video confession, just to be sure. I elected to wear a boxing glove, to dampen the blow of my fist, and had her stand close to a padded wall in case she fell backwards. I had the best intentions. I gave her what I thought was a fairly light tap, but the blow caused her head to fly back, smashing the wall, which caused her head to ricochet back into my fist, then back into the wall before she collapsed. Not only had I punched an old deaf woman in the face, I most likely concussed her brain while probably NOT giving her a black eye. At least she got a good story out of it.... Assuming she can remember it.
Life seemed to be going well, if not a bit too slow for my liking, but soon it all came grinding to a halt. First was the ending of the school year in May, which would have been fine, except I discovered I hadn't raised near enough money to go on my expedition. Despite full time substitute teaching, shoveling snow, chopping firewood, helping people move, and applying for a job that I'm pretty sure was for the Yakuza, I still didn't have the money. Now I had no travel plans, and no job. It wouldn't have been a total loss, but the fight team was the next to go. My life was rapidly unraveling.
I found out that all the dropped fights, contract disputes, and outright lies weren't coming from the other gyms, but actually coming from the management of my team and gym. I found out that not only were they shit at their jobs, they were terrible human beings because they were betting against their own fighters, getting them fights they knew they couldn't win in order to make money behind the scenes. They were rigging fights. They were paying other fighters, but not their own team. Things were also getting stolen from the gym, and I believe it was from the higher ups. On more than one occasion the gym stole money from my bank account in the form of an “Auto Debit” that the general manager swore was nonrefundable. Until I came at him with legal action, at which point the money was magically returned. I was completely distraught to find out my gym was the bad guy. Once I knew, they labeled me the enemy. Me, who had given years to the team. They should be so lucky to call me enemy. I would rather have no association with them at all. People left the team like rats from a sinking ship after that. The head coach and co-owner of the team fled and moved across the country one night telling almost no one, including his co-owner and general manager. He left a huge whole in coaching staff and management, causing a collapse and restructuring. The gym was the same in name only. He also bought a truck and crossbow from the other kickboxing coach that he hadn't finished paying for and didn't tell the guy he was leaving for the other side of the country. Legal action was on its way, and several months later, still no one had seen the guy. I wanted nothing to do with that team or most of the people on it. A few of my friends stayed there, but I know it would only be a matter of time before they left also.
I was once again a ronin, perhaps my natural state. I'm loathe to trust anyone's team after that. I struck out on my own and was able to find my own fight. It took 2 days, not a month like the garbage management made it seem. I was pleased with myself until some of the more specific details started coming through. The fight was to be in Ohio, a place I already didn't like. Then I found out the weigh-ins were the same day as the fight, I wouldn't be allowed to deliver head kicks, and my opponent could wear protective gear. I was already disheartened at hearing all that, but then I found out my blood work wasn't good enough for the Ohio commission, and they required a specific test. Then the week before the fight while getting ready I took a dropping elbow to my fibula, and thought I broke it. I know that I didn't because I went to the vet and had it x-rayed, but it was still messed up enough that I had to call off the fight.
My life was now unraveled. No fights, no fight team, no job, no adventure, no purpose. I felt like James Bond between missions. I had tons of skills, none of which really translated to a sedentary “normal” lifestyle. I started becoming depressed. Until I received a letter in the mail... from myself. It was from NOLS Australia and was part of an assignment we had to do. We were to wright ourselves a letter, given a specific prompt. NOLS would mail it to us at an unspecified time in the future. The time it happened to reach me was a year after I'd written it, which just so happened to be the time I needed to read my own words the most. The prompt was a question: “What makes you be you?”
My letter reads as follows:
“Dear Nash,
“What makes me be me?”
This was the Questions we were to meditate upon during our solo time at NOLS Australia. Genetics I doubt it, especially considering the hodge-podge muttness of many these days, myself included. Upbringing? Potentially at some point, though there comes a time when people divest themselves of their parental influences and become an independent being, which I had done at a young age. Family? Certainly not; I believe family is chosen, not inherited, and that being said, all are free to be as they wish regardless of the phantom of scrutiny that may come from those they know. Experiences? To a point, in so much as I have extrapolated all relevant meanings and learnings from them, to then further have broader experiences. Through experiences one can find what fits best with one's personal nature, then base future choices on that. Choice? Choice is the largest contributing factor to what makes me be me. I am a conscious decision. If ever stumped I ask myself “What would Nash do?”, and invariably end up with the correct answer.
I choose what experiences to have, and I choose how to react to unexpected situations. I am master of my own destiny; Wandering through a beautiful super vivid coloured world, every moment an apotheotic fever dream. I am the me I always wanted to be; If I see someone who has traits I want, I adapt them, continually improving myself and setting new goals. I set the goal to come to NOLS, earn ISGE, and become the “leader's leader” and get voted head of ISGE; I am now writing this as head of ISGE. So, what has become of you by the time this letter reaches you? Are you a wanderer? A holder of illustrious credentials and titles? A zany entrepreneur? Perhaps you've become sedentary? Whatever the case, if you do not greet each day with the same wonder and excitement I do, then you have gone off course. Remember, the only time you have is the time you make; GO MAN! THE WORLD IS YOURS!
Freedom and Adventure.
Love,
-Nash
“
Oh me! You always know just what to say! I was reinvigorated. I just needed to FOCUS.
Soon, I received an invitation to a martial arts tournament. Or, rather, it was an invite to compete in an event to form a US national team to compete in the Kudo World Tournament in Tokyo Japan. This is just what I needed! It had been a year since I'd seen the Kudo group, and it was perfect that they were the first people I would encounter on my arrival back in the States and be the final as my reason for heading out again. To the event!
Turns out the event itself was rather short notice. There wasn't even going to be a U.S. National team as Kudo wasn't as prolific in the USA as it was in other countries. This didn't sit well with some of the US Kudo practitioners though, and they decided to put a team together and give me an invitation to the try-outs. The World Kudo Tournament is once every four years, so I figured there must be at least a couple years left to train if they were just now putting together a team. At least a year, minimum.... or a month, which is what it actually was. Talk about a “cool runnings” situation. Short notice indeed. I was honored to get invited though, so I went anyway. I kept explaining that I wasn't really clear on competitive Kudo rules, but they were super sure I had what it takes and filled me with extreme words of praise. I was going to this event!
I arrived in Ohio, a place I don't care for, for the full day of Kudo. The day consisted of a full day of training, also a rank test, and then the first USA Kudo tournament, which I fought in. It was great to see Azuma Jukuchou and the rest of the Kudo crew again. I had a great time, and got lots of great experience, and though I got heaps of invites from the instructors for various things like being an Uchi-Deshi at the Honbu, and many compliments, I also had a realization: Competitive Kudo is not for me, and that’s because of the damn helmet! This was the first time I'd actually worn one of the things, and if I was doing it right (big IF) Kudo head gear is not for my large lumpy head. I was in phenomenal competitive shape as a result of being in training all the time for all the canceled fights, but the second I put the head gear on, or rather had it put on for me since the competitors aren't allowed to do it themselves, it immediately cut off all the tubes leading into and out of my head: breath and blood! My jaw didn't go where the helmet wanted it to go; I had lockjaw for days, and all the skin rubbed off of my chin from forcing it into the thing. Like I said, I don't know if I was wearing it wrong or what, but it cost me some results.
First we were all divided into body matrix categories, which is an index of your weight crossed with your height. This is a much better way of matching people up than the traditional MMA way of weight cutting, since you should always be within a range of mass of your opponent. He may be lanky, but then he's light, or he may be heavy, but then his body would be small. It's a nice system. Unfortunately we didn't have enough people for all the categories so we were all just jumbled together anyway, defeating the purpose. My first fight I was set to fight a guy much larger than me, in size and mass, but everyone just said “no worries, you're a beast!”. Even a beast loses his bite with a muzzle on, which is what the head gear did to me. The second it went on, I couldn't breath, and the loss of vision didn't help matters. Not breathing for 30 seconds damn near killed me, and even though I held on the whole round, I lost by decision. My next opponent was my same size, and I beat him like he owed me money, so the headgear didn't have time to get me. My third opponent, was again slightly larger, and I was still trying to figure out how to wear the damn hat. I told the people putting it on to make it as slack as they were allowed to. I'm not quite sure what happened next as a result. During the first few moment of the fight I got hit in the head gear and it spun around my head, and either IT cut into my left eyebrow, or the guys fist did after the headgear had spun, but either way that ended the fight for me due to bleeding excessively from the eyebrow wound. That was that. In three fights I got a loss by decision, a landslide victory, and somehow got my left eyebrow deeply cut, even though I was wearing a prohibitively large HELMET!
I love Kudo as a martial art, but pursuing it as a serious competitive activity with a helmet is way not for me. Knowing this I didn't get picked for the team, nor would I want to be and told them as such. However, I still knew everyone, and the area were they were going and could be of assistance. As far as I know, no one on the team spoke Japanese or were familiar with my old stomping grounds were they just so happened to be heading, so I declared I would be the team liaison.
I planned to go translate and help the USA Kudo team best I could, then stay for amazing training, getting together with old friends, and finally adventuring around Japan. I was finally free from the doldrums! Stagnation plagued me no longer!
I was off to adventure, and nothing was going to stand in my way! … right?
-Nash
The house I was getting the rest of my things from I had used as a base for storage and bouncing between adventures when I was in College and was, by most accounts, a shit hole. It was more than a little similar to the house from the movie “Fight Club”, except that it was a single level. When it rained or snowed I would sometimes need to turn off the power because the ceiling would drip water into the lights, which were long flickering fluorescent tubes, and then onto my head were I slept and I didn't want the ceiling to collapse electrocuting me in the process, or just spark a fire that burned the house down. The wiring hadn't been checked since the 1930's and instead of a breaker box, it had a fuse box, which is not at all the legal building code. The fuse box reminded me of the ghost containment unit from the movie “Ghostbusters”. The house had a thermostat that looked like it had been salvaged from a World War II submarine. I didn't use it. When I first moved in, the shower walls where made of drywall, which I thought must be OK if it was already there. After a few showers the wall was collapsing, exposing the plumbing, and proper shower walls needed to be installed. There was also a hand-crank pencil sharpener bolted to one of the shower walls, because why not? There was a garage door bolted to one of the outside walls to give the impression there was a garage. There was no garage. It was just a door bolted to a wall. I used one of the rooms in the house to convert into a dojo for my own training. The house itself was predictably not in the best of areas either. I was awoken in the middle of the night often by things you only hear in such areas. Once, in the night, I heard a clatter and looked out the window to see two prostitutes having a fist fight under the street light that was in my front yard. A couple times I awoke to the sounds of extremely drunken extreme domestic disputes. The house was also down the street from a hospital, which brought with it it's own collection of unique sounds. Also I was robbed WAY too frequently. The burglaries were so common that the same cop would show up each time and say things like “wow, did you move some furniture? How've you been? You still got the Dojo in the back?” If you are on a well known level with the cops because you get robbed so often, you may want to move. One time, the robbers kicked in my back door, stole my trash can, dumped the banana peels, yogurt canisters, and tea bags that were in it all over the house, then filled the now empty bin with all my things and left. Thankfully they only ever took electronics and nothing of actual value, and thankfully I was never there when the house was being burgled or there would be at least one more dead person in the world.
The house was a real winner is what I'm saying; Being forced to move out wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to me. After one day back in the states taking care of the house I immediately took off to Detroit for a Kudo seminar I'd been invited to a couple days prior when I was still in Australia. I told them I didn't know how I was going to get from Australia to Detroit, but I would manage... and I did! I crashed with the usual group of friends (and their friends who became my friends later) that I had met in Thailand. The organizer said he had no doubt that I would make it. Unfortunately I had had to put most of my training gear, like my Dogi and belt, on a ship in Australia to ship to myself in the States, to lighten the weight of my bag for the plane. This meant I needed to use my old gi and belt, which had seen better days. In fact, my gi was in tatters and my belt I had acidentally ripped in half and bonded back together with duct tape. I had actually been wearing those very items the first time I met the Kudo group. Fitting I should be wearing them then as well. I showed up with my gi and belt in tatters, looking ragged as it gets.
I walked in and those that knew me greeted me with a hearty “Osu!” and a somewhat surprised face “The wandering warrior!” some one said. Those that didn't know me took a look at me and said “Nash? Are you THE Nash?” Probably. “I heard you travel the world and are crazy!” another guy chimed in “ I heard the first time you were here you knocked a bunch of guys out!” The first guy came back with “were you really at the Shaolin Temple!?” One of my Kudo friends answered “This is the guy, and it's all true!” Yep. Nothing like the occasional episode like that to give the ego a much needed boost. It was nice catching up with everyone so soon after getting back, and even better getting some good group training after so long without it.
Once I left Detroit I set about my next task, moving to a new place. As my pendulous fortune would have it, my Grandfather's old house had come under split ownership since his death and no one had the time or resources to manage the property, so they needed a property manager. I volunteered for the job and got the place split into what amounted to a vertical double, and as long as I managed the property I had a new mother-base in the form of the lower level of this big, and quite nice house. Especially compared to the previous one I'd just come from. Aside from tending the physical property I had to also get renters in, and manage legal mumbo jumbo. Some choice tenants included a girl, which lasted longer than you might think, and an alcoholic deuchbag who wound up running up a 2,000$ cable bill under various names and then not paying his last month's rent and stealing a large number of my items when he hastily and sneakily moved out. He took my toaster and “George Foreman” grill! I would love a collector to put a bounty on his head and then get the satisfaction of hunting him down AND getting paid for it.
As it was though, I wasn't getting paid for anything. My job being property manager paid for my rent, but I wasn't getting any venture capital to take off for traveling and adventure. I had a venture in mind too. I was planning to leave with a certifying body to sail the British Virgin Islands for over a month and get a sailing certification, but couldn't do it with no money. I searched for work to no avail. Then a friend mentioned I was qualified to be a teacher, and they're always in short supply. I didn't want to be a teacher though, because it's almost a forever-style commitment, and I was just looking for something short term to leave immediately. “Be a sub!”
With that, I became a full time substitute high school teacher at a huge Midwestern US high school! The security clearance agency was obviously not doing their job the day they cleared me to work as a teacher. Everyone I know who heard the news, all had the same reaction: “ They let YOU around kids!?” Apparently. I wasn't just any teacher either, I was “Great Teacher Nash”! … GTN was on the scene ready to do all the things teachers should. For starters, I became the coolest kid in school... as an adult. I was hit on all day by beautiful high school girls... and sometimes guys, and the guys would always say they wanted to be me. Amazing what treating a kid like a human being will get you... but sometimes you can't because they don't deserve it. Case by case basis. Everyone said they wanted me as their full time teacher, but schools don't like it when you take off for over 9 months of the school year, so substitute would have to do. The other teachers were immediately tired of my presence, because all the students wouldn't stop talking me up. When the students were good, I would tell them one of my stories as a reward, and this proved fruitful. In fact it dawned on me that I had accidentally become like a certain famous TV character: I go on amazing adventures, but for some reason was now in a Midwestern town, I'm admired by all the high school kids and fix their problems, even though I'm kind of a delinquent and much older than them, and I very often dress like a greaser. I had accidentally become the Fonz! Being a teacher was great, but there was a few drawbacks.
The worst of the drawbacks was occasionally being mistaken for a student, the worst case of which resulted in a very heated altercation with one of the administrators. I was walking in the hall, when she saw me and told me to go to the “tardy room”. Every time I opened my mouth to explain the situation she would just yell “Tardy Room!” louder. She kept getting louder until she finally yelled “Tardy Room!” right in my face, to which I responded in kind with “I'M A TEACHER!” … The situation escalated from there, and that was the one and only time I went to my boss swearing up a storm promising action if this bitch did anything else. Nothing came of it. She's probably dead now from a heart attack due to a mix of her over stress and obesity. The other downside, if you could call it that, was all the high school girls wanting to have sex with me. I know they wanted to, because they would come up to me and tell me so. They were disturbingly sexy for their ages too. I never took them up on their copious offers though. Not because I didn't want to get fired, and not because I didn't want to end up on a sex-offender registry, but because I refused to violate the honor of the teacher-student relationship. On one occasion I was cutting grass shirtless on a hot spring afternoon, and one of the high school girls happened to drive by and notice me. She snuck a picture of me with her cellphone, and by the next day, I was even more popular with the girl students... and the gay guy students. Not more popular with the other teachers though...
Outside of those two things teaching afforded me all sorts of time related benefits. I read through my entire huge backlog of books, and had the time to create this very website. I also was afforded enough time to focus on my fighting and training while I was working fro money towards adventure. It was almost perfect.
My every waking non-working moment was devoted to preparing for fights that kept falling through. I was told something would always come up causing a fight to be pushed back, or outright canceled. I just trained on, always thinking the next fight was right around the corner. Six months of no drinking alcohol, focused training. Still the fights were falling through. There was one interesting thing that happened during that time period though.
One day while I was at the fighting gym, coaching the kickboxing class, an old lady came in. I saw her out of the corner of my eye talking to the general manager before I heard him say “talk to Nash”. I looked over to see what was up, and the lady came over and spoke with me. She was an older, gray-haired lady, with hearing aids in both her ears. She explained that she was an artist, and was working on a rather eccentric piece. She wanted to do a series of photographs showing the stages of healing. In the spirit of this she had come to the gym to get someone to punch her in the face, to give her a black eye. Apparently my reaction was the same as many others' : “What!? Use make up!” She explained the series of photographs was about healing, so the black eye needed to be real, so she could chart it's healing. Crazy as it sounded, artists what they are, I respected her for her commitment. I happened to be coaching a couple of college girls at that moment, and thought one of them would be perfect for the task. Even though the older woman had signed all the relevant waivers, I felt woman on woman violence would be easier to defend, should something terrible happen. I chose the more skillful girl I was coaching, and explained to her the situation. “You want me to what?... I don't want to do that.” I explained why it had to be her. “No way. You're the coach and you've got the most control, you should be the one to do it.” I'd rather not. The Artist though, was all about it. I couldn't get anyone else to do it, so it looked like I was going to do this. I had her sign more waivers and do a video confession, just to be sure. I elected to wear a boxing glove, to dampen the blow of my fist, and had her stand close to a padded wall in case she fell backwards. I had the best intentions. I gave her what I thought was a fairly light tap, but the blow caused her head to fly back, smashing the wall, which caused her head to ricochet back into my fist, then back into the wall before she collapsed. Not only had I punched an old deaf woman in the face, I most likely concussed her brain while probably NOT giving her a black eye. At least she got a good story out of it.... Assuming she can remember it.
Life seemed to be going well, if not a bit too slow for my liking, but soon it all came grinding to a halt. First was the ending of the school year in May, which would have been fine, except I discovered I hadn't raised near enough money to go on my expedition. Despite full time substitute teaching, shoveling snow, chopping firewood, helping people move, and applying for a job that I'm pretty sure was for the Yakuza, I still didn't have the money. Now I had no travel plans, and no job. It wouldn't have been a total loss, but the fight team was the next to go. My life was rapidly unraveling.
I found out that all the dropped fights, contract disputes, and outright lies weren't coming from the other gyms, but actually coming from the management of my team and gym. I found out that not only were they shit at their jobs, they were terrible human beings because they were betting against their own fighters, getting them fights they knew they couldn't win in order to make money behind the scenes. They were rigging fights. They were paying other fighters, but not their own team. Things were also getting stolen from the gym, and I believe it was from the higher ups. On more than one occasion the gym stole money from my bank account in the form of an “Auto Debit” that the general manager swore was nonrefundable. Until I came at him with legal action, at which point the money was magically returned. I was completely distraught to find out my gym was the bad guy. Once I knew, they labeled me the enemy. Me, who had given years to the team. They should be so lucky to call me enemy. I would rather have no association with them at all. People left the team like rats from a sinking ship after that. The head coach and co-owner of the team fled and moved across the country one night telling almost no one, including his co-owner and general manager. He left a huge whole in coaching staff and management, causing a collapse and restructuring. The gym was the same in name only. He also bought a truck and crossbow from the other kickboxing coach that he hadn't finished paying for and didn't tell the guy he was leaving for the other side of the country. Legal action was on its way, and several months later, still no one had seen the guy. I wanted nothing to do with that team or most of the people on it. A few of my friends stayed there, but I know it would only be a matter of time before they left also.
I was once again a ronin, perhaps my natural state. I'm loathe to trust anyone's team after that. I struck out on my own and was able to find my own fight. It took 2 days, not a month like the garbage management made it seem. I was pleased with myself until some of the more specific details started coming through. The fight was to be in Ohio, a place I already didn't like. Then I found out the weigh-ins were the same day as the fight, I wouldn't be allowed to deliver head kicks, and my opponent could wear protective gear. I was already disheartened at hearing all that, but then I found out my blood work wasn't good enough for the Ohio commission, and they required a specific test. Then the week before the fight while getting ready I took a dropping elbow to my fibula, and thought I broke it. I know that I didn't because I went to the vet and had it x-rayed, but it was still messed up enough that I had to call off the fight.
My life was now unraveled. No fights, no fight team, no job, no adventure, no purpose. I felt like James Bond between missions. I had tons of skills, none of which really translated to a sedentary “normal” lifestyle. I started becoming depressed. Until I received a letter in the mail... from myself. It was from NOLS Australia and was part of an assignment we had to do. We were to wright ourselves a letter, given a specific prompt. NOLS would mail it to us at an unspecified time in the future. The time it happened to reach me was a year after I'd written it, which just so happened to be the time I needed to read my own words the most. The prompt was a question: “What makes you be you?”
My letter reads as follows:
“Dear Nash,
“What makes me be me?”
This was the Questions we were to meditate upon during our solo time at NOLS Australia. Genetics I doubt it, especially considering the hodge-podge muttness of many these days, myself included. Upbringing? Potentially at some point, though there comes a time when people divest themselves of their parental influences and become an independent being, which I had done at a young age. Family? Certainly not; I believe family is chosen, not inherited, and that being said, all are free to be as they wish regardless of the phantom of scrutiny that may come from those they know. Experiences? To a point, in so much as I have extrapolated all relevant meanings and learnings from them, to then further have broader experiences. Through experiences one can find what fits best with one's personal nature, then base future choices on that. Choice? Choice is the largest contributing factor to what makes me be me. I am a conscious decision. If ever stumped I ask myself “What would Nash do?”, and invariably end up with the correct answer.
I choose what experiences to have, and I choose how to react to unexpected situations. I am master of my own destiny; Wandering through a beautiful super vivid coloured world, every moment an apotheotic fever dream. I am the me I always wanted to be; If I see someone who has traits I want, I adapt them, continually improving myself and setting new goals. I set the goal to come to NOLS, earn ISGE, and become the “leader's leader” and get voted head of ISGE; I am now writing this as head of ISGE. So, what has become of you by the time this letter reaches you? Are you a wanderer? A holder of illustrious credentials and titles? A zany entrepreneur? Perhaps you've become sedentary? Whatever the case, if you do not greet each day with the same wonder and excitement I do, then you have gone off course. Remember, the only time you have is the time you make; GO MAN! THE WORLD IS YOURS!
Freedom and Adventure.
Love,
-Nash
“
Oh me! You always know just what to say! I was reinvigorated. I just needed to FOCUS.
Soon, I received an invitation to a martial arts tournament. Or, rather, it was an invite to compete in an event to form a US national team to compete in the Kudo World Tournament in Tokyo Japan. This is just what I needed! It had been a year since I'd seen the Kudo group, and it was perfect that they were the first people I would encounter on my arrival back in the States and be the final as my reason for heading out again. To the event!
Turns out the event itself was rather short notice. There wasn't even going to be a U.S. National team as Kudo wasn't as prolific in the USA as it was in other countries. This didn't sit well with some of the US Kudo practitioners though, and they decided to put a team together and give me an invitation to the try-outs. The World Kudo Tournament is once every four years, so I figured there must be at least a couple years left to train if they were just now putting together a team. At least a year, minimum.... or a month, which is what it actually was. Talk about a “cool runnings” situation. Short notice indeed. I was honored to get invited though, so I went anyway. I kept explaining that I wasn't really clear on competitive Kudo rules, but they were super sure I had what it takes and filled me with extreme words of praise. I was going to this event!
I arrived in Ohio, a place I don't care for, for the full day of Kudo. The day consisted of a full day of training, also a rank test, and then the first USA Kudo tournament, which I fought in. It was great to see Azuma Jukuchou and the rest of the Kudo crew again. I had a great time, and got lots of great experience, and though I got heaps of invites from the instructors for various things like being an Uchi-Deshi at the Honbu, and many compliments, I also had a realization: Competitive Kudo is not for me, and that’s because of the damn helmet! This was the first time I'd actually worn one of the things, and if I was doing it right (big IF) Kudo head gear is not for my large lumpy head. I was in phenomenal competitive shape as a result of being in training all the time for all the canceled fights, but the second I put the head gear on, or rather had it put on for me since the competitors aren't allowed to do it themselves, it immediately cut off all the tubes leading into and out of my head: breath and blood! My jaw didn't go where the helmet wanted it to go; I had lockjaw for days, and all the skin rubbed off of my chin from forcing it into the thing. Like I said, I don't know if I was wearing it wrong or what, but it cost me some results.
First we were all divided into body matrix categories, which is an index of your weight crossed with your height. This is a much better way of matching people up than the traditional MMA way of weight cutting, since you should always be within a range of mass of your opponent. He may be lanky, but then he's light, or he may be heavy, but then his body would be small. It's a nice system. Unfortunately we didn't have enough people for all the categories so we were all just jumbled together anyway, defeating the purpose. My first fight I was set to fight a guy much larger than me, in size and mass, but everyone just said “no worries, you're a beast!”. Even a beast loses his bite with a muzzle on, which is what the head gear did to me. The second it went on, I couldn't breath, and the loss of vision didn't help matters. Not breathing for 30 seconds damn near killed me, and even though I held on the whole round, I lost by decision. My next opponent was my same size, and I beat him like he owed me money, so the headgear didn't have time to get me. My third opponent, was again slightly larger, and I was still trying to figure out how to wear the damn hat. I told the people putting it on to make it as slack as they were allowed to. I'm not quite sure what happened next as a result. During the first few moment of the fight I got hit in the head gear and it spun around my head, and either IT cut into my left eyebrow, or the guys fist did after the headgear had spun, but either way that ended the fight for me due to bleeding excessively from the eyebrow wound. That was that. In three fights I got a loss by decision, a landslide victory, and somehow got my left eyebrow deeply cut, even though I was wearing a prohibitively large HELMET!
I love Kudo as a martial art, but pursuing it as a serious competitive activity with a helmet is way not for me. Knowing this I didn't get picked for the team, nor would I want to be and told them as such. However, I still knew everyone, and the area were they were going and could be of assistance. As far as I know, no one on the team spoke Japanese or were familiar with my old stomping grounds were they just so happened to be heading, so I declared I would be the team liaison.
I planned to go translate and help the USA Kudo team best I could, then stay for amazing training, getting together with old friends, and finally adventuring around Japan. I was finally free from the doldrums! Stagnation plagued me no longer!
I was off to adventure, and nothing was going to stand in my way! … right?
-Nash