This Chapter (27) bijou bloggete here will not even make a pretence of being about MG.
So what's it all about Mark.... I don't hear you ask.
Sit down get comfy and I will tell you......
Today I experienced the highs and lows that come with a coaching position.
I watched a couple of young children conquer their self doubts and get their techniques working well.
This was immensely satisfying as I realised that some of the technical work I have been doing with them is finally paying off .
Just in case I was left with the idea that the problems are over, I then watched a couple of much more experienced children sleepwalk their way out of the medals.
Case 1
With a Yuko advantage I watched an experienced fighter collect 3 penalties in the last minute of his bronze medal contest. He has a habit of dropping to his knees and attempting low Seoinage without any preparation (flopping as it's known in the trade) With a comfortable lead all he was required to do was play safe and finish the fight.
The last of these penalties was for a completely unnecessary flop as the bell rang at the end of the contest.
With 3 penalties his comfortable lead was squandered .
As he realised he had lost, it got worse and he spat his dummy, turning his back and was about to storm from the mat.
This is the 2nd time he has done this in a week and he is close to becoming an embarrassment and a liability to the club.
He turned for what he knew would be unqualified support to his parents as he burst into tears. One of them later explained that he didn't consider it fair that they "took it off him"
I explained in a direct way that with 3 mistakes 2 for flopping and 1 for walking out of the contest area.
far from having it taken from here, he had in fact given it back himself.
Case 2
Another of my fighters having worked his way into the golden score then stopped attacking.
No amount of hints from me "open up now" time to get moving" made any difference as he appeared to go on strike . When the inevitable passivity penalty was given ( losing him the fight and medal) his parent screamed at the referee "what was that"? Or something similar. I realised that with only a rudimentry understanding of what they are watching these parents are consolidating their children's weaknesses by instinctively reaching for an excuse whenever they make they mistakes.
The inevitable consequence of this, is that these judoka, do not consider that they need to address any problems .
The inevitable logic of this position is that the child is already as good as he or she will ever be.......
(which now I consider it is probably true) !
Another day tomorrow for more of the same!
Saturday, 28 June 2014
Friday, 30 May 2014
Chapter 26 In which the bottom falls out of my world and the world falls out of my bottom..
Hello my Dear Old Blog,
Its been awhile eh?
Since Chapter 25 so much has happened,
In January of this year my dear friend and lifetime judo coach Don Werner died.
I had time to prepare myself for this as he was diagnosed with a terminal illness some months before, knowing in advance however did not diminish the whirl of emotion when the time arrived.
He truly was a giant of a man and the force of his personality remains an almost physical force within the club he built.
His final decline was a bitter sweet experience for me, I supported him during the final months of his life
with his coaching. He stubbornly refused to concede an inch to his illness, only leaving the mat when he was forced into hospital for treatment.
This period gave me an opportunity to watch him more closely than I ever had whilst being coached by him and also deepened my friendship with him.
He was a true maverick to the very end, challenging the status quo, questioning anything and happy to share his opinions (which he argued with force if anyone disagreed).
On occasions I found myself defending an opposing view and after delivering both barrels at me, I was often left with his wry smile and the feeling that he enjoyed the verbal combat almost as much as he enjoyed judo
.
If anything I think my tendency to speak up when I disagreed strengthened our relationship as it gave more weight to my agreement which was probably 95% of the time.
The greatest honour he ever paid me was on the occasions that he sought my opinion.
At various times whilst he was stuck in hospital I found myself a conduit for messages, in both directions.
These underlined for me what a huge impact he had on so many lives, it became apparent that whilst there were many recurring themes, each of us had our own unique version of him, almost tailored to our specific needs, and sometimes at odds with other peoples versions of him.
The truth I suppose, is that each of us look through our own lens at the world and these lenses are the result
of our own life experience.
It is strange to consider that we must on this basis, accept that there are other versions of ourselves, being held simultaneously by the people we know.... one ill chosen joke, a slight, or a forgotten kindness might see us cast in a role we had never intended, or been aware of.
Towards the end Don asked me if I would continue his work at the club, this is the biggest challenge of my life so far and if I considered the implications of getting it wrong I doubt I would sleep at night.
I was the first substantial disappointment in his coaching career when I quit at 20 without having the courage to even try and explain why. Ten long years later I re-started judo and have finally got the chance to try and repay this debt to him. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to make this promise to him at the end of his life.
No thoughts of my David Moyse to his Alex Ferguson can be allowed to cross my mind.
Well meaning but misguided people have suggested that I have a difficult task in matching his accomplishments, this demonstrates a lack of understanding on their part.
A short appreciation of what he achieved in his long career makes it clear that I would be a vainglorious fool to imagine I could even get close.
I would have to have to live to 150 to stand half a chance!
What I am doing is what he told me to do..... my best.
In Chapter 25 I was cautiously hoping that my MG was over, I stopped my steroids and delayed the start of the immune suppressant drug that I had been prescribed as the potential side effects looked like a rival to the disease itself. I was as objective as possible as I waited and watched for returning symptoms. I was anxious to avoid undoing all of the good work achieved by 'Sir' Richard of Armstrong my hero and neurologist.
Four months or so later and there it was the familiar drooping eyelid... just a trace but definitely there.
Damm.... so a short blast of steroids and then on with the new stuff (Azathioprine) a ramped dose that increased daily until reaching 250mg. Another inconvenience with this regime is that I have to have regular blood tests and am susceptible to infection like the whitlow on my left thumb that started to look like some kind of Ebola virus. As my supply of Aza (to its friends) had run out I stopped taking it again and within a couple of weeks the infection subsided perhaps as a consequence of my immune system climbing back off of it's arse.
God this blog is boring me!
So lets get to a funny bit eh?
Did I tell you about the time that having got a new pack of Aza I restarted at my full daily dose?
A couple of hours later feeling nauseous I had to visit a toilet in a local school.
I had just delivered a judo lesson there,
you didn't think I left my house in order to use a local school toilet?
You are sick sooooo sick!
as WAS I!
a horizontal column of projectile vomit fired from me with echoes of 'The Exorcist'.
This was followed in short succession by what looked for all the world like a jug of brown windsor soup that fired from my arse at a rate that I'm sure sucked my eyes backwards.
I was in need of a swivel chair in front of the WC as I span in a frenzy of expelling bodily fluids.
This was a weight loss plan to be respected and I assumed that it was some chicken that I had eaten at lunchtime.
Fearing that my wife or daughter might share the same fate I rang them from the club warning them that the chicken should be avoided at all costs.
My reluctance to take the Aza meant that I then lapsed for another couple of weeks before taking..... you guessed it a full daily dose.
This time the nausea struck at an even less opportune moment...
I was meeting with Don's daughter, son and grand daughter in order to spread his ashes in woodland behind the club.
To my credit (Don would have been proud) I managed this with great self control, but as we returned to the cafe Kerry examined the menu with her daughter, the final straw proved to be a discussion around the pineapple beef burger.
This was more than I could handle and as my mouth filled with saliva I made an excuse and ran for the door.
Shortly after this I was scattering the woods and spattering my judo trousers with my recently ingested tomato soup.
Now running short of time I left to drive to a judo lesson and was forced to stop on the way for yet more vomiting, this time at the roadside.
By this point I was incredulous at how much I seemed able to expel and began to wonder whether my intestines might soon be on their way out of my mouth.
Arriving like a scarecrow at the school and wearing spare blue judo trousers with my white jacket I managed about 20 minutes before some kind of deep volcanic gurgle announced part 2.
Leaving the poor bemused children with a muttered excuse I made my way to the very same toilet, positioned in the reception (what insane space planner thought that was a good idea)?
As I recreated the toilet scene from 'Dumb and Dumber' I was praying (and i'm an Atheist) that there would be no one waiting to use the toilet...
Which of course there was, God help them......
(and I'm an Atheist)!
So as I sit here fully hydrated and illuminated by the light of my puter screen, I'm still avoiding the cure and praying
(and I'm an Atheist)
that the disease leaves me alone for a while at least.
Lets not leave it so long next time Blog it was soooooo nice to catch up.
Its been awhile eh?
Since Chapter 25 so much has happened,
In January of this year my dear friend and lifetime judo coach Don Werner died.
I had time to prepare myself for this as he was diagnosed with a terminal illness some months before, knowing in advance however did not diminish the whirl of emotion when the time arrived.
He truly was a giant of a man and the force of his personality remains an almost physical force within the club he built.
His final decline was a bitter sweet experience for me, I supported him during the final months of his life
with his coaching. He stubbornly refused to concede an inch to his illness, only leaving the mat when he was forced into hospital for treatment.
This period gave me an opportunity to watch him more closely than I ever had whilst being coached by him and also deepened my friendship with him.
He was a true maverick to the very end, challenging the status quo, questioning anything and happy to share his opinions (which he argued with force if anyone disagreed).
On occasions I found myself defending an opposing view and after delivering both barrels at me, I was often left with his wry smile and the feeling that he enjoyed the verbal combat almost as much as he enjoyed judo
.
If anything I think my tendency to speak up when I disagreed strengthened our relationship as it gave more weight to my agreement which was probably 95% of the time.
The greatest honour he ever paid me was on the occasions that he sought my opinion.
At various times whilst he was stuck in hospital I found myself a conduit for messages, in both directions.
These underlined for me what a huge impact he had on so many lives, it became apparent that whilst there were many recurring themes, each of us had our own unique version of him, almost tailored to our specific needs, and sometimes at odds with other peoples versions of him.
The truth I suppose, is that each of us look through our own lens at the world and these lenses are the result
of our own life experience.
It is strange to consider that we must on this basis, accept that there are other versions of ourselves, being held simultaneously by the people we know.... one ill chosen joke, a slight, or a forgotten kindness might see us cast in a role we had never intended, or been aware of.
Towards the end Don asked me if I would continue his work at the club, this is the biggest challenge of my life so far and if I considered the implications of getting it wrong I doubt I would sleep at night.
I was the first substantial disappointment in his coaching career when I quit at 20 without having the courage to even try and explain why. Ten long years later I re-started judo and have finally got the chance to try and repay this debt to him. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to make this promise to him at the end of his life.
No thoughts of my David Moyse to his Alex Ferguson can be allowed to cross my mind.
Well meaning but misguided people have suggested that I have a difficult task in matching his accomplishments, this demonstrates a lack of understanding on their part.
A short appreciation of what he achieved in his long career makes it clear that I would be a vainglorious fool to imagine I could even get close.
I would have to have to live to 150 to stand half a chance!
What I am doing is what he told me to do..... my best.
In Chapter 25 I was cautiously hoping that my MG was over, I stopped my steroids and delayed the start of the immune suppressant drug that I had been prescribed as the potential side effects looked like a rival to the disease itself. I was as objective as possible as I waited and watched for returning symptoms. I was anxious to avoid undoing all of the good work achieved by 'Sir' Richard of Armstrong my hero and neurologist.
Four months or so later and there it was the familiar drooping eyelid... just a trace but definitely there.
Damm.... so a short blast of steroids and then on with the new stuff (Azathioprine) a ramped dose that increased daily until reaching 250mg. Another inconvenience with this regime is that I have to have regular blood tests and am susceptible to infection like the whitlow on my left thumb that started to look like some kind of Ebola virus. As my supply of Aza (to its friends) had run out I stopped taking it again and within a couple of weeks the infection subsided perhaps as a consequence of my immune system climbing back off of it's arse.
God this blog is boring me!
So lets get to a funny bit eh?
Did I tell you about the time that having got a new pack of Aza I restarted at my full daily dose?
A couple of hours later feeling nauseous I had to visit a toilet in a local school.
I had just delivered a judo lesson there,
you didn't think I left my house in order to use a local school toilet?
You are sick sooooo sick!
as WAS I!
a horizontal column of projectile vomit fired from me with echoes of 'The Exorcist'.
This was followed in short succession by what looked for all the world like a jug of brown windsor soup that fired from my arse at a rate that I'm sure sucked my eyes backwards.
I was in need of a swivel chair in front of the WC as I span in a frenzy of expelling bodily fluids.
This was a weight loss plan to be respected and I assumed that it was some chicken that I had eaten at lunchtime.
Fearing that my wife or daughter might share the same fate I rang them from the club warning them that the chicken should be avoided at all costs.
My reluctance to take the Aza meant that I then lapsed for another couple of weeks before taking..... you guessed it a full daily dose.
This time the nausea struck at an even less opportune moment...
I was meeting with Don's daughter, son and grand daughter in order to spread his ashes in woodland behind the club.
To my credit (Don would have been proud) I managed this with great self control, but as we returned to the cafe Kerry examined the menu with her daughter, the final straw proved to be a discussion around the pineapple beef burger.
This was more than I could handle and as my mouth filled with saliva I made an excuse and ran for the door.
Shortly after this I was scattering the woods and spattering my judo trousers with my recently ingested tomato soup.
Now running short of time I left to drive to a judo lesson and was forced to stop on the way for yet more vomiting, this time at the roadside.
By this point I was incredulous at how much I seemed able to expel and began to wonder whether my intestines might soon be on their way out of my mouth.
Arriving like a scarecrow at the school and wearing spare blue judo trousers with my white jacket I managed about 20 minutes before some kind of deep volcanic gurgle announced part 2.
Leaving the poor bemused children with a muttered excuse I made my way to the very same toilet, positioned in the reception (what insane space planner thought that was a good idea)?
As I recreated the toilet scene from 'Dumb and Dumber' I was praying (and i'm an Atheist) that there would be no one waiting to use the toilet...
Which of course there was, God help them......
(and I'm an Atheist)!
So as I sit here fully hydrated and illuminated by the light of my puter screen, I'm still avoiding the cure and praying
(and I'm an Atheist)
that the disease leaves me alone for a while at least.
Lets not leave it so long next time Blog it was soooooo nice to catch up.
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