Or how I came about to doing what I do today: learn, train and write about it.
PART 1: Childhood and Teen Formative Years.
Inception: Ages 5-10.
My grandfather was a natural athlete. He was a boxer, skier, sailor, swimmer. I don’t recall him ever mentioning lifting weights, but he was a strong guy and his strength came from not only his activities, but his work. As a painter and sculptor, he would build installations and climb scaffolding to erect his stone or concrete sculptures, murals made of mosaic tiny tiles. To paint his vivid landscapes, he would climb mountains, hike steep hills or narrow ledges to access rarely seen vantage points which he would then relay through his art, be it oil or watercolor.
When I was about 5, I was a reckless little fellah. Not one week would go without a bruise, bandage, scrape or cut. I would ride my bicycle in any terrain possible, climb the highest trees… I even recall this one incident where I got into a fight with this kid, who ran to his dad, who then came for me. I climbed so high up the nearest tree, it could barely hold me, 30+ feet high! But I was out of sight and got away with it. On the way down, I thought I heard the dad come back so I jumped off the tree, over the near chicken-wire fence that delineated the soccer field’s perimeter. I barely cleared the fence and the top scraped my low back. I still have a scar there…
What you need to know is that I was one skinny kid! Tall too, for my age. I was strong as hell (my parents even used to have me grip the edge of a shelf as an infant, and I’d hold on, like velcro). But really skinny, which caused me to be picked on a lot. So I got into fights with my friends often. Seemed like the thing to do (we’d turn on another kid occasionally too). Throwing rocks, swinging sticks (more like stakes) found at construction sites, pushing one off the jungle gym, I’m talking early Hunter Gatherer fight for survival. Somehow, I have a fond recollection of it.
Introduction to Sports and Physical Activity: Ages 10-13.
At the age of 10, my parents put me in gymnastics to correct my posture. I was as tall as a 14-16 year-old, according to my clothes. Granted, the French aren’t know to be the tallest, and I come from a Slavic/Norse background (without the Viking “thickness”). I was doing OK, but it wasn’t my strong suit. Plus, my Dad came to watch a session one time and wasn’t too thrilled about the amount of down time in the class. So, when the school year ended, so did my time in gymnastics. I did get some good basics out of it, at least!
Then, I got into swimming, where I truly was able to maximize my genetic “length”. I started winning all kinds of gold medals, was even regional champion in the back stroke. My youngest brother even laughs at the box where I carelessly shoved all my gold medals (I had a few silver too…). But did I enjoy it? Not really. I was good at it, but I was not a competitor. My coach got upset at me one time, because I didn’t join them for a meet abroad, saying all the right things to push me away (“You have the gift, but have no guts, you don’t push yourself, etc…”), tearing me down instead of building me up (without a care for what might have been going on in my life outside of swimming). So when I told my parents I wanted to do Karate, they got on my case for saying I switch too often!
What you don’t know is that I had a deal with them: I was supposed to take swimming cuz they wanted me to, and afterwards, I could do what I wanted to do.
Cashing in on that promise was one of the happiest and most important turning points in my athletic career.
Martial Arts: Ages 14 and still going!
Shotokan Karate was one of the three martial arts you could learn in the little 2-town radius of Parmain, in the Val d’Oise “county”, suburb of Paris. The others were Judo and Aikido. My long and lean build called for a stand-up fighting style. Karate was a great fit. I got into it so much I would read and learn everything there was about Japan, other martial arts and Japanese culture. Bruce Lee, of course, was the biggest role model (as was Jean-Claude Van Damme, who at the time, was really cool and buff. Me being skinny, I aimed to one day have an armor of muscles too!). I’d get fighting toys for my birthday. Nun-chucks, fighting sticks, Filipino Eskrima books, a Bali-song knife, a.k.a. butterfly knife, a pair of Sai, heavy bag. You name it, I started doing it.
The confidence it gave me was amazing. No one picked on me anymore. Friends even joined my Karate class. I was becoming cool. Still skinny, but fast, flexible and strong. No one messed with me anymore. Not because I would kick ass, which I didn’t, but because I carried myself with a different level of confidence.
When I was 14 and entering high school (I skipped a grade. High School in France is the equivalent of grades 10-12, you enter at 15), one of my friends invited me to go over to his friend’s place and spar. There I was, a green belt, thinking I was invincible. I got my butt handed to me with my low, rigid stance, by his bigger, stronger friend. Also, my friend punched me in the face, chipping a tooth. What happened then was a revelation: my body reacted by throwing this lightning fast low-high hook kick, kicking my friend in the spleen, then making his ear bleed.
I had the tools, the reflexes, but the training was inadequate. My teacher would train me in traditional ways not suited for street fights (something Bruce Lee discovered himself almost 2 decades before me). That’s when I got into Muay Thai, traveling to Paris (only an hour away by train, plus a few subway stops) to loosen up my fighting style while increasing my power.
