So this guy is standing 6 feet in front of me.  He’s got his right hand behind his back, and he’s saying he wants to f@%* me up. It’s midnight on a sidewalk in Hawaii with no one around except my buddy, who’s occupied with the two other people in the pickup truck the man was in. In the dim street light, I can barely make out the handle of a kitchen knife protruding from the right side of the man who’s confronting me. It seemed like the perfect time to let loose a front kick — but I couldn’t do anything at that moment. I was a fairly accomplished martial artist, so what was my problem? Too many options were running through my head, and it locked me up. I couldn’t decide what would work best, when to do it and what to follow up with if it didn’t get immediate results. That’s when I realized I was the kind of guy who needs simplicity. That led me to krav maga. SIMPLICITY, IN MOTION In krav maga, instructors try to keep things simple because they assume their students have limited training time. So they pare down the defenses to the lowest number of techniques that will enable a person to solve the widest range of problems. Krav’s kicks are no exception. Because kicks by themselves take away our ability to move in the moment and inherently compromise balance, our goal is to reduce the time we spend on one leg while delivering maximum damage or stopping power — and doing this in a manner that enables the average person with limited training time to learn quickly and execute easily. In krav, we categorize kicks into two groups: defensive  and offensive . Defensive kicks are those that put our full leg between us and the attacker on impact. They’re designed to maintain or create distance between the two parties. An offensive kick is any kick that doesn’t do that. The krav front kick is broken down according to three goals: Damaging a horizontal target Damaging a vertical target Creating or maintaining space between defender and attacker The resulting three moves are called different things by different people, but in general they’re known by descriptive names: the regular front kick, the ball-of-the-foot front kick , and the defensive front kick . REGULAR FRONT KICK This technique is sometimes mistakenly called a groin kick . It’s the kick a lot of people think of when you mention krav maga because the system is billed as no-rules self-defense. So that image of someone being kicked in the groin may drive home the point, but the move is far more than a groin kick. The kick uses the shinbone  — generally, between just above the ankle and halfway to the knee. Go any higher, and you’ll turn it into a knee strike. The groin is a great target for the regular front kick but not the only target. In fact, it’s good for any horizontal body part. Imagine that your attacker is bent over in front of you in a perpendicular orientation. This is the perfect technique to slam into his face. ACTION: To deliver this front kick, start by moving your knee upward and forward. To get your knee moving forward, you’ll have to drive your hips (note the plural) forward, and that’s exactly what you want. Just make sure your hips don’t initiate the movement, which will telegraph the technique. As you do this, your knee should bend to approximately 90 degrees. Take care that your foot doesn’t travel backward, away from the target. (Envision the foot trailing the knee slightly in the initial movement.) As your knee approaches the target’s height, explosively extend your leg . Note that the knee never holds that 90-degree bend. Rather, it hits that angle and begins its unbending immediately. Point your foot forward while extending your leg to expose your shinbone better and to emphasize your hip driving forward. Continue to drive your knee so it passes the target height, which ensures that your bodyweight goes through the target. Think of your knee as the last hinge in the weapon system: If the hinge stops opening before the target is reached, or even at the same height, the mass on the back side of the hinge stops there, too. For that reason, it won’t transfer all its energy into the target. Because your hips are driving forward, it might appear like you’re leaning backward, but you shouldn’t lean away. The fact that both your hips are extended forward just gives the illusion of bending backward. Your upper body should stay very much over your base leg. The final step, as in all krav kicks, is to recover your stance . The most common practice is to simply put your foot down where the fight dictates it should be. That’s logical because what you do next is mostly determined by the attacker’s reaction to your kick. Putting down your foot in front effectively advances you into the fight, while placing it back where it started puts you at long range, which offers different options. In most cases, you’ll put it down somewhere in between with a small adjustment step that gets you into a good stance, which will allow an immediate follow-up strike or set you up for a fast escape. BALL-OF-THE-FOOT FRONT KICK Also known as the vertical-target kick, this technique is similar to a muay Thai kick known as the teep. It’s designed to penetrate rather than stop an opponent’s forward movement. (Although, a well-executed kick can indeed accomplish that.) Just as the name states, its aim is to make contact using the ball of the foot. When landing it, you’ll want to point your foot forward and pull your toes backward. The targets for this front kick are the vertical surfaces of your opponent’s body. When you’re face to face, prime examples include the front of the groin and the abdomen. It’s easy to make the liver a target, or the kidneys, if your attacker isn’t facing you. As always, the head can be a target, assuming it’s been lowered to a reasonable height so kicking it doesn’t compromise your balance or cross the threshold of where a hand technique would be preferred. This front kick develops almost exactly as the regular front kick does. It’s intentional. Krav maga practitioners appreciate the freedom to start a regular front kick and quickly morph it into a ball-of-the-foot front kick if the target changes mid-delivery. ACTION: As in the previous kick, start by raising your knee and moving it forward — make sure you’re using your hips for power. This time, however, create a slightly greater knee-bend angle and hold it a little longer because your goal is to effect a more linear, horizontal projection. As your knee reaches target height, drive your foot forward. Your knee will get a little higher than the target, but it will come back down to line up between your hip and the target on impact. Just before that impact, “punch” both hips forward, driving your bodyweight into the kick. In this move, real power depends on timing more than anything else. To visualize the trajectory and angles involved, think about how you’d shut a car door with your foot. The foot comes up, but ultimately the trajectory flattens on contact. You want all the energy and mass thrusting forward at the moment of impact, as opposed to still moving upward. Recovery is the same as with the regular front kick, but it’s more likely there will be a slight advance, and because much of your energy is moving forward, you may have to advance after the kick to follow up anyway. A well-placed ball-of-the-foot kick can bend an attacker in half at the waist, often causing him to stop moving forward with his lower body. Just be aware that his upper body might still be moving forward. This can have serious consequences, especially if he has a knife. In any case, you should plan for anything and be able to adjust quickly to deliver a follow-up or make an exit. DEFENSIVE FRONT KICK This kick is primarily designed to create space — or maintain space if the target is moving forward. To see a great example of the technique, search online for “this is Sparta kick” from the movie 300 . The clip shows a very strong kick with lots of mass behind it, but because it’s a higher kick, it takes longer to develop, which increases the chance your foe will defend against it or move. Of course, the higher the kick, the more your balance is compromised, as well. Because this is primarily a “stopping” defensive kick, you want as much surface area as possible making contact. That means you need to angle your foot back in an attempt to land the entire sole on target. If you hit with the ball of your foot, you might lose some energy when your ankle acts as a shock absorber. Although technically you'd be fine just making contact with your heel, more is better. Think of trying to move a balloon with a pin versus with your hand. The pin will penetrate the balloon, while your hand will move it. For maximum effect, this kick should make contact between the base of the ribs and the suprasternal notch. Remember that you're trying to move someone backward or at least stop his forward momentum. Landing this kick at hip height may stop his legs from moving forward, but his upper body will still be in motion. Kicking above his midpoint hinge will have a better and more immediate result. If you can get his upper body to suddenly move behind his heels, you'll create even more space and time, especially if he stumbles backward or falls. Raise your flexed knee — the higher the knee, the higher the kick. Unlike in the previous two kicks, hold this bent, or chambered, position longer to allow for the higher lift. Start unbending your leg and pulling back your foot. This is when you should begin thrusting both hips forward in a stomping movement. Envision your foot hitting the target at the same time your hips, and therefore your bodyweight, reach the apex of their movement. With this kick, it's OK if your base foot pivots slightly to increase the flexion in your legs, allowing more height for the technique. Note that this will send your kicking hip farther forward, as well, thus slightly increasing your range. As before, your hips will be far enough forward on impact that from a profile position, it might look like you're bending backward. However, this shouldn't be the case. Your upper body should still be a counterbalance and in a good relationship with your base leg, allowing for a kick recovery in any direction. It also will help you avoid being bounced backward by the attacker's momentum. NEXT STEP With these three basic, yet versatile, techniques in your arsenal, you can increase the number of targets that are available to your foot strikes in most self-defense situations. No matter which one you select, be sure to get your kicking foot back on the ground as quickly as possible so you can move or strike immediately. And remember that a kick should always be part of a comprehensive combination that overwhelms your attacker and keeps him on the defensive. Oh, yeah, the guy with the knife in Hawaii? Well, as luck would have it, I didn't need to use any of these front kicks. At the last moment, a police officer cruised by and slowed down to see what was going on. As soon as he hit his lights, the perp bolted. He was caught ditching the knife and eventually went to jail.

Tony Jaa is the undisputed king of heart-stopping, jaw-dropping, next-level fight scenes. With his insane Thai-style fighting skills and gravity-defying stunts, Jaa has redefined what action can be in the 21st century. His fight scenes don’t just entertain—they leave you wondering, “Did he just do that?” Let’s break down Tony Jaa’s most legendary moments on screen—because every second of his career is a masterclass in martial arts cinema. 1. The Elephant Fight – Ong-Bak: Muay Thai Warrior  (2003) Let’s kick things off with the  scene that launched Tony Jaa into action superstardom. In Ong-Bak , Jaa takes on a group of bad guys using the power of Muay Thai and raw athleticism. But the real wow  moment? When he climbs an elephant and unleashes a series of devastating strikes from atop its back. It's a perfect mix of brutal choreography, animal-assisted combat, and sheer audacity. Why It’s Legendary: It’s both animal-powered and human-powered action. You don’t just see a fight scene; you feel the energy in every punch and kick. 2. The Warehouse Showdown – The Protector  (2005) This is the fight scene that most defines Tony Jaa’s reputation as an action superstar. In a single, mind-blowing, unbroken shot, he takes on a huge group of armed thugs in a narrow warehouse space, using everything to destroy anyone in his path. The choreography is so clean, the action so fast, you’ll think Jaa has superpowers.  Why It’s Legendary:   The continuous, uncut fight sequence is a technical marvel, showcasing Tony’s ability to blend intense combat with a seamless cinematic flow. 3. The Staircase Fight – The Protector  (2005) If the warehouse showdown wasn’t enough, Tony Jaa takes his fight scenes to the next level in The Protector ’s staircase brawl. Armed with nothing but his fists and his willpower, he battles his way up an entire flight of stairs against a seemingly endless stream of enemies, displaying Muay Thai like you’ve never seen before. Why It’s Legendary:  It’s the ultimate test of stamina, strength, and skill—a hero climbing his way to victory in the most literal sense. 4. The Roof Top Chase – Ong-Bak 2  (2008) Jaa’s agility and acrobatics take center stage in Ong-Bak 2 , where he chases down enemies across rooftops. The scene is a perfect blend of traditional fighting with parkour-like leaps, spins, and rolls. It's a fast-paced, action-packed moment that feels like you're part of the chase. Why It’s Legendary:   The choreography mixes martial arts with urban agility, making it one of the most dynamic action sequences of its time. 5. The Showdown – The Protector 2  (2013) One of the most electrifying moments in The Protector 2  is Tony Jaa's intense showdown with Marrese Crump. The fight is a high-octane exchange that blends Jaa’s precision Muay Thai with Crump’s powerful techniques. What makes this battle so gripping is the relentless pace and the physicality of both fighters as they push each other to the limit in a brutal back-and-forth. Why It’s Legendary:   It’s a clash of titans, with two expert martial arts forces leaving audiences on the edge of their seats as they witness a fight that feels as real as it is spectacular.

Jackie Chan is a walking, flipping, falling miracle  of modern cinema. While most actors leave danger to the stunt team, Jackie is  the stunt team. With a staggering list of injuries that includes a cracked skull, broken vertebrae, dislocated pelvis, and more, Jackie has definitely earned his status as a legend. Here are five of his most insane stunts—ranked by how much they made us scream, “How is he even alive?” 5. Bus Hang – Police Story (1985)  Jackie jumps onto a moving double-decker bus using nothing but an umbrella. He then hangs on  as it barrels down the road. Just sheer grit and grip strength. Classic Jackie. 4. Clock Tower Fall – Project A (1983)  An homage to silent film legends like Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton, Jackie falls from the top of a clock tower. He crashes through awnings on the way down, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. 3. Helicopter Jump – Police Story 3: Supercop  (1992)   Chan leaps onto a rope ladder hanging from a flying helicopter, which then soars over the streets of Kuala Lumpur. Just good ol’ Jackie dangling hundreds of feet in the air while the wind beats him like a rag doll. This is Supercop , but Jackie was the real superhero. 2. Pole Slide – Police Story (1985)  Yes, we’re back to Police Story —and for good reason. This time, Jackie Chan slid down a pole covered in live electrical lights, which exploded on contact as he passed. With no time for rehearsals and no safety wires, the stunt was performed raw. The result? Shattered vertebrae, second-degree burns on his hands, and a dislocated pelvis from the impact. But in classic Jackie Chan fashion, the show didn’t stop. He finished Police Story  while pulling double duty: filming Heart of Dragon  with Sammo Hung by day and returning to the insane action of Police Story  at night. 1. Skull Fracture – Armour of God (1986) This wasn’t just the stunt that nearly ended Jackie Chan’s career—it almost ended his life. The setup seemed simple enough (for Jackie, anyway): leap from a wall onto a tree branch. But on the second take, the branch snapped. Jackie fell headfirst onto a rock, fracturing his skull and requiring emergency brain surgery. Miraculously, he survived—and in true Jackie Chan fashion, he was back on set just seven days later to finish Armour of God . Jackie Chan didn’t just raise the bar for action stunts in cinema—he jumped off  it, usually headfirst. These weren’t just death-defying; they were death- taunting . And somehow, he keeps bouncing back for more.

Martial artists can learn a lot from people who have mastered different realms of combat because often the principles and tactics they use can be adapted to what we do. Case in point:  Oswald Boelcke. This German flying ace was one of the top innovators and instructors in the Axis air force during World War I. Among his many accomplishments, Boelcke chose a young Baron Manfred von Richthofen to become his pupil and coached him to an astonishing string of air victories. Von Richthofen is better known as the Red Baron. Boelcke flew at a time when pilots of both the Axis and Allied powers still considered themselves “knights of the air.” They demonstrated a curious kind of chivalry that often entailed showing courtesy to the opposition. Stories abound of pilots who found that their primitive machine guns had jammed in the middle of a dogfight, only to receive a salute from their adversary as he opted to fly away rather than engage a defenseless opponent for an easy kill. It was not uncommon for an “enemy” to do a flyover during the funeral of a respected airman of the other side, sometimes dropping gifts with notes of respect for the prowess of the fallen. Different times, indeed. One aspect of Boelcke’s makeup was that he relished flying alone but also believed that flying as a team was integral to success. This vaunted pilot, of whom the Red Baron once said, “He shot one or two Englishmen for breakfast every day,” was asked by his superiors to compile a set of guidelines for young aviators. Known as Boelcke’s Dicta , it's composed of eight commandments, which I present below along with my martial arts comments. ONE:  Try to secure advantages before attacking. If possible, keep the sun behind you.That’s sound advice in the air or on the ground. Furthermore, what martial arts instructor doesn’t preach that training, study and knowledge of the environment is key? To go into a fight without this awareness — the proverbial act of “flying blind” — is a recipe for disaster no matter where the combat takes place. TWO:  Always carry through an attack once you’ve started it.We hear the same notion echoed in the old boxing maxim “A half a punch is worse than no punch at all.” What Boelcke and boxing trainers are telling us is if we make an effort, we must make that effort with utter integrity (feinting aside) so we don’t waste energy or provide our opponent with an opportunity to counter by virtue of our timid attack. THREE:  Fire only at close range and only when your opponent is properly in your sights.Well said! What’s the point of throwing that leg kick if you can’t even reach your opponent with a jab? Why shoot in if you can’t touch? Why waste the energy? Boelcke is right — we must know our range well. FOUR:  Always keep your eyes on your opponent, and never let yourself be deceived by ruses. No need to add anything here. FIVE:  In any form of attack, it’s essential to assail your opponent from behind. In our world on terra firma, that commandment sounds like it’s extolling the virtues of using angles if you’re on your feet. On the ground, it reminds us of the importance of getting our opponent’s back. SIX:  If your opponent dives on you, do not try to evade his onslaught, but fly to meet it.This may not be as useful to our game as redirection of force and evasion are, but it still should be part of our defensive strategy. SEVEN:  When over the enemy’s lines, never forget your own line of retreat.Those who are into combatives can smell the wisdom here: Always know where the exits are. Those who are into MMA will say this sounds very much like ring generalship: Know where the turnbuckles are, know where you are in relation to the cage and so on. EIGHT:  Attack on principle in groups of four to six. When the fight breaks up into a series of single combats, take care that several do not go for one opponent.If a match is underway in a ring, we can interpret the first portion of Boelcke’s advice to advocate “punches in bunches” or other combinations. If the altercation is unfolding on the street, we should recognize that there’s strength in numbers. If we’re forced into solo combat, we must know that our opponents will likely remember this eighth commandment and attempt to “return to strength.”

There's something powerfully intimidating about a traditional dojo. It looks like nothing we have in the West. What is intimidating is the emptiness of it all. There’s nothing to distract, nothing to divert one’s attention. The emptiness, severe and silent, can work on the mind. This emptiness is deliberate. Life is full of distractions. Many of them serve to keep us from looking into ourselves, a process that can be uncomfortable. We can distract ourselves with video games, sports and entertainment of all sorts. The budo can be distractions, as well, if we dress them up with unnecessary stuff. Instead of that quiet, utterly simple space, the dojo can turn into a carnival of distractions. Then, too, there are those additions to the dojo that are well-meant, that are supposed to make it look more “authentic” but that are really inappropriate. Here are a few examples. The Torii Sometimes, the front wall of the dojo is decorated with a torii, a familiar part of Shinto shrine architecture. A torii is a “gate,” a pair of horizontal lintels stretched across a couple of upright posts. One usually stands at the entrance to a shrine or somewhere on its grounds. It signifies that you're passing through a barrier, a transition into an area that’s sacred or special. In some dojo, a torii is built against the front wall, meant to frame the kamiza, or altar. But if it’s against the wall, it’s no longer a gate. You can’t pass through it. In this context, it makes no sense. Further, “dojo” is originally a Buddhist term for a part of a temple. Yes, the boundaries between Shinto and Buddhism are vague — a dojo typically has that Shinto-based kamiza at its front — but a torii in a dojo is a weird combination, one virtually never seen in Japan. Fountains Fountains are another dojo distraction one sees frequently. Gurgling fountains, with water pumped over rocks and sometimes with plants arranged nearby, are found in many a dojo corner. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because running water is somehow associated, in the Western mind, with the Asian affinity for nature. Maybe it’s a nod toward Taoist thought. Maybe it’s supposed to have a calming, meditative effect. Again, the intention may be good, but fountains and other decorative garden art don’t have any place in a dojo. If the property has room for a garden outside, that’s nice. Within the dojo? Limit the fountains to the drinking kind. Buddhist Statuary Buddhist statuary also shows up in some dojo. Replicas of the Buddha statue at Kamakura, Japan — seated in a cross-legged position, hands in his lap — seem to be a particular favorite. Buddhism has a deep relationship with Japanese martial arts. Most classical koryu arts have strong ties to specific Buddhist deities. It’s not uncommon to see, usually depicted on scrolls that hang in the alcove, images of them. Marishiten, the goddess of the Pole Star, is a common Buddhist deity associated with the traditional arts. However, the connection between modern budo like karate and Buddhism is pretty thin. No matter how deep my devotion to Christianity might be, I wouldn’t have a cross in my dojo. Most sincere Buddhists would feel the same about statues of the Buddha. Kakemono Kakemono, or hanging scrolls, are a common feature of dojo space. They’re usually calligraphic, something brushed by the art’s founder or a senior teacher. The characters may be nothing but the name of the art. Or they might express a fundamental principle. These have value — in addition to the fact that they’re a personal connection with a teacher or a master — in that they express a unifying concept of that art. As such, they’re appropriate. What is not appropriate is some scroll that’s generic or mass-produced and that has no specific connection to your art or lineage. Trophies Trophies. OK, I’ll give you this one. If you want to display a shelf of trophies collectively won by your dojo, fine. I have to wonder why, however. The average person who walks into your place — and if you’re a dojo owner, you should never forget this — is motivated by fear. He has come there because he’s afraid of violence and worried about his ability to meet it. He wants a solution to that fear, a way to address it. He does not come because he wants to be a champion or win contests. For many people, the rows of trophies they see walking into a dojo for the first time is intimidating. “Gee, if the people here are that tough and skilled, is there really any place for me?” they might wonder. Dragons and Other Décor Next are dragons. Yes, they look cool. No, they don’t belong in the dojo. Neither do those smiling, waving little cat statues — or tigers, cobras, “Sumo cat” posters or other supposedly Asian things like gongs, rattan furniture and “Zen pillows.” They make the space look less like a dojo and more like a corner of a Pier 1 store. There’s a starkness to the traditional dojo. It seems empty. It’s not. The need to fill it is natural, but you should avoid it. Go to the dojo not for the distractions. Go to look deeply into yourself.

Put on a Sammo Hung fight today and something clicks almost immediately. The movement feels grounded. The timing feels honest. And even decades later, nothing looks like it’s trying too hard to impress you. Sammo Hung didn’t build his action around trends or tricks. He built it around how bodies actually move—and how fights actually unfold. You can see it clearly in Warriors Two . The choreography doesn’t rush. Stances settle with strikes landing. Entries are earned. Techniques don’t vanish into fast cuts—they play out long enough for you to understand why they worked. It’s the kind of clarity that feels familiar to anyone who’s spent time drilling fundamentals instead of chasing flash. Then there’s weight. Real weight. In The Pedicab Driver , bodies hit the ground with consequence. Throws look exhausting. Falls change the pace of the fight. No one bounces back instantly, because Hung's fights understood something many action films forget: damage accumulates. Fatigue matters. That respect for gravity is what keeps these scenes from aging. Nothing floats. Nothing resets magically. Every movement costs something. Hung also knew that speed isn’t what wins exchanges—timing is. In Enter the Fat Dragon , his character isn’t overwhelming opponents with endless combinations. He’s beating them to moments. Stepping into openings. Letting attacks miss by inches, then answering decisively. It feels closer to sparring than spectacle, which is exactly why it still reads as real. Even when comedy enters the picture, the skill never disappears. Wheels on Meals is often remembered for its humor, but the fights land because the movement underneath is airtight. The jokes don’t replace technique—they ride on top of it. Hung could make you laugh without ever asking you to suspend disbelief. Underneath all of it is a deep traditional foundation, filtered through experience. Peking Opera training, classical kung fu, hard conditioning—then stripped down and adapted for chaos. Forms become fragments. Structure stays, ornamentation goes. What’s left is movement that holds up under pressure. That’s why Sammo Hung’s fights still work. Not because they’re flashy, or clever, or iconic—though they’re all of those things—but because they’re a showcase of actual skill. And no matter how much action cinema changes, that doesn't age out.

In the 1980s, if you were a martial artist watching Hong Kong action films, you expected lightning-fast choreography, fearless stunt work, and performers who could actually fight. What you didn’t expect—at least at first—was to see a blonde American woman trading blows with the best stunt teams in the business and looking completely at home doing it. Then Cynthia Rothrock showed up. For many fans, Rothrock was their introduction to something different: a female action lead who didn’t just participate in the fight scenes—she was  the fight scenes. Her kicks were fast, her technique was clean, and the camera never had to hide what she could do. Now she’s telling the story behind that rise in her new memoir, Rothrock and Roll with the Punches: Surviving Hong Kong Action Cinema . Before the film career, Rothrock had already built serious credibility in the martial arts world. She was a multiple-time world champion in forms and weapons, part of the generation of competitors who helped define the tournament scene in the United States. Precision, speed, and showmanship were already part of her game. What came next, however, was something very different. Hong Kong cinema in the 1980s wasn’t just another stop on the action-movie circuit—it was  the circuit. The industry had perfected a style of filmmaking built on real martial arts ability, high-risk stunt work, and choreographers who expected performers to take hits as well as throw them. It was fast, physical, and famously unforgiving. Into that environment walked Rothrock: a Western woman in an industry that had very few Westerners at all. Her memoir pulls back the curtain on what it took to survive—and succeed—there. Training with elite stunt teams. Navigating language barriers and cultural differences. Learning the rhythm of a filmmaking machine that moved at breakneck speed and expected performers to keep up. Rothrock did more than keep up. She became one of the era’s standout action stars. For martial artists watching those films, the appeal was obvious. The kicks were real. The movement was crisp. And the fights had the kind of authenticity that only comes from performers who actually know what they’re doing. But her impact went beyond the choreography. At a time when women in action films were usually limited to supporting roles, Rothrock proved that a female martial artist could carry the entire film on her shoulders. That idea—now common in modern action cinema—was far less obvious in the 1980s. That’s part of what makes Rothrock and Roll with the Punches  such a promising read for fans. It’s not just a memoir about movie sets and stunt work. It’s the story of a martial artist stepping into unfamiliar territory and refusing to back down. For fans of classic action cinema, the book offers something rare: a firsthand look at the grit, bruises, and determination that helped shape one of the most exciting eras the genre has ever seen. And, as Rothrock makes clear, sometimes the best way to earn your place in history is the same way you earn respect in the dojo. You show up—and you’re ready to fight. Interested in checking it out? You can purchase it here: AMAZON

It’s not my intention to hurt anyone’s feelings or to make anyone angry. Nor do I wish to belittle accomplishments or enthusiasm. However, if you’re a serious karateka, you need to consider the enormous differences between karate pursued as a combat art and karate pursued as a sport. Karate as a combat discipline is a repository of remarkable, layered and complex methods and concepts. Far beyond the physical techniques, the strategies of good karate are sophisticated and, when implemented correctly, brutally effective. While some of these strategies may have application in sport, most do not. That’s because the goals of combat and sport are not the same. While this may seem obvious, often it’s not—particularly in the mind of some modern practitioners. In terms of karate as a combat art, you are a predator. This will shock some readers. We’re accustomed to thinking of predators, particularly in human form, as evil. Predators are aggressive. Karate is “self-defense.” We’re not supposed to be out searching for prey. By “predator,” however, I mean the mentality that’s generated through the practice of karate or another budo. Sport is, one way or another, a performance. The karateka who jerks to attention and roars “Kanku-dai!” to announce his kata in a competition is, essentially, performing. He may interpret this behavior as “showing strong spirit.” It is, nevertheless, an affective behavior, a display. Karateka in tournaments typically demonstrate this. In kata competitions, maniacal screams and kabuki-like scowls are practically mandatory. Affective behaviors can be effective. In baseball, for example, a batter who steps out of the box at just the right moment can disrupt the concentration of the pitcher. In some ways, the heavily loaded belt of a police officer is an affect. It looks intimidating and can influence those seeing it who might otherwise be tempted to engage in a crime. However, such displays rarely do much in the face of a serious threat. Think about how effective it is to adopt a martial arts posture in front of a robber who’s pointing a gun at you. Compare this affective behavior—shouting and posturing—with that of a classic predator. A tiger about to attack does not roar. It does not make displays. A tiger approaching its prey looks almost casual. It’s relaxed. It’s completely absorbed in what’s going on, but there’s no external demonstration of aggression. The reasons for the tiger’s attack behavior—and the success it leads to—are numerous. First, when you announce your “strong spirit” to an opponent, you provide him with information about you. Giving an opponent information is always a bad idea. He can now ramp up his own aggression or become more careful and calculating based on what you’ve shown him. The tiger shows nothing. No fear, no aggression. Its prey gets no clues. As important, the shouting and extravagant display behavior of those in a sporting arena require a tremendous amount of energy and adrenaline. It’s impossible to maintain that level for long. This is the essential lesson in confronting post-traumatic stress disorder. Soldiers forced to be “on the edge” without being taught to calm down, to release the energy once the threat of combat is over, cannot always deal with reality imposed by peaceful situations. (Classical martial arts once used on the battlefield by samurai often contain intricate methods, chants and rituals designed to deal with this stress.) Many years ago, I was at a judo shiai, one in which the final match was intense. The two contestants had worked their way through several opponents over the day. Their victories were hard won. Everyone could feel the excitement for the final, and it went to the last few seconds before one young man made a clean throw and won. Loud cheers erupted. The winner was surrounded by a crowd, clapping him on the back. Shortly afterward, there was a brief awarding of medals. The winner’s gold was looped around his neck. He walked off the mat, that goofy, relieved smile of happiness on his face, still receiving congratulations. His sensei appeared in the crowd.“Let’s do randori,” the sensei said. Free practice. “Now?” the guy asked. “Now.” It was the hardest judo practice I have ever done. My body had already relaxed, dumping the excess adrenaline I’d generated all day. My legs and arms felt filled with jelly. It wasn’t a matter of being tired; it was more that I’d geared myself up, worked myself to a furious level of intensity. Now that it was over, my mind told me it was time to relax, to drop the intensity. When I was called on to “get up to fighting speed” unexpectedly, I was overwhelmed. I was using a sporting model of behavior. My sensei reminded me with that post-shiai randori that judo is not a sport; it’s a martial art. And one must be expected to maintain not an intense, focused concentration but a relaxed, consistent level of awareness that doesn’t fluctuate wildly. Again, this is not to diminish karate as a sport. Rather, it’s to emphasize the critical differences between the mind of the athlete and the mind of the martial artist. For the latter, performance is not the standard. Performances have different goals, different applications. Remember that the natural realm of the tiger is not in the circus ring. The nature of the tiger is expressed in a very different place.

PFL Sioux Falls Returns to the Sanford Pentagon on Saturday, May 2 Former LFA Champion Cheyanne Bowers Makes Her PFL Debut Against Undefeated Sabrinna de Sousa at Flyweight Pre-sale Begins Today, Wednesday, February 25 at 10:00 am CT and Tickets Go On-Sale Thursday, February 26 at 10:00 am CT PFL Sioux Falls Will be Available in the U.S. on ESPN2 and ESPN Deportes The Professional Fighters League returns to Sioux Falls at the Sanford Pentagon on Saturday, May 2. Headlining the card, former Interim Bellator Welterweight World Champion and No. 4-ranked Logan Storley (18-4) takes on No. 7-ranked Florim Zendeli (11-1-1) in the welterweight main event. In a women’s flyweight bout, PFL debutant and South Dakota’s own Cheyanne Bowers (7-2), former LFA Champion, looks to make a statement when she enters the PFL cage against Brazil’s undefeated No. 9-ranked Sabrinna de Sousa (5-0). Pre-sale tickets for the event are available now to PFL newsletter subscribers. Tickets will go on sale to the general public on Thursday, February 26 at 10 a.m. CT via Ticketmaster. For more information on tickets, visit pfl.info/siouxfalls. Additional bouts will be announced shortly. “Storm” will return to the cage in his hometown of Sioux Falls for the first time since 2024, following a semifinals run in the 2025 Welterweight World Tournament. The four-time NCAA Division I All-American looks to remind the world why he is a former Bellator Champion and deliver a statement performance in front of his hometown crowd, a place where he has never been defeated. Across the cage stands a formidable opponent in Florim Zendeli, the 2024 PFL Europe Welterweight Champion who boasts an 82% finish rate. Zendeli looks to spoil Logan Storley’s homecoming and keep his winning streak intact, coming off a unanimous decision victory over Omar El Dafrawy in October 2025. The Main Card will be available in the U.S. on ESPN2 and ESPN Deportes at 10:00 pm ET/7:00 pm PT. The early card will begin at 7:00 pm ET/4:00 pm PT on ESPN+.  Updated PFL Sioux Falls Card:  Sanford Pentagon, Sioux Falls, SD May 2 | 10 pm ET ESPN2 & ESPN Deportes (US) Welterweight Main Event: #4-Logan Storley (18-4) vs. #7-Florim Zendeli (11-1-1) Women’s Flyweight Bout: Cheyanne Bowers (7-2) vs. #9-Sabrinna de Sousa (5-0)

Hard training can be tricky because a lot of people are uncomfortable at first with the intensity. Don’t take it personally when the violence gets cranked up. It’s not intentional, but it is reciprocal. I’m going to bang on my partner as hard as I expect him to bang on me. We’re going to push each other as hard as each of us is willing and able. If you get stuck with a partner who isn’t as motivated to wick it up, keep switching partners until you find a kindred spirit. Over the years, I’ve established the following ground rules to maintain order and keep things from getting out of hand. They hold people individually accountable for their own and each other’s safety, ensuring that self-defense training is intense but relatively injury-free. No One Gets to Watch If you show up, you’re training. This rule reduces the performance pressure felt by students as they learn and attempt new techniques. No one likes to do anything they’re not good at, looking and feeling a little foolish until their skills improve. If everyone’s sharing the challenges, getting sweaty and banged up, no one feels self-conscious. By the way, instructors are not excused from training. No preening or prancing prima donnas allowed. After demonstrating a technique, instructors should crank out some reps alongside their students, then prowl the mat. It maintains credibility and provides another opportunity for students to watch, learn and then execute techniques. Everyone is subjected to each other’s scrutiny. Everyone sweats. Everyone bruises. Everyone bleeds. Save the Cheap Shots for the Street If you’ve been training awhile, you’ve no doubt run into the guy who loves to let one rip and then immediately apologize: “Oops! I’m sorry, man. You OK?” But then it happens again and again. Don’t let anyone get away with that in your training group. Sure, everybody slips up once in a while; it’s inevitable. But this guy? This guy you promptly knock on his ass when it’s your turn. Give it back to him as hard as he gave it to you but without the apology. He’ll get the hint. When everyone understands that gratuitous smackdowns aren’t tolerated and that excessive force is reciprocal, unpleasant situations just don’t seem to develop. Stick to the Drill Do the drill as demonstrated and directed. If you’re the role-playing attacker working with a partner who’s fending off high-line strikes, then throw high-line strikes. But let’s say you close on your partner and throw a low-line shin kick to set up your high-line strike — you should pay for that. We have a saying: “If someone gets out of line, redline.” It means that if you go offline by doing something in a drill that you weren’t directed to do, your partner gets to go offline, too. When everyone’s training hard, there’s a real potential for injury. Don’t increase that potential unnecessarily. Save your creativity for freestyle sessions when it’s appropriate. Always Protect Yourself Sometimes training gets pretty crazy, especially during duress drills. It’s everyone’s personal responsibility to protect themselves. The result could be tragic if a student’s depth perception is off by just a few inches when executing a stomp to the ankle, an ax hand to the throat or an elbow strike to the base of the skull. Role-playing attackers and victims are responsible for protecting themselves at all times. Training with that assumption ensures an additional element of safety. The most dangerous partners are newbies because they don’t understand how serious training injuries can be. They get amped up because they’re doing something new and extreme. They’re usually a little (or a lot) intimidated at first. They haven’t developed enough skill to balance their speed of execution with power regulation. They can’t judge distance well enough to trust that they won’t get it wrong, and they don’t know which techniques are safe to throw hard and land on a training partner. Finally, they don’t know when to pull power from a technique or which techniques should be practiced at full power near the target but not on it. Hell, new students can even be dangerous when striking pads. Without the skill or control to fire off full-power elbow strikes and keep them on the pad, they’re bound to skip one off and smack their training partner in the face eventually. We have a saying in firearms training: “Go slow to go fast.” That means you have to fully understand and be competent in executing all the fundamentals of tactical shooting before you can push your personal limits of speed and accuracy. Similarly, if you’re patient in combatives training, you’ll develop your skills more quickly. You’ll ultimately become far more effective and dangerous if you just remember to walk before you try running. By following the ground rules listed here, you’ll give your skills a chance to catch up to your enthusiasm. This is excerpted from Combatives for Street Survival: Hard-Core Countermeasures for High-Risk Situations , by Kelly McCann.

“Watch the movie Taken! ” were the first words out of my parents’ mouths when I told them about my plans to study in Paris. They weren’t trying to scare me out of going (although my dad might have been); they simply wanted me to understand the dangers a girl faces when living alone in a large foreign city. Being my teenaged and careless self, I blew it off. Time passed, and although my departure was still six months away, my dad insisted on my participation in a self-defense class. I mumbled. I grumbled. I pouted. I didn’t want to go. I could not have cared less about learning how to throw a punch or how to scream “No!” and run away. And I certainly didn’t want to spend five hours learning those things when I could just as easily be watching YouTube videos. But I went. My dad and I arrived at the studio after driving for an eternity. It was hot, and I didn’t want to be there. We were the first ones at the school, and as my dad chatted with the owner about a bunch of martial arts hullabaloo, I amused myself on my phone. I noticed the padded floor — great! That probably meant I’d be expected to perform some kind of self-defense move. One by one, women trickled in until we were six, and my dad took his cue and left. The teachers — Meredith Gold and Mike Belzer — joined us, and before long, we were all sitting cross-legged in a circle. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t thrilled to be mock kicking butt in front of a crowd, but I also wasn’t thrilled to be sitting in a circle, holding hands and singing Kumbaya. But as I had no choice, I listened. And what I heard was actually inspiring. We talked about what we hoped to gain from the class. A point recognized by Meredith was that we all wanted to get a better sense of personal security and strength. She explained how the class would help us obtain those things and that it was a shame that because of our gender, we had to waste an entire day learning how to protect ourselves. She said the class would spend time on the establishment of boundaries. Most conflicts can be avoided, she explained, if we establish clear boundaries. Are you kidding me? This was supposed to be a self-defense class, and we were going to learn how to talk our way out of a potentially problematic situation? I sighed. I whined. I groaned. I rolled my eyes again. Inwardly, of course. Then we began. Meredith outlined the importance of speaking firmly and clearly and meaning what we say. Predators and other evildoers can detect a lack of belief in oneself. Therefore, it’s necessary to set personal boundaries and express those boundaries in a nonconfrontational yet effective way. This can be conveyed via body language: Stand with your feet planted, roughly shoulder-width apart and staggered — this makes physical defence easier, should it be necessary, she said. Shuffling away from the adversary is generally discouraged, although a moderate amount of repositioning is OK. Continually sliding away from a potential attacker can be interpreted as fear, she said, and that’s the opposite of what you want. If the situation escalates, your hands must be in front of your upper body to ward off the attacker, Meredith said. She noted, however, that this protective stance can be assumed without stiff arms and flat palms, which communicate insecurity through overcompensation. A more relaxed state is less confrontational and less likely to infuriate the aggressor. We stood up and practiced. Mike and his assistant donned caps and glasses, posing as shady men. One by one, they would approach us, sometimes saying vulgar things and other times asking for assistance. It was our job to clearly communicate when a decent amount of personal space had been breached and that we’d be happy to assist from a safe distance. We were told not to apologize unless it truly was necessary because an apologetic state conveys vulnerability. Sometimes, the aggressor would grumble, call us names and sulk off. Other times, he’d become frustrated and start yelling. My scenario unfolded like this: A man approached me, excited. He cried out, begging me to help him because someone had been hurt. He inched closer until I put my hands up and said, “Stop!” He halted in his tracks. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. “Someone is hurt!” I responded with “If there’s been an accident, I can call 911 for you, but I’m staying right here.” With that, he became frustrated: “No! You have to come with me! Right now!” The stress of the situation and the supposed danger made it difficult to say no. Generally speaking, I enjoy helping others, especially those in need. But we must always be skeptical, Meredith said, and in cases like this one, that means offering nothing more than to call 911. Exasperated with my refusal to follow him, the man stomped off. This exercise opened my eyes to the possibility of being attacked in even seemingly normal interactions. For example, when a role-playing opponent approached Meredith in a scenario, he simply asked for the time. She responded, and he crept closer, complimenting her on her watch. Meredith laughed nervously, thanking him. By then it was too late for her to establish a boundary, and he got her in a chokehold. I sat and stared, dumbfounded. Situations like this have happened to me — minus the chokehold, thank goodness. Not once did I even consider that the person could have malicious intentions. I thought about how easy it would have been for those situations to go south and promised myself I’d never let that happen again. The physical aspect of the class came as expected. Growing up with a father who’s worked in the martial arts world forever, I’ve learned a few of the weak spots to target, and Meredith reiterated them: eyes, groin, head (in that order). She had us focus on power. We were taught to use certain body positions to exploit the strength of, let’s face it, our usually smaller and weaker bodies. When gouging the attacker’s eyes, she said, aim for one eye and use all five fingers to really drive it in. When kneeing the groin and the head, she said, use your hips to build momentum for a more resonating blow. Make contact with the lower part of your thigh (just above the kneecap), she said, because it’s a sturdier weapon that results in minimal pain for the defender. The shady men then donned insanely thick padding, complete with a football helmet decked out with even more padding. We were told it was OK to go full out because the men couldn’t feel a thing. Their reactions would be theatrics intended to communicate the effectiveness of our strikes. All right. Cool. We took turns “nailing” them — and were timid at first. Our attacks were often met with a “Harder!” or “HARDER!” until we were all certain the men weren’t getting hurt. Then we really let loose. There was screaming (“No! No! No!”) and kneeing and gouging. It was beautiful. In the heat of the moment, some women forgot the exact routine (eyes, groin, head) but were able to improvise simply because they knew which tools to use. Sweaty and out of breath, we sat back down in a circle. This time, we actually did sing Kumbaya. Only kidding. We discussed what we’d learned — the most surprising things and the most empowering things. For me, it was the power of setting boundaries, something I’d have never even considered a viable option. How could talking stop a man from attacking a woman? Well, like Meredith said, most predators are looking for easy prey. They don’t expect women to be prepared and engaged, so we need to catch them off-guard and deliver the message “Hey buddy, not interested — take it somewhere else.” I walked away with an all-but-lost voice and a better understanding of the power of knowledge and what it means to know that, should a situation turn ugly, I now have a chance. I possess the skills necessary to deal with an unexpected or uncomfortable situation. I have the power: raw power. But I think that, more than anything, I now possess an awareness I never had. I acknowledge that I’m in potential danger at all times, and while paranoia might not be the most enjoyable thing, it’s certainly better than any of the states I could end up in should I be victimized. Wherever I go, I make observations. I look for exits, for helpers, for danger and, yes, for weapons. Wherever I go, I am ready. Wherever I go, I am aware.

Settled among the 48 inhabited Ryukyu Islands is the celebrated birthplace of karate, Okinawa. Many in the world have heard of Okinawa because of karate: whether through watching the Cobra Kai television series, remembering the Karate Kid films of the 1980's, having a family member pass through Okinawa during an army service tour, or being a member of a karate dojo somewhere in the world. The three main styles of karate recognized on Okinawa today are Goju-Ryu, Uechi-Ryu and Shorin-Ryu. Each has a rich history and heritage and are cultural assets to be celebrated by the people of Okinawa and shared with the world. There exists another style of karate that has spread from Okinawa throughout the world, but is dangerously close to becoming extinct except outside of its celebrated home of Okinawa. That style is Isshin-Ryu. Isshin-Ryu is a style of karate unveiled by Shinkichi “Tatsuo” Shimabuku on January 15, 1956. Though Shimabuku was 48 when he unveiled Isshin-Ryu, as early as age 39 he envisioned a system that he felt represented all of the Okinawan karate traditions he had been exposed to in his years of training under several notable masters. By looking at a brief history of Shimabuku’s formal training and the world events during his life, you can get an idea of who he was and his vision of karate training, which resulted in Isshin-Ryu. Born in 1908 (Meiji 41) in Gushikawa Village in present day Uruma City, Shimabuku began his formal martial arts training around 1924 under Choyu Motobu in Motobu Udun-di (the Motobu family martial art). In 1927, he began training under Chotoku Kyan (Chan Miguwa in the Okinawan dialect) at Kyan’s home in Yomitan. During these years, Kyan simply called his art, “Okinawan Kempo,” and didn’t really have an official name for his style. Though Kyan’s students later called what Kyan taught by differing names, Shimabuku called his teacher’s art, “Chan Miguwa-di” (Small-eyed Kyan Hand). Shimabuku trained under Kyan until 1939, when he then traveled to the Philippine Islands for work. It is unclear whether he trained or taught in the Philippines during this time. But, he did return to Okinawa in 1941 and trained briefly with Choyu Motobu’s younger brother, Choki Motobu, in his own personal style called, “Motobu-ryu.” Choki Motobu participated in kakedameshi (an early type of controlled free sparring) and formulated his personal style based upon that experience. With WWII in full swing, Shimabuku was among those Okinawans forced into the civilian labor corps created by the Imperial Japanese Army. This included the project of reinforcing the airfield in Yara Village, Kadena in preparation to defend Okinawa against an Allied attack. All airfields were destroyed on October 10, 1944 by Allied bombs. Thousands of Okinawans — including Shimabuku and his family — were then evacuated to Kyushu and were spared possible death during the Battle of Okinawa (April 1 - June 22, 1945). In late 1946, Shimabuku and his family returned to Okinawa where he worked many jobs to care for his family, including as a tax collector in Kyan Village and performing bo kata at weddings and festivals. During this time, he began teaching karate publicly and became known by the nickname, “Tatsuo” (Dragon Man). He developed his own empty-hand kata called, “Sun nu Su,” which means, “ Father of the Old Man.” This kata’s name was later shortened to, “Sunsu.” In 1947, he trained briefly under Chojun Miyagi, founder of Goju-Ryu, when Miyagi would visit his daughter in neighboring Taba Village. Shimabuku’s karate included a combination of the karate taught to him by his previous teachers. But, he didn’t always agree with his teachers and would alter the movements to reflect his ideas. He changed to a higher stance for better mobility and balance, taught a half-rotation (vertical fist) rather than a full-rotation for punches, and used forearm blocks focusing contact with the forearm muscles, rather than bones. His empty-handed kata included Seisan, Seiunchin, Naihanchi, Wansu, Chinto, Kusanku, Sun nu Su (Sunsu), and Sanchin. The weapons katas included Tukunmi nu Kun (Tokumine no kon) and Chan nu Sai (a short sai kata based upon sai techniques taught by Chotoku Kyan). For beginning students, Shimabuku began with a set of 29 kihon (basic strikes, blocks, kicks, and exercises) to build their fundamentals in preparation for later advanced training. He included makiwara striking and forearm conditioning (kotekitai) for all students. By the late 1950’s, Shimabuku created Kusanku Sai kata, which replaced Chan nu Sai. In 1956, Shimabuku announced his new style of karate and named it, “Isshin-Ryu,” which translates to “Whole-Hearted Method.” In late 1955, he began teaching the US Marines and acquired a contract in March 1958 with the US Marine Corps to teach Isshin-Ryu to Marines to “promote friendship and understanding between two nations.” Photo of Advincula inside the Isshin-Ryu dojo in February 1961, wearing the first Isshin-Ryu patch design. (Photo taken by Ed Johnson.) Arcenio J. Advincula (USMC (Ret)), one of Shimabuku’s early Isshin-Ryu students, helped facilitate creation of the Isshin-Ryu patch. The first design was printed in January 1961 at a print shop that is still in business today on Chuo Park Avenue, Okinawa City, near Kadena Air Base. There were several early misunderstandings due to the language barrier between Advincula and the print shop, but, later revisions were fundamentally the same as the original patch. The foundation of the original patch began with the shape of the patch resembling a vertical fist. The first batch was intended to be the “fist shape” found in later patches, but a miscommunication with the patch maker resulted in a shape resembling the thumb on the side of the fist instead of the thumb on the top of the first. The shape is bordered in gold to indicate that karate should be cherished and valued. Though the border was intended to be metallic gold in color, the first batch of the original 1961 patches were made with orange thread simply due to the language barrier between Advincula and the patch maker. Later versions made in the United States by Advincula included gold thread. Inside the patch is a replica of the megami (goddess) painting that hung in Shimabuku’s dojo. Picture of original 1961 patch. (Provided by Andy Sloane) The goddess upper body is female and represents gentle/yielding, while the lower body is a dragon, symbolizing fierce/hard. One hand of the goddess is open in a peaceful manner, while the other is closed to symbolize strength. The three stars on the patch collectively symbolize Shimabuku’s three primary karate influences: Chotoku Kyan, Choki Motobu, and Chojun Miyagi. The kanji begins at the top and reads, ”Wholehearted Method Empty Hand” The dragon flying overhead symbolizes Isshin-Ryu’s founder, “Tatsuo” (Dragon Man). Continued evolution of Isshin-Ryu was experienced between 1958 and 1960, when Shimabuku trained in kobudo under Shinken Taira. This resulted in Shimabuku’s unique version of Chatan Yara nu Sai (Jp: Kitatani Yara no sai), Urashi nu Kun (Jp: Urasoe no kon), Shishi nu Kun (Jp: Sueyoshi no Kon), and Hamafija nu Tuifa (Jp: Hamahiga no Tonfa) to the Isshin-Ryu curriculum. As the Marines began training in Isshin-Ryu in the 1950’s, they experienced an early version of Isshin-Ryu, possibly missing the additional kobudo changes due to their few years of Isshin-Ryu training before moving to their next duty station away from Okinawa. In those years, Shimabuku would award ranking with the anticipation of a Marine continuing their training. Shimabuku 1961 letter informing the world of the Isshin-Ryu changes, including stripping of dan ranks prior to June 10, 196. (Photo from Andy Sloane) He also wanted to expand Isshin-Ryu into the United States and would award high dan rank. Unfortunately, there were some that didn’t continue their training, yet accepted an advanced rank, prematurely. Shimabuku received a lot of grief from the karate community for doing this. In response, Shimabuku issued a letter stripping the rank of anyone granted dan rank before 1961. Shimabuku visited the United States twice, 1964 (early September-late November) and October 1966 to January 1967, and was witness to his style’s expansion into the U.S. by his former Marine Corps students. Shimabuku retired from teaching in 1972 and appointed his oldest son, Kichiro, as successor. Shinkichi Shimabuku died on May 30, 1975 of a stroke. Kichiro Shimabuku remains as the current headmaster of Isshin-Ryu karate and continues to teach at his dojo at 2-1-3 Kinaka, Uruma City, Okinawa. A second Isshin-Ryu dojo led by Tsuyoshi Uechi is found in Misato, Okinawa City. 6-16-6 Misato, Okinawa City, Okinawa. Isshin-ryu World Karate Association dojo of Kichiro Shimabuku (Kinaka, Uruma City) - 29 Mar 2023 (Photo by Andy Sloane) Andy Sloane has been an Isshin-Ryu student for thirty years, nearly thirteen of which have been on Okinawa. Sloane sensei began his training under Harvey Kennedy in 1993. In 2000 as a new Isshin-Ryu 1st dan, he became a student of Ed Johnson, a first-generation student of Shinkichi Shimabuku in Fort Worth, Texas. Being more curious than most students, Sloane sensei became an avid historian for Isshin-Ryu and has met and/or interviewed over 40 of Shimabuku’s original students. A 19-year Navy veteran, he has taken the opportunity to lead classes and demonstrate Isshin-Ryu wherever he is stationed. Except for a 2-year assignment (2012-2014) to Korea, he has taught at various locations on Okinawa from 2008-2023, including White Beach Naval Installation, Marine Corps Base Camp Foster, and Kadena Air Base. In addition, he spent 10 years as the primary assistant to Tsuyoshi Uechi at the Marine Corps Base Camp Foster dojo on Okinawa and served as the administrative assistant for Uechi’s Isshin-Ryu Okinawa Traditional Karate-do Association. In 2020, Sloane sensei was awarded a commission as a Kentucky Colonel, the highest civilian honor bestowed by the Governor of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, due to his many years of volunteer service teaching Isshin-Ryu. He currently resides at Marine Corp Air Station Iwakuni in Japan with his wife while he completes his last assignment before retirement. Sloane sensei plans to retire to Longview, Texas. I had the opportunity to visit with Sloane sensei during his last few weeks in Okinawa in 2023 before deploying to his next Navy assignment. He provided the information for this article and generously offered his time to discuss Isshin-Ryu and to demonstrate some of Isshin-Ryu’s unique training aspects. Sloane sensei likes to help people understand the system of Isshin-Ryu and plans to teach classes at his next duty station at Naval Air Station Lemoore in Kings County, California. “Isshin-Ryu is just as important of a style as the three main styles of karate on Okinawa,” says Sloane sensei. “Unfortunately, there are only two Isshin-Ryu dojos remaining here,” he says about Okinawa. “I will continue to teach and spread the teachings of Isshin-Ryu wherever I go. But I’m afraid it may become extinct as a style on Okinawa within the next generation.” On March 24, 2023 at Risner Gym on Kadena Air Base, Sloane sensei tested Technical Sergeant Ben Miller to 1st dan black belt in Isshin-Ryu. Among the witnesses to the exam were Patrick McCarthy (9th dan, Koryu Uchinadi), Scot Mertz (8th dan, Goju-Ryu), John Lohde (8th dan, Sukunaihayashi-Ryu), Dan Antonsen (8th dan, Meibukan Goju-Ryu), Pam Darty (7th dan, Sukunaihayashi-Ryu), Robert McLain (7th dan, Chayon-Ryu/Shizen-Ryu), and Josh Simmers (5th dan, Okinawa Kenpo). While Sloane sensei has promoted four prior students to black belt over the years, Sergeant Miller was the first to start as a white belt and complete his 2 ½ year journey to black belt under Sloane sensei. Sergeant Miller has since retired from the U.S. Air Force and resides in Scotland. While Okinawa will be losing Sloane sensei as an Isshin-Ryu resource, prospective students and visitors may reach out to the dojos of Kichiro Shimabuku and Tsuyoshi Uechi for Isshin-Ryu instruction on Okinawa. Sloane sensei welcomes correspondence and questions about Isshin-Ryu and may be contacted at: andysloane@hotmail.com .