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In technical terms, the most elite form of defense in striking is evasion. Think of slipping, bobbing, weaving, ducking, and using elusive footwork—anything and everything that causes your opponent to bite nothing but air when he thought he was going to get a big ol’ piece of you. Evasion is slick, beautiful stuff. Unfortunately, it’s also one of the hardest things to develop. Evasion skills come after years of hard-core, deliberate drilling. The stopgap, or steppingstone, between getting hit and avoiding a blow is “contact defense,” or the defensive phase in which minimal contact between you and your opponent takes place to ensure you don’t eat the full fury of the blow. Contact defense comes in two varieties: blocking and parrying. Blocking involves placing a portion of your anatomy—preferably a less vulnerable portion—between your opponent’s punch and the target. Blocking strikes to the head usually entails absorbing punches with the palms or arms. Strikes to the body are usually blocked with the arms. BLOCKING HAS A LOT to recommend it, the most important being that it’s the easiest defensive skill to learn. Blocking as a defense comes naturally to our species; just think of winging a punch at an untrained person and picture how his arms will fly up to protect his head. Bingo—he’s blocking and never even had a lesson.

Take away the lightsabers for a moment. No glow, no sound effects—just movement. What you’re left with in the best Star Wars fights is something every martial artist recognizes: timing, distance, rhythm. The fundamentals. That’s why certain characters hit differently. It’s not just choreography—it’s who’s behind it. Black Belt Magazine has long kept a pulse on the martial artists shaping the industry, so it’s no surprise some of the galaxy’s most compelling fighters have appeared in its pages. Donnie Yen — Chirrut Îmwe When Donnie Yen was announced for Star Wars, fans immediately started wondering what he’d bring to the iconic IP. The answer? Exactly what you’d hope. Yen’s portrayal of Chirrut Îmwe in Rogue One: A Star Wars Story stands out right away—and it’s no accident. With a background that spans wing chun, wushu, tai chi, boxing, kickboxing, and beyond, Yen brings a hybrid approach that blends structure with adaptability. You see it in how Chirrut moves: balanced, efficient, and always aware of range. Every motion has a purpose. That authenticity wasn’t just written in—Yen contributed input to how his character fought, helping ensure the action felt like a real martial artist at work. Fun fact: Bow Sim Mark, Donnie Yen's mother, was inducted into the Black Belt Hall of Fame as "Kung Fu Artist of the Year" in 1995. A page pulled from the February 2010 issue of Black Belt Magazine Ray Park — Darth Maul What happens when you take a British wushu champion and drop him into a sci-fi franchise? You get Darth Maul. Before Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, Ray Park had already built a strong foundation in wushu and northern shaolin–influenced training, along with kickboxing, gymnastics, and more. That background changed Star Wars combat. Up to that point, lightsaber fights leaned heavily on traditional stage combat and fencing. Park brought something faster, more explosive, and more fluid—closer to staff work and performance wushu. The result is a fight style that still feels modern decades later—and a character who built a lasting following. Fun fact: While Park defined Maul physically, the character’s voice in Episode I was provided by Peter Serafinowicz. Diana Lee Inosanto — Morgan Elsbeth When Diana Lee Inosanto shows up in The Mandalorian, it’s a different kind of energy. No flash. No over-the-top movement. Just control. While she’s connected to figures like Dan Inosanto and the lineage surrounding Bruce Lee, her work stands on its own. Years of training, teaching, and performing show up in how comfortable she looks on screen. Her base in filipino martial arts, along with jeet kune do concepts, comes through in a specific way. It’s in how she handles weapons, how she closes distance, and how she stays composed when things speed up. Watch her fight Ahsoka Tano and you’ll notice it pretty quickly. There’s no extra movement. No filler. Everything she does feels like it has a reason behind it. It’s not loud—but it’s real. In a franchise where fights can easily turn into spectacle, that kind of restraint ends up standing out the most. Fun fact: Bruce Lee, her godfather, was the inspiration for her middle name. Bottom Line Plenty of actors can learn choreography. But when someone with real training steps in, it changes everything. The timing sharpens. The reactions make sense. The movement feels connected instead of memorized. That’s what Donnie Yen, Ray Park, and Diana Lee Inosanto bring to Star Wars. And it’s why their connection to Black Belt Magazine matters. Because even in a galaxy built on fantasy, the best fight scenes still come from something real. Fun fact: You can read the issues that featured these Star Wars standouts—plus EVERY issue since 1961—with a Black Belt+ subscription (pssst… it’s 50% off right now!). Simply click the subscribe button below!

In a recent trip to my hometown, I noticed something was different: located within five miles of one another were three MMA schools. What I saw at each facility made me question the term “mixed martial arts.” The first school looked like an ordinary MMA center: mats on the floor, a cage in the corner, and practitioners wearing board shorts, rash guards, and MMA gloves. Half the students did ground work, and half did stand-up. The receptionist said they also offered classes in Muay Thai, boxing, and jiu-jitsu. The second school looked like a traditional facility: hardwood floors, folding mats, and targets and shields placed around the room. The practitioners wore sweatpants and logo T-shirts and practiced takedowns using joint locks and strikes. After class, they clapped and shook hands. The instructor said the style was a “mixed martial art of karate and jiu-jitsu.” The third school was the kind I grew up in: mats on the floor, mirrors on the walls, and training equipment on racks. The students wore uniforms and belts, and they snapped to attention as the instructor walked in. They worked on grappling techniques but also had classes for sparring, kata, self-defense, and weapons.

The 10-year-old black belt has become a cliché in the martial arts. An elementary school kid practices a lot, masters his forms, and wins kata and pointfighting tournaments. The local paper does a feel-good story on his accomplishments, portraying him as someone who can fight like a man. In the minds of many, such stories devalue black belts and give kids a dangerously false sense of ability. Likewise, guys in their 20s who bill themselves as grandmasters are derided in our community. Set aside for a moment how inflated a young man’s ego would have to be to refer to himself using that title; a young grandmaster is a contradiction. The title usually represents a lifetime of achievement. It’s something students voluntarily call a great master out of respect for all he’s done in his art. Of course, martial arts prodigies do exist. But they’re significantly different from the 10-year-old black belt and 20-year-old grandmaster. Taking a look at two rare-but-real prodigies can help us understand where martial arts excellence comes from.

For the young folks out there, the title of this column comes from the lyrics of a hit song from the 1970s. That was before the UFC, before even kickboxing was well known. Back then in New York, kung fu fighting meant either competing in underground full-contact matches in Chinatown or entering karate point tournaments. Both were a far cry from the glitz, money and professionalism of today’s fight sports. But there’s always someone who wants to go retro. It’s unseasonably warm outside on the hard streets of Jamaica, Queens, and it’s not much better inside, where several dozen people are crammed into a third-floor martial arts studio. They’re waiting for the latest version of Man Up Stand Up, an underground event geared toward traditional martial artists. MUSU allows full-contact striking but limits ground fighting to 10 seconds at a time.

A New Chapter in Martial Arts Evolution Innovation in martial arts has never arrived quietly. I’ve seen it time and again—moments where the very idea of change unsettles tradition. When Bruce Lee challenged rigid systems and spoke of adaptability over form, he was met with resistance from those who believed the old ways needed no questioning. When the Ultimate Fighting Championship first emerged, many dismissed it as chaotic, even disrespectful. Even today, taekwondo continues to navigate the tension between Olympic sport and traditional practice. Yet, none of these moments diminished martial arts. They expanded it. Sometimes through argument. Sometimes through resistance. And sometimes—through open arms. At Black Belt Magazine, we will not shy away from standing at the front of that conversation, not to provoke division, but to document, understand, and share the ongoing evolution of martial arts worldwide. So I begin here, with clarity. For years, Filipino martial arts have quietly influenced the world: Military combatives Law enforcement tactics Hollywood fight choreography Bruce Lee’s weapon work on screen reflects clear influences from Filipino martial arts—whether widely acknowledged or not. And yet, despite this reach, the art itself has remained under-recognized as a competitive sport on the global stage. This is not an argument about what is better. This is not a challenge to tradition. And this is not about taking sides. There are established organizations such as WEKAF, and there are valid discussions about rules, direction, and preservation within Filipino Martial Arts. But this moment isn’t about choosing between them. Much like MMA once faced skepticism, any new format challenges convention. Juego Todo is not a replacement for tradition, it is a new lens. A format. A proving ground. The question is not whether Filipino martial arts still embody adaptability, efficiency, and realism. The question is, how do those qualities express themselves today? This is where the conversation begins. Black Belt Magazine sees this as an opportunity—not to persuade, but to present. To offer something new to a community grounded in tradition. Something to observe. Something to consider. Perhaps even something that changes the way we watch Filipino martial arts. And like every turning point before it, the value is not in immediate acceptance—but in the willingness to see it for what it is. Enter Juego Todo: Where Art Meets Sport Juego Todo was created in 2014 by Ferdinand Munsayac, a retired U.S. Navy Chief with 20 years of honorable service and a Persian Gulf War veteran. After his military career, he returned to the Philippines with a mission—to transform the lives of underprivileged fighters through combat sports. As the founder of UGB Corp and Juego Todo, he has become a driving force in elevating grassroots Filipino martial arts to a global level. with a clear mission: to unify Filipino martial arts and provide fighters a professional platform to test their skills. Inspired by the rise of MMA in the Philippines, Munsayac envisioned something more: A system that doesn’t dilute tradition but instead tests it under pressure. In speaking with Munsayac, one idea surfaced immediately—something was missing. For decades, Filipino martial arts lived in demonstrations, seminars, and small-scale tournaments. What they lacked was professionalization—a true pathway for athletes, a unified structure, and a global competitive identity. Today, we recognize national combat sports as symbols of their countries—Muay Thai for Thailand, taekwondo for Korea, karate for Japan. Juego Todo aims to position Filipino martial arts in that same global conversation. But building something new in a deeply traditional space rarely comes without resistance. Munsayac points candidly to what he calls a familiar challenge within the community: division. The mindset of “my system is better than yours” has long fractured unity within Filipino Martial Arts. Add to that a lack of institutional support and concerns that the format was too intense, too unfamiliar—and the resistance became inevitable. Yet, in many ways, that resistance revealed something deeper. It wasn’t just about rejecting a format. It was about resisting change itself. And still, the question remains: how do you evolve an art rooted in real combat without losing its essence? For Munsayac, the answer lies in balance. Historically, Filipino martial arts were practiced in duels—often with life-or-death consequences. That reality is part of its identity. Juego Todo does not ignore that history—it transforms it. From no rules to structured competition. From bare combat to protective gear and safety protocols. From open grounds to a regulated arena. The goal is simple: preserve the essence—remove unnecessary risk. At the same time, it becomes a bridge between generations—educating younger practitioners while encouraging elders to recognize that evolution is not abandonment, but survival. After more than a decade and over 100 events, Juego Todo has grown into a global movement: 52 countries represented 500+ fighters worldwide Recognition by the Philippine Games and Amusements Board Beyond growth, the identity of the sport is ultimately defined by its athletes. A Juego Todo champion, as Munsayac describes it, represents something distinct: Not theory. Not choreography. Not controlled demonstration. But truth under pressure. It is what works when resistance is real.What holds up when there is no script.What survives in full contact, unpredictability, and consequence. In that sense, a champion reflects more than skill—they reflect the very core of Filipino Martial Arts: adaptability, composure, and authenticity. And perhaps the most important question of all is not about the present—but the future. What would it mean for Filipino Martial Arts to finally stand on a true global competitive platform? The answer reaches far beyond sport. It means recognition—that FMA is not just cultural heritage, but world-class combat. It means opportunity—for Filipino athletes to build careers, earn respect, and be seen.And it means legacy—the creation of something future generations can stand behind with pride. More than anything, it signals a shift: The Philippines is no longer just the birthplace of Filipino Martial Arts. It becomes its global leader. Where Evolution Leads Martial arts have never been static. They adapt. They respond. They evolve. Bruce Lee understood this long before it became widely accepted. His philosophy was not about abandoning tradition, but about freeing it from limitation. To keep what is useful. To discard what is not. To allow growth where growth is necessary. That same tension exists here. Juego Todo may not be the final form. It may not be universally accepted. And it will certainly be debated. But so was everything that came before it, and that is precisely the point. The value of innovation in martial arts has never been in immediate acceptance— but in the willingness to see it clearly. To watch it. To question it. To understand it. Because evolution, whether welcomed or resisted, has always been part of the journey. And perhaps, in that way, this moment is not so different from the ones that came before it. It’s simply the next expression of a timeless idea: that martial arts are not fixed. They are alive. THE FORMAT: THREE ROUNDS. TOTAL COMBAT. Juego Todo is a three-round war of progression, where every phase demands mastery: Round 1: Doble Baston (Double Sticks) Weapon-based combat. No disarms—because every strike is treated like a blade. DOBLE BASTON (Two Sticks) Allowed Body strikes with sticks Kicks, knees (body only) Takedowns & disarms Key Restrictions No strikes to the head No thrusting or butt-end strikes No illegal weapon use No intentional weapon dropping (penalty) Round 2: Solo Baston (Single Stick + Striking) The fight intensifies. Fighters add knees, elbows, takedowns, and sweeps—blending weaponry with close-range brutality. SOLO BASTON (One Stick) Allowed Stick striking Limited hand strikes Body kicks & knees Takedowns & disarms Key Restrictions No strikes to the head No thrusting or butt-end strikes Must follow referee during disarms Dropping the stick = penalty Round 3: Mano-a-Mano (Hand-to-Hand) MMA rules MANO Y MANO (Full Contact) Allowed Punches & kicks (head and body) Elbows & knees (with limits) Takedowns & submissions Key Restrictions No strikes to a downed opponent No groin attacks No headbutts, eye gouging, biting No strikes to back of head or spine No cage grabbing No soccer kicks FOLLOW THE ACTION 1. Watch the Weapons In Doble & Solo Baston, fighters score with: Clean stick strikes Control and disarms Important: No head strikes in weapon divisions 2. Look for Control & Damage Judges score using a 10-point must system Fighters win rounds by: Effective striking Takedowns and control Ring/Cage dominance 3. Know the Fight Phases Standing: Striking and movement Clinch: Close-range control, knees, takedowns Ground (Mano y Mano only): Submissions and control 4. Understand the Differences Doble Baston Fast-paced weapon exchanges Disarms can change momentum instantly Solo Baston Mix of weapon + limited hand strikes More tactical and controlled Mano y Mano Full MMA-style action Striking + grappling + submissions 5. Watch for Fouls Referees will stop action for: Illegal strikes (back of head, groin, etc.) Dangerous behavior Weapon misuse Penalties can affect scoring or lead to disqualification Win Conditions Decision (judges’ scorecards) Submission (Mano y Mano) Referee stoppage (TKO/KO) Disqualification UNIVERSAL FOULS (All Matches) Low blows Rabbit punches (hits to the back of the head/neck) Holding and hitting simultaneously Eye attacks or open glove abuse Prolonged stalling/clinch Faking injury or knockdown Unsportsmanlike conduct

You probably learned it your first day in the dojo. The front stance, aka zenkutsu-dachi, is perhaps the most iconic position of karate. It’s done so often in training that it feels natural and comfortable. There’s some question as to how useful it is for karateka to spend so much time in this stance, though. No one fights—either for real or in sparring—from a front stance. Some cite this as a reason to skip learning it altogether. Others note that zenkutsu-dachi places unnatural stress on the knees. As reasonable as these arguments are, the stance makes it easy to teach hip rotation and other body mechanics. If you can move smoothly and easily from zenkutsu-dachi, you’ll find shifting and moving in more practical stances to be faster and more efficient. Stress and other potential causes of injury exist not because of the stance itself, in most cases, but because it’s incorrectly taught. Whether you’re just learning zenkutsu-dachi or you’ve practiced it for decades, it’s important enough to do a quick review. To that end, consider these highlights.

OK, I don’t mean the obvious—breaking the rules of an organized combat sports event. I’m talking about when you’re fighting in self-defense. Can anything you do to win be considered dirty? Or is dirty a word that’s irrelevant with regard to self-defense? Personally, I think that’s the case—that there’s only prevailing or not. To even define “dirty” with regard to a serious, life-threatening fight is difficult. Illegal? Not when used for self-defense. Underhanded? How can a fighting technique be dishonest when the only thing you’re concerned with is prevailing? Unsportsmanlike? A real fight isn’t sporting. Sneaky? Maybe, but I don’t see that as disreputable; I see it as wise. Perhaps serious fighting, in which the consequences are grave (your life or serious injury), may have been honorable at some time or another in history. Probably the concept of a fair fight was the byproduct of becoming civilized.

Today’s essay walks a fine line. I can see how the advice I’m about to offer can be interpreted as a carte blanche excuse to give your training time short shrift, but that interpretation is the furthest thing from my mind. On the contrary, I’m all for upping your training intensity. What I’m skeptical of is—well, here goes. As I get on in years, I’m beginning to wonder if a large contingent of martial artists have put training (whether for combat sports or reality combatives) on a par with—or even worse, made it more important than—the targeted activity. In metaphor land, have we given more value to the tools we use to construct something than to the construction itself? Consider the following: We need strength, stamina, and explosiveness to prepare for the tasks combat requires. To acquire such attributes, it’s wise to supplement our training with activities outside the arts. For example, to build ferocious punching power, we work the heavy bag and the pads, which we supplement with Olympic lifting or powerlifting. The marriage of sports is excellent. Here’s where I start cocking an eyebrow. If and when the training becomes more about “What can you bench?”—asked in that querulous John C. Reilly Boogie Nights  tone—and less about “How’s your punching power developing?” things start skewing in off-target directions. Splitting hairs? Probably, but stay with me as I shred that hair even finer. As combat athletes, we must never lose sight of what we’re trying to better—whether it’s our combat-sports game, our reality game, or a combination of them. Any training modality that comes down the pike should be road-tested for application to the sport in question. If it seems like a good fit for the fight game, terrific. If not, bye-bye. You’re probably on board for this paragraph; let me lose a few of you now with the next one. When any training modality that’s not your targeted sport becomes important in and of itself, you have a dilemma. You can either remember where your true focus is—on combat—or recognize that you’re now a multi-sport athlete who might want to spend more time building your bench, tweaking your sprint times, and increasing your pull-up numbers. We’ve all encountered such people—athletes with mighty good wind from one sport (marathon, let’s say) who gas in three minutes on the mat, those with bulging biceps and rippling pecs who punch like Little Leaguers, and so on and so forth. Specificity breeds specificity. In the past six months, I’ve encountered folks of many different fitness stripes—diet affiliations, fitness levels, and training approaches—in a variety of obstacle races I’ve run. Some of them—admittedly, people who are quite fit to all appearances—lament their performances post-race and offer “I thought I would do better because of [insert random preparation exercise here]” comments. The number of thrusters you can do uninterrupted, how heavy your bench is, or what your run time is on the treadmill at X degrees of inclination doesn’t matter much when you’re not doing that specific exercise. When we make the preparation for a sport the sport itself, it seems we’re like obsessively fit rodents on ever-turning hamster wheels. We place utmost importance on how fast or how long we run on the wheel while giving no thought to whether life outside the Habitrail is anything like this wheel we love so much. So what am I saying? Am I anti-preparation? Anti-training? Anti-exercise? Not at all. I’m exceedingly pro on all these points. I’m simply pointing out a shift in attitude that may spell the difference between how well your training applies to what you intend it to do—which is perform your martial art—and how well your training merely makes you better at training.

Featured on the cover of Black Belt  in 1978—long before TikTok or YouTube—Michael Echanis was teaching the art of military combat through books. His bestsellers flew off the shelves, building a reputation and following the hard way—through real knowledge and results. His light was gone too soon, but his legacy lives on through the pages that continue to influence warriors and martial artists today. Find the digital copy at https://www.blackbeltmag.com/ebooks . Knife Self-Defense for Combat  isn’t theory—it’s battlefield reality. Written by Michael D. Echanis, a Vietnam veteran who kept fighting even after being seriously wounded, this book comes from real-world experience—not the dojo.   After his medical discharge, Echanis went all-in on the martial path, earning a black sash in Hwarangdo and developing one of the most direct, no-nonsense approaches to close-quarters combat ever put on paper. This book breaks down knife fighting the way it was meant to be understood—raw, efficient, and unforgiving—through clear, step-by-step photographic sequences. His work has been regarded as ahead of its time, surpassing many traditional combatives manuals in realism and application. There were plans for a nine-book series—but his life was cut short at just 27. What remains is a legacy that still influences warriors, fighters, and serious practitioners today. This is not sport. This is survival. Read the digital version now through Black Belt Magazine at BlackBeltMag.com .

In an era when martial arts competition was still finding its identity—and women were rarely given a place in the spotlight—Karyn Turner didn’t just enter the arena… she redefined it. Known variously as the “Queen of Kata,”  the “First Lady of Kung Fu,”  and later the “Mother of U.S. Kickboxing,”  Turner emerged in the mid-1970s as one of the most dynamic and versatile competitors of her time. Trained under Al Dacascos and Malia Dacascos in the Wun Hop Kune Do system, she brought a unique blend of artistry, athleticism, and fighting spirit into competition. Her breakthrough moment came in 1976, when she became the first woman to capture a double victory in both fighting (kumite) and forms (kata) at the International Women’s Karate Championship—a feat unheard of at the time. But Turner didn’t stop at women’s divisions. At a time when such barriers were rarely challenged, she stepped into men’s divisions at the World Championships—competing, and winning, in both kata and weapons, including the steel whip. By 1977, at the height of her career, Turner entered 23 tournaments and dominated across three divisions, once again proving her ability to transcend expectations. Black Belt  recognized her impact early, naming her the “most outstanding woman in the history of martial arts” in 1978. More honors followed: in 1990, she became the first woman ever inducted into the Black Belt Hall of Fame as “Competitor of the Year,” the same year she was named “Woman of the Year.” Her legacy was further cemented with her 2009 induction into the Martial Arts History Museum Hall of Fame. Born in Lyons, Kansas, and raised in Colorado, Turner began her martial arts journey at 19 in tae kwon do before finding her path in kung fu. Though her competitive career spanned just a few years—from 1975 to 1979—her impact was lasting. After retiring from competition, she formed the “Hard Knocks” demonstration team and later helped shape the sport behind the scenes through her promotional company, Superfights, Inc. In a time defined by toughness, innovation, and few limitations, Karyn Turner stood at the center of it all—bridging divisions, breaking barriers, and leaving a legacy that continues to influence martial artists today. Listed below is a throwback article feature from November of 1979.

UFC ®  today announced that former UFC middleweight and light heavyweight champion Alex Pereira has been named the 2026 recipient of the Forrest Griffin Community Award. Named in honor of UFC Hall of Famer Forrest Griffin, the award recognizes a UFC athlete for their exceptional volunteer and charity work and the meaningful impact their efforts have on the community.   The Forrest Griffin Community Award is presented annually as part of the UFC Honors President’s Choice category, as the award recipient is personally selected by UFC President & CEO Dana White. UFC Honors is the company's annual awards program recognizing UFC athletes, exceptional performances, and special moments throughout each year.    As the 2026 recipient of the Forrest Griffin Community Award, Pereira will receive a $25,000  donation to the charity of his choice. All donations are courtesy of the UFC Foundation.  Pereira will also partner with celebrity artist Ant Kai   to design and auction a one-of-one pair of UFC-branded gloves as part of UFC’s Gloves for Good Program , with funds raised benefiting his foundation, The Instituto Poatan .    Pereira will be honored for this award during the 2026 UFC Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony  as part of the 14 th  Annual   UFC International Fight Week . The event will take place on Thursday, July 9  at T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas. “Alex is one of the biggest stars in the world and it’s great to see him use his platform to give back to the community by helping youth in Brazil,” said UFC President & CEO Dana White. “By offering free after-school tutoring, computer literacy programs, and jiu-jitsu training to more than 500 local youth, he is directly helping the students create better lives e for themselves. It’s an honor to present him with this award.” Pereira founded The Instituto Poatan  ( Poatan Institute / Poatan Cares Foundation ) in 2024, after purchasing and renovating a building in Sao Paulo, Brazil. The institute’s mission is to promote social and sports initiatives, using sports as a tool for transformation. The non-profits vision is to become a benchmark for encouraging, expanding, and spreading sports practices that drive social, educational, and community development. With core values centering on transparency, excellence, integrity and commitment, the institute offers free afterschool tutoring, English courses, computer literacy, nutrition, and jiu-jitsu training to underprivileged youth. Since its inception, more than 500 local youth have registered for the institute’s programs, and the organization plans on continuing its expansion in 2026.  Outside of Brazil , Pereira continues to give back to local communities around the world, visiting children’s hospitals, teaching jiu-jitsu, and speaking with underprivileged youth in conjunction with other athletes and in partnership with UFC’s youth mentoring programs.  Pereira is a veteran of 16 fights in MMA and has compiled a record of 13-3 (10-2 UFC) since his professional MMA debut in 2015. Before transitioning to MMA, he competed in 40 professional kickboxing fights, registering a 33-7 record and capturing the GLORY middleweight and light heavyweight titles.  To learn more about The Alex Poatan Institute, please visit INSTITUTOPOATAN .