Guangxun Jin | 金光勋 | 김광훈

The class is a small group of about ten people, with two training sessions per week. In the first class, I learned that if you want to throw someone, you must first learn how to be thrown. In other words, you learn how to be thrown safely — when you’re being thrown, how to minimize injury and protect yourself.

Interestingly, when the instructor demonstrated being thrown, he would slap the mat (there are mats — a judo dojo’s floor isn’t a hard surface), producing a loud sound. The action was so obvious that I was curious and thought it might be some kind of judo artistry. But from the instructor’s explanation, I learned that slapping the mat when being thrown actually helps to dissipate the impact of the fall and protects you. Then we went on to learn how to fall to the side, forward, and backward. When falling forward, you will tuck your head and do a forward roll so you can get up immediately and avoid being pinned by your opponent. When falling backward, you should roll backward; while rolling, your head must be tucked to the side, otherwise you could injure your neck. Also, try to avoid landing flat on your back — not only is the impact much worse and very unpleasant, but as I later found out, being thrown that way can result in a loss.

Of course, every time we practiced falling, no matter which direction it was, we had to slap the mat. To be honest, at first it felt a bit uncomfortable and strange. But it’s something you have to turn into muscle memory.

That day, the instructor told us we will go buy a gi (which is the Judo uniform), and that we also needed to get a belt — a white belt. And that’s how my white-belt journey began.

Next, we started learning the main part of Judo—throws. Before I go on, I think I should explain one thing: since I am in Canada, the course is obviously taught in English. However, all Judo techniques are still referred to in Japanese. For example, a “full hip throw” is called O Goshi, which is the Japanese term. One reason is, of course, because Judo originated in Japan. Another reason is that using unified Judo terminology makes communication much easier. For instance, if two judoka from different countries tried to explain a technique in their own languages, they might not understand each other—even if they were talking about the same technique. But if they both say O Goshi, everyone knows exactly what it is.

The very first technique we learned was O Goshi, which uses the hips to lift and throw the opponent. During throw practice, we start with a basic grip: the left hand holds the opponent’s right sleeve, while the right hand grips the collar near the front of their neck. Of course, in actual competition, grips are never this standard—we’ll get to that later. After establishing this grip, the right arm goes around the opponent’s waist, while the footwork changes accordingly. Both of our feet should face the same direction as the opponent’s feet. Then, using the hips, we lift the opponent and throw them. It’s hard to picture Judo techniques just from words—seeing them in action makes much more sense. But when I tried it myself, it felt very awkward. Especially the motion of lifting the opponent with the hips—it was really difficult to get them off the ground. Transitioning from facing the opponent to turning in the same direction while holding their waist and trying to lift was also tough. Since it is the beginning of Judo learning process, I just couldn’t get the feeling right. Later we also learned more throws, like Ippon Seoi Nage, Tai Otoshi, Osoto Gari, and so on. The throws are categorized into groups: Te Waza (hand techniques), Koshi Waza (hip techniques), Ashi Waza (foot techniques). Eventually, I also learned about Sutemi Waza (sacrifice techniques), where you throw the opponent while going to the ground yourself. Ideally, you remain standing while the opponent falls, but with Sutemi Waza, you sacrifice your position, which is why they are called “sacrifice throws.”

(O Goshi)

Next, we practiced groundwork. Honestly, I didn’t know that groundwork was such an important part of Judo. Later I learned that in matches, if someone is thrown but their back doesn’t land flat on the mat, the fight continues on the ground. That’s when both players are no longer standing—the one who threw follows to control the opponent, pin them, and then use other ground techniques to make them submit. The first pinning technique we learned was Kesa Gatame. Again, describing it in words is tricky, but seeing it is much clearer. Compared to throws, this technique was easier to pick up, and I learned it quickly. We also practiced escape techniques at the same time. One partner tries to hold the other down, while the other struggles to escape. When I tried, holding others down felt easy and effective. Escaping, however, was really difficult. As a beginner, I basically couldn’t escape unless there was a big difference in strength. Later we learned more pins, such as Kata Gatame, Kami Shiho Gatame, Yoko Shiho Gatame, and others.

(Kesa Gatame)

Another thing I didn’t know about Judo before is that it also has chokes and joint locks—the “other ground techniques” I mentioned earlier that force the opponent to submit. Some of them are simple, while others are very complex. The complicated ones, even after watching and trying, I still had no idea how to apply properly. The simpler chokes, however, were quite similar to common chokeholds, just in Judo style. For example, the rear naked choke: normally we see it applied with just the arms around the neck, but in Judo, many chokes use the opponent’s collar. The Judo version of the rear naked choke also relies on the gi collar. I used to think chokes like the rear naked choke cut off air, causing suffocation. But that’s not the case—instead, they compress the neck and restrict blood flow, leading to unconsciousness, not suffocation. I got really curious during training and asked my partner to try a tight choke on me. My vision went dark, I felt dizzy, and almost blacked out—that’s when I truly understood what it feels like to be choked.

(Kataha Jime)

When learning these techniques, while we practiced them in traditional ways, we also practiced in playful, game-like formats, which made training very fun. For example, one person would lie on the ground with their back down while the other stood up. The standing person tried to touch the head of the one lying down, while the one on the ground tried to avoid being touched. Or sometimes two students would team up, one carrying the other, and race against other pairs. These games built useful Judo skills and physical conditioning.

We also did light sparring. Because standing throws carry a higher risk of injury for beginners—especially if they don’t yet know how to fall properly, so throwing sparring was more controlled, focusing on practicing throws and breakfalls rather than full competition. Groundwork sparring, on the other hand, was safer for beginners, so we often went all out trying to pin or escape. Overall, it was still relaxed and fun.

The dojo was divided into two sections: one half for white belts like us, and the other half for yellow belts (one rank above white) up to black belts. Before each session, everyone—from white to black belt, including higher dan ranks with red-and-white belts, and even the instructor with red belt (a very rare rank, with only a few people in all of Canada)—would warm up together with running, push-ups, sit-ups, stretching, and so on. At the end of training, we sat in two rows facing each other, instructors in one line, students and higher belts in another. We bowed to Judo’s founder Jigoro Kano, then instructors and students bowed to each other. On Wednesday evenings before class, we also played a ball game, which I’ll describe later.

After about a month and a half, I had gained a basic understanding of Judo. I knew the fundamentals of how to fall safely, though I hadn’t yet developed muscle memory. I was comfortable with the basic pins, and while I had learned a number of chokes and locks, I only really remembered a few common ones. As for throws, I had a sense of how they worked, but my execution was often not effective, and I couldn’t throw people smoothly.

Still, since I had learned the essential knowledge, attended every class, and trained consistently, my instructor decided to promote me to yellow belt. In our final two sessions, we even trained together with the more advanced group—the yellow belts up to black belts

When we were training in the white-belt section of the dojo, the highest-ranking instructor (the head instructor) gestured for us to come train in the other half of the dojo. So, halfway through the class, we joined the higher-ranked members for training.

At that time, our training involved Newaza (ground techniques) sparring with the higher-ranked members. Since we were sparring with advanced members, I had to give it our all. The high-ranking members and the white belts sat in two rows facing each other. After sparring with the person in front of you, everyone would shift to their right, facing a new opponent for the next round. Before and after each sparring match, we would bow to each other from a kneeling position.

At that moment, I could only remember two holding techniques—Kesa Gatame and Kata Gatame. I focused all my energy on applying whichever one I could. To my surprise, it worked: I managed to take down and pin my opponent right at the start. I truly gave it my all and held the opponent until the round ended. I repeated this successfully with the next three opponents as well. However, giving maximum effort drained my stamina incredibly fast—I was gasping for air. Aside from about a month of jump rope during a previous weight-loss period, I hadn’t really done any aerobic training since, focusing mainly on strength training, so my endurance was low and my energy drained quickly.

The instructor said anyone who needed a break could rest on the side. I had to raise my hand to signal that I needed a break. I gasped as I went to the side to rest—I simply had no energy left to keep giving my all.

At that moment, the head instructor came over and asked me if I had practiced judo before. I said this was my first time. Then he asked if I had trained in any other martial arts. No, I said, this was my first time learning any martial art. The instructor said I looked like I had some experience. I wondered why he would think that—perhaps because my regular strength training gave me a physical foundation, or perhaps because I was able to apply the two holds I remembered very effectively, which made it seem like I had previous experience. The instructor also said that if I wanted, I should continue learning judo. After this Newaza session ended, the class was over. I also noticed that many of the higher-ranked members, especially the black belts, were not using their full strength or counter-techniques; they were holding back to accommodate the beginners. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed the feeling of sparring like this.

(Kata Gatame)

The following class—the last one—was entirely with the higher-ranked members, following the same training they did. I’ll go into more detail about that part later.

Originally, I had planned for my judo journey to end here. After all, I had already gained a basic experience and felt I had completed my initial goal. But after these two months of exposure to judo, I still wanted to continue experiencing it and have a more complete experience. So, I decided to sign up for another four months. My judo journey is far from over.

As I mentioned before, every Wednesday before training, we play a game. It’s a ball-throwing game.

We have a small ball. First, we set up a target at each end of the dojo—usually a slipper, because slippers are light and easy to knock over. Then, the dojo members are divided into two teams. The division is usually casual: one common way is that whoever happens to be standing on a certain side of the dojo joins that team; sometimes, members who like to take off the top of their gi form a team together, and so on. The rules are simple: each team defends their own target while trying to hit the opponent’s target. When throwing the ball, it can only be done with one hand. Since the dojo is relatively large, both teams need to run back and forth. Anyone without the ball can run freely, but the person holding the ball can only take up to three steps or jumps before either throwing the ball or passing it to a teammate. Hitting the opponent’s target scores a point, and the team that concedes a point will do ten push-ups. The team with the most points wins.

This game is designed with judo in mind. The rule of throwing with one hand mimics using your dominant hand in judo throws, which helps train that skill. Running back and forth in the dojo also builds stamina. So, it can be seen as a form of training, but in the form of a game.

The rules are clear, making it easy to get started. Since I regularly do strength training and used to jump rope often, my body coordination is very good. As a result, my throwing accuracy is slightly higher. At the beginning, I performed pretty well. I remembered something a classmate from the soccer team said back in middle school during a soccer game. At that time, I couldn’t play soccer at all. I kept chasing the ball but could never touch it, because as soon as I got close, the opponent would kick it away. Then that classmate told me, “Don’t run after the ball; run with the opposing players.” I remembered that advice ever since. During this game, I applied the same principle for defense, following the players rather than the ball. For offense, I tried to find opportunities where the opponent wasn’t paying attention.

As I played more and more, I became more and more skilled. Once, three of us on my team, including myself, coordinated very well—almost every time we attacked, we hit the target. At that time, my throwing accuracy was also very high. I didn’t think much while throwing, yet I managed to hit. Maybe this was due to good body coordination. That time, the opposing team did about forty or fifty push-ups, while we did none.

I noticed that the team I was on had a fairly high win rate. I’m not trying to boast, but this was my observation. By the later sessions, I even noticed some members would quietly switch to my team when they saw which team I was on.

One female member left a strong impression on me. Her belt rank wasn’t particularly high, but she performed very well every time we played the ball-throwing game, and her team also had a fairly high win rate. She seemed tireless, always full of energy. Perhaps because of that, her teammates had more opportunities for offense and defense.

On the other hand, I noticed that my stamina drained very quickly. After running back and forth at full effort two or three times, I would be out of breath and could only walk a bit slowly to recover. After the game, before the official training started, I had to sit down and rest for a bit. Sometimes, the instructor would end the game slightly early if he saw the members getting too tired, to prevent them from exhausting themselves before training even began.

Playing this game gave me the long-missed feeling of freely running around like I did in childhood games. I really like that feeling. In fact, I always look forward to this game every Wednesday.

I officially started training with the higher-ranked members.

Generally, after running laps, stretching, and various warm-up activities, we begin training.

First, we do Ukemi training, which is practicing how to fall safely. We start from one end of the dojo and use a type of Ukemi (a method to reduce injury when being thrown, such as the forward roll I mentioned before). Each time we perform it, we take two steps, then do it again, continuing until we reach the other end of the dojo. Then we return and repeat with another type of Ukemi.

Next, we practice escape techniques from various ground techniques, moving from one end of the dojo to the other.

After that, we might practice throwing techniques that can be done without a partner, moving from one end of the dojo to the other.

Then we train in pairs. One person performs a throw of their choice on their partner, executing only the core movements without actually throwing them. The other person does nothing, following the partner and acting as the training dummy. This continues from one end of the dojo to the other. After both people have tried, they switch partners and repeat. Since opponents in judo vary in body type and technique, it’s necessary to practice with different types of partners.

This is the most basic training. It is done in every class. The content of the training after this depends on the day. For example, on Mondays, we focus mainly on Newaza (ground techniques) for instruction and practice, while on Wednesdays, we focus mainly on throws. I will explain these two parts separately later.

Monday is dedicated to training and instruction in Newaza (ground techniques).

After completing the basic training, we first review the various ground techniques we have learned before. This includes ground control, joint locks, chokeholds, and so on. I will list some of the basic ground techniques—those I can remember. I won’t describe them in words, as pictures are more intuitive.

(Kami Shiho Gatame)

(Kami Shiho Gatame Escape)

(Yoko Shiho Gatame)

(Tate Shiho Gatame)

(Nami Juji Jime)

(Ude Hishigi Juji Gatame)

After that, we start learning new ground techniques. My impression of this part is that many techniques are very complex. The ground techniques we learned before are still possible to remember completely. But many of the more complex techniques are difficult—not only to memorize, but even to perform them by oneself. With the help of a very helpful black-belt member, I can perform these complex ground techniques. However, after a few days, or even the next day, I completely forget them. I think these complex techniques require long time training to be used comfortably.

Ground techniques involve not only offense but also defense. We also learn how to defend. For example, what to do if the opponent mounts us, or if we are thrown and the opponent immediately tries to control us, and so on.

In particular, after being thrown by an opponent, while the match is not over, we can immediately enter “turtle defense”. This involves curling up on the ground with hands and feet together, like a turtle—this defensive posture is called Kame. Sometimes, while maintaining this upper-body posture, the legs and feet are also pressed against the ground to defend. We learn many techniques for breaking this defensive posture. We often practice through simulation: one side acts as the defender in turtle defense, preventing the opponent from flipping them over, while the other side uses learned techniques to flip them. At that time, I only remembered some simple techniques. The more complex ones were hard to memorize and even harder to apply, so I could not perform them yet.

(Kame defense pose)

The main focus of Monday’s lesson is learning ground techniques, trying them out, and practicing them in both defensive and offensive roles. The next part is the one I look forward to the most: Newaza Randori. Randori means free practice, and Newaza Randori is the practical application of ground techniques in a sparring setting.

I think it’s not just me—many beginner judo students are likely very excited for practical sparring. After all, actually applying what you’ve learned is what makes it exhilarating. I will discuss this part together with the standing throw sparring later.

In addition to the regular sessions mentioned above, we also have simulated judo ground matches later on. In reality, judo doesn’t always start from standing throws. Previously, matches could only start from a standing position, but now there are specialized Newaza competitions, and some members of our club have even won awards in Newaza competitions. This is different from free practice, as we follow the rules of judo competitions. I have participated about twice. I can only say my performance was okay. I competed with members of a similar level to me—I could slightly control my opponent, but I couldn’t make them submit, eventually winning only by a narrow margin. On another occasion, I successfully applied a chokehold (Sankaku Jime) on my opponent, but due to insufficient technique, I could not make them submit, and the referee ultimately scored against me. Still, the process was really interesting.

(Sankaku Jime)

And this basically sums up a single Newaza lesson. Each class might have some slight variations, but this is roughly how it goes.

Wednesday is mainly dedicated to training and instruction in throwing techniques.

After completing the basic training, we move on to learning throwing techniques. Generally, the instructor teaches a new throw, and then we practice the new technique with our partners. The instructor checks each of our movements and provides corrections. At this stage, when practicing new throws, we no longer go easy as in the white-belt period—we perform real throws. The partner being thrown also needs to master the falling techniques, called Ukemi. By the way, in judo terminology, the person being thrown is called Uke, and the person performing the throw is called Tori.

Among these techniques:

Te Waza (hand techniques) are led by the hands and upper body, creating kuzushi (breaking the opponent’s balance) through grips and pushing/pulling, and using the shoulders and arms to throw the opponent. The hips and legs mainly support and assist with rotation, rather than being the main source of force. For example, in Ippon Seoi Nage, a right-handed person uses the left hand to pull the opponent toward themselves to break their balance, then throws them in a smooth motion. The images below show some Te Waza.

(Tai Otoshi)

(Seoi Nage)

Koshi Waza (hip techniques) are led by the hips, creating kuzushi through rotation and support of the waist, and using the waist to throw the opponent. The hands and legs mainly control and assist rather than provide the main force. When I practice these throws, my hips act as the pivot, but the movement often makes me feel twisted to the point that I cannot fully exert my strength. It always feels awkward. The images below show some Koshi Waza.

(Uchi Mata)

(Harai Goshi)

Ashi Waza (foot techniques) are led by the legs and feet, creating kuzushi by sweeping, hooking, or blocking the opponent’s supporting foot, and using the legs to throw the opponent. The hands and hips mainly assist and control. These techniques have a wider range of application than other throws, but they also require precise timing. The images below show some Ashi Waza.

(O Soto Gari)

(O Uchi Gari)

(Ko Uchi Gari)

Sutemi Waza (sacrifice techniques) are led by the body’s center of gravity as it falls, using the fall or roll to unbalance and throw the opponent. The hands, waist, and legs mainly assist and control, not as the main source of force. I found these techniques difficult to learn, because while you fall yourself, you also need to lift the opponent in a sense. This requires both strength and skill, especially for beginners. The technique must be executed quickly and generate force to throw the opponent. At first, due to insufficient skill, I either could not execute it fast enough and got pinned, or could not place my feet correctly, and could not lift the opponent effectively. These throws usually involve large movements, and the person being thrown also needs good Ukemi. The images below show some Sutemi Waza.

(Tomoe Nage)

(Yoko Otoshi)

There are also counter-throws called Kaeshi Waza, which use the opponent’s force or movement against them when they attempt a throw. The key feature is using the opponent’s attack to your advantage, timely shifting your center of gravity or direction to complete the throw. The images below show some Kaeshi Waza.

(O Soto Gaeshi)

(Uchi Mata Gaeshi)

After the instruction of throwing techniques, we move on to practice, divided into Uchikomi and Nagekomi.

Uchikomi is the repeated practice of entry and positioning for throws, without actually throwing the opponent. It trains movement continuity, speed, timing, and muscle memory. We line up in two rows, facing each other, and take turns practicing. One person does 10 repetitions, then the person across does 10 repetitions. After that, we move one space to the right to practice with a different partner. The specific throw to practice is chosen by ourselves. Since judo techniques require extensive practice to build muscle memory and master timing, beginners cannot master many techniques at once. It is best to focus on two or three techniques first, become proficient, and then move on to others. Uchikomi is the perfect opportunity to practice the techniques you want to master. I will talk about the techniques I chose in a later chapter.

Nagekomi is the practice of actually throwing the opponent. Unlike Uchikomi, it emphasizes the complete execution of the throw and application of force, improving proficiency and effectiveness in real throwing. We randomly select partners, throw each other, and then find the next partner to practice. The choice of which throw to use is entirely up to each person.

We occasionally have grip training, because grips are important in judo. Only by gripping the intended target accurately can you execute the desired throw effectively. As the opponent, one also tries to prevent the other from obtaining a good grip.

Next comes the highly anticipated Randori (free sparring) session, which I will discuss in a later chapter.

This is the standard Wednesday routine. Sometimes, there are different activities, such as explaining judo competition rules and holding simulated matches according to official rules. This is where I learned that if your back lands flat on the mat after a throw, under certain conditions, it counts as ippon, meaning the person being thrown loses directly. Also, aside from using joint locks or chokes to make the opponent submit, controlling the opponent with a hold for 20 seconds can also result in a win. Before and after the match, we bow to each other.

I can’t remember exactly how many times I participated in these simulated matches, maybe once or twice. I clearly remember one match, but the other is vague. In the match I remember, I tried Ko Uchi Makikomi on my opponent but failed, and my opponent used the same technique, causing me to land flat on my back. Being thrown felt sudden. I also realized I failed because I did not push my whole body forward when performing this sacrifice throw; I should have fallen forward. My opponent, however, executed it perfectly. Watching matches between higher-ranked members is especially exciting. In a match between two black belts with a large weight difference, the smaller one could still win through technique, making it very entertaining to watch.

Sometimes, the instructor demonstrates techniques prohibited in official competitions. A small portion of these are banned because they are too dangerous and could cause serious accidents if misused. Most are banned to make competitions more visually appealing—for example, all techniques that involve grabbing the opponent’s legs. These moves are actually very practical, and some judo athletes specifically practice them, but they tend to favor these safe yet effective throws over more spectacular techniques. The Judo Federation believes this reduces spectator appeal, so these techniques are banned in official competition. It is truly a pity, because I think these techniques suit me very well. Still, in this club, I was able to observe some of these techniques and even try a few myself. The images below show some of prohibited Judo techniques.

(Morotte Gari, in modern Judo competitions, grabbing legs is not allowed)

(Kibisu Gaeshi)

(Kuchiki Taoshi)

(Kani Basami, this technique is banned because it is too dangerous)

On one occasion, a family of Olympic athletes joined a training session. All family members practice judo. During training, I practiced with the youngest daughter, who seemed very young and was very friendly. Even though I was clearly inexperienced, she still praised me. The father, after partnering with me during basic training, pointed out some of my mistakes. For example, when I used foot techniques, I kept looking down at my legs. Indeed, in real matches, you cannot do that, but I was still unskilled at the time ?. This experience left a strong impression on me.

During my judo practice, I learned that judo training is not entirely composed of sparring or practical exercises—there is also a form called Kata.

Kata is a pre-arranged sequence of movements in judo, composed of fixed sequences used to train techniques, posture, footwork, and coordination, rather than for actual combat.

In other words, it consists of a complete set of predetermined movements that require two people to perform together. These movements are usually judo techniques. Although it is not practical sparring, Kata helps practitioners better master the correct execution, posture, and center-of-gravity control of throws, holds, and joint techniques. Judo is not limited to young or strong individuals; even elderly or physically weaker people can also enjoy judo through Kata. Moreover, there are also dedicated Kata competitions, which are a recognized form of judo competition.

To be promoted to black belt, learning Kata is required, and passing the corresponding Kata evaluation is necessary. The focus is on assessing understanding of techniques, correctness of movements, body control, and judo philosophy—not just practical combat ability.

Typically, Kata is learned only after reaching a certain rank, but our Head Instructor wanted everyone to be exposed to Kata early, so I, as a yellow belt, also experienced Kata.

Since Kata consists of fixed movements, every step must be memorized, similar to performing a group dance: the movements cannot be modified. Even which foot steps first is prescribed. I also observed the full sequence of Kata movements.

(Ju no Kata, one form of Kata)

For me, Randori (free sparring practice) is probably the most anticipated part of judo training.

During Randori, everyone practices on the dojo floor simultaneously. We pair up in twos to spar. If you get thrown, you stand up and start again until the instructor calls for a partner change. Then we randomly choose other partners nearby. This ensures we spar with opponents of different skills and body types.

At first, it’s mostly fluster and pushing. After a few sessions, I gradually got adapted to the flow of the matches and started trying the throws I had learned. But it was still very difficult to execute throws effectively. One reason is that I wasn’t particularly skilled with the movements. When I tried, often only my upper body moved or only my lower body moved, so I couldn’t effectively break the opponent’s balance and throw them at the same time. Another reason is that I can’t find the right timing. Throws have ideal moments to use them; not only do you need to recognize this moment and explosively execute the throw, you also need to know how to create the moment. But for beginners, this takes practice and cannot be mastered immediately. So my first few sessions of Randori were done in a confused way.

During the time, I often looked up judo-related knowledge. Sometimes, when trying a new throw, I felt I couldn’t execute it naturally. After training, I would research what points I might be missing. I also browsed judo techniques I hadn’t learned to see what existed. I even looked up combination techniques that seemed good but not too difficult.

I tried practicing judo techniques at home. But since judo is a partner sport requiring a spacious area with mats, it was basically impossible to practice proper techniques at home. At most, I could practice some Ashi Waza. As a beginner, I didn’t feel like I was effectively practicing.

While researching judo knowledge, I also realized I should focus on two or three throws first. Then, in Uchikomi and Nagekomi, I should train these selected throws as much as possible to achieve proficiency. Typically, one forward throw and one backward throw are chosen, covering the basic directions needed for sparring. This also lays a solid foundation for learning other throws later. I began researching throws suitable for my body type and eventually chose two: Ippon Seoi Nage as forward throws, and Ko Uchi Makikomi as a backward throw.

(Ippon Seoi Nage)

(Ko Uchi Makikomi)

I also found that Ippon Seoi Nage can be practiced alone at home using resistance bands. I tried this method, but I can’t say whether my practice was effective.

(Solo Ippon Seoi Nage practice)

During every Uchikomi and Nagekomi session, I focused on practicing these two throws. Occasionally, I would mix in other learned throws, because I felt that if I was there to understand judo, I should try various throws for a more comprehensive understanding. Practicing these two, I found Ko Uchi Makikomi relatively easier, but Ippon Seoi Nage didn’t go smoothly. During practice, my posture felt okay, but in Nagekomi, I often failed to execute it effectively.

In Randori, I roughly adapted to the flow of the matches and could start looking for opportunities to use these two techniques. I started using Ko Uchi Makikomi at the beginning of sparring, which was very effective. The first few times, I successfully threw my opponents. But after a few rounds, they began to anticipate it and defended against it, making it impossible to use. Actually, I could switch to Ippon Seoi Nage at this point since the two throws have opposite directions. So these two techniques often worked as combination attacks. But in Randori, I found Ippon Seoi Nage difficult to use, as I often couldn’t throw the opponent with proper force. I would get stuck lifting the opponent without completing the throw, sometimes even being pressed down. Once the opponent defended Ko Uchi Makikomi, I had no options.

In several Randori sessions, I probably only successfully executed a proper Ippon Seoi Nage once. The rest of the time, I would lift the opponent slightly and end up being pressed down myself.

I went back to study how to execute Ippon Seoi Nage effectively. I discovered a kneeling version exists, which is more beginner-friendly. The problem is, our instructors never taught it. It seems that the standing version of Ippon Seoi Nage, as the standard version, once mastered, allows you to use other versions of Seoi Nage, but being familiar with the kneeling version doesn’t necessarily let you master the standing version. Perhaps that’s why instructors skip the kneeling version—they also worry beginners might rely too much on it and neglect foundational throws. Still, I wanted to explore it.

(Kneeling Seoi Nage)

I tried practicing it at home with instructional videos, but honestly, it didn’t work because I didn’t have an actual partner to feel the throw. It’s also hard to practice this version in Uchikomi or Nagekomi. In Uchikomi, I found the kneeling version somewhat difficult to practice, and some sacrifice throws were also difficult. In Nagekomi, because I was not familiar with this technique, I feared my mistakes might hurt someone. So I only attempted it theoretically and in Randori. Surprisingly, the first two attempts succeeded; my opponent was caught off guard and surprised that they let out a sound. But quickly, due to lack of skill, the technique became ineffective.

Thus, in Randori, I concentrated on Ippon Seoi Nage and Ko Uchi Makikomi. But soon I realized it was too monotonous, as dojo members had long gotten used to me using these two techniques. I started researching other throws I could use.

During Randori, I also realized why combat sports have weight classes: body weight does give an advantage. I mentioned before that my Ippon Seoi Nage often lifted the opponent but ended with me being pressed. This seemed related to weight and strength. If I was about 30 pounds lighter, using throws was exhausting, while being thrown was relatively easy. Realizing this, I tried to eat as much as I can—partly because training was intense and I needed energy, partly to gain weight to help in Randori. Gradually, I returned to my pre-diet weight, but the fat was not as much as before, because previously I couldn’t even fasten the button on my pants’ waist; now, although my weight has returned, I can still fasten the button.

Over time, I realized through observation and experience that technique can overcome differences in strength and weight. As I mentioned before, during a match between two high ranked belts, a much smaller member defeated a heavier, stronger member. That match was remarkable. In Randori, I could easily lift lighter black belts, showing my strength wasn’t a disadvantage, yet their technique was so good that I was pulled around and couldn’t even stand. But I saw it as a great learning opportunity—black belts don’t make the beginner mistakes that occur in Randori. So whenever I was thrown, I immediately got up to continue sparring, trying to practice as much as possible before the instructor called for a partner change.

Regarding beginner mistakes in Randori: the first is bending forward and keeping the lower body as far from the opponent as possible. This effectively prevents the opponent from attacking. Experienced black belts might counter it, but beginners can’t do much. It’s a passive defense and would be a foul in competition. Instructors usually point it out, and students adjust. The second, which troubled me more, is stiff arms—grabbing the opponent’s gi, usually the collar, fully extending the arms to prevent closeness. Beginners often use this in Randori, and I did too. While Randori is about learning, everyone has a natural desire to win, so instinctive defensive actions naturally appear, causing me to have difficulty attacking, and the opponent also has difficulty attacking. Unlike passive defense, stiff arms aren’t easily corrected just by the instructor pointing it out; many beginners do it unconsciously.

I found stiff arms frustrating in Randori. The important thing in Randori is actually not winning or losing. Of course, it is normal for everyone not to want to lose, and I am no exception, so I have been constantly looking for ways to win. The instructor often says that if the opponent uses proper throws, just let yourself be thrown—don’t resist too strongly, as it’s practice. Realizing I had used stiff arms before, I consciously tried to control myself. During Randori, black belt members also praised me: beginners often have the stiff-arm habit, but I did not perform this action. Others still used them, and preventing them seemed impossible, so I researched how to counter stiff arms. Experienced judokas can easily handle it, but I was still learning.

I gathered information and consulted higher-ranked members. I found that kneeling Ippon Seoi Nage could help, but due to my inexperience, it wasn’t very effective. I also found Tomoe Nage useful, and observed others using it—it’s a classic throw. But since it’s a sacrifice throw and my lack of technique skill, I often ended up on the mat while my opponent stayed standing. An older red-and-white belt member suggested trying various Ashi Waza. This was good advice and potentially suitable for my body type, but against stiff arms, my foot couldn’t reach their legs. I tried many strategies but couldn’t overcome stiff arms. Perhaps only solid fundamentals and practice can allow one to easily counter beginners’ stiff arms, as an experienced judoka would.

Honestly, stiff arms were the least enjoyable part of Randori for me, basically meaning two people were stalemated, doing nothing, wasting time. But while I was figuring out how to deal with stiff arms, I also discovered some interesting throws and tried to use them in Randori. Once, I saw a technique that lifted the opponent by the belt to throw them. I still cannot remember the name, but I tried to mimic it, lifting the opponent by the belt to throw them. I did not know if my movement was correct, but it actually worked, and felt more effective than Ippon Seoi Nage.

There were also some funny situations. I learned that in sparring, one cannot stand still, as it gives the opponent opportunities. I tried to keep moving; when my opponent grabbed my collar to throw me, I kept retreating, keeping my feet moving, and they could not fully approach me. In this way, I moved from one side of the dojo to the other. Of course, doing this was definitely not a good idea, but at that time it was just for trying, which resulted in such absurd situations.

In Newaza Randori, I also chose several simple and easy-to-understand techniques. This included several basic holds; because I was relatively proficient with these, I was still able to consciously use them in Randori. Additionally, there was Sankaku jime as a choke.

Newaza Randori begins with both participants kneeling on one knee, then attempting to make the opponent’s back touch the mat, thereby gaining an advantageous position. Initially, in the pure beginner stage, everyone tried to push the opponent down forcefully. Some even tried to push while standing, but standing up is, of course, not allowed. After adapting to the flow of matches, I began trying different methods. When the opponent pushed me, I fell backward along with the push, while quickly twisting, so that the opponent ended up on their back. I also tried to mimic O Soto Gari, going directly to the opponent’s right side, using my legs to block the opponent’s right foot and push them diagonally backward. At that time, I also saw experienced members lifting the opponent by the ankles. I imitated them, and it looked simple, but it still required skill, because the opponent’s ankles bear all of their body weight and cannot be lifted very easily.

After one of two people fell down, at first it was almost all wrestling on the ground. Gradually, as I adapted to the flow of matches, I began to think to use the techniques I had learned in Judo as the attacker. As the defender, I also tried to defend. I often see in combat matches that after falling to the ground, one will hold the opponent to prevent them from having space to act. In Newaza Randori, when I was mounted by someone, I immediately held the opponent’s neck so that they could not have space to act. I don’t know if this counts as a foul, but at that time, that is indeed what I did.

Whether it is regular Randori or Newaza Randori, it will exhaust all your physical strength. Often, after a few rounds, I would be gasping for air. Sometimes, after finishing, my body felt particularly heavy, and even walking was difficult. When the intensity was high, it even felt like I was about to vomit. Moreover, when changing clothes afterward, without a single exception, the clothes I was wearing inside were completely soaked by sweat. Nevertheless, I have to say, it truly was exhilarating, and made me look forward to the next time.

When practicing judo or any sport, it’s impossible to completely avoid injuries.

Once, during Newaza Randori, I locked my opponent’s upper body with a Sankaku Jime. But my opponent was very strong and almost lifted me up. He didn’t manage to lift me completely, though, which left my head on the mat while the rest of my body was suspended in the air. When my opponent put me back down, his body pressed onto me, and my neck bent in an unnatural way. I immediately released my grip and called for a stop. Luckily, we stopped right away—if we had continued, the consequences could have been very serious.

There’s also a strange phenomenon: my right little toe has been hurting constantly. Not just during training, but almost every day—it feels like it’s in a perpetual state of injury. I know it’s because of practicing judo, but I don’t know the exact reason. Thinking back, sometimes it happens when I do Ashi Waza techniques and accidentally hit my little toe on the floor or someone else’s shin. Even so, it should hurt for a while and then be okay—but why does it continue hurting? ?

And because of all the throws, even though many members don’t throw others too hard during practice, heavy throws can still happen accidentally, especially during Randori (free sparring). On top of that, I haven’t yet developed full muscle memory for Ukemi (breakfalls), so I often end up taking the full impact of the throws. As a result, my body feels sore everywhere. One day it’s this spot, the next day it’s another. Unlike my little toe, no single part hurts all the time, but there’s always some place that hurts.

Sometimes there are even bloodstains on my judo gi. Since I started training, there haven’t been any uncomfortable violent incidents, and I don’t remember anyone bleeding heavily. Maybe someone got a small cut during training and the blood accidentally got on my uniform? At first, I thought it was my own blood, but after checking my whole body, I couldn’t find any wounds.

In any case, small injuries happen all the time, but this also makes me feel that I am truly training in judo.

During my time training at the dojo, I really felt the help and support of some members. I didn’t express it at the time, but I’ve always remembered it in my heart.

I am an introverted and very rational person, and I’m not good at quickly blending in with others—at least, that was the case while I was learning judo. So, during breaks in training, I wasn’t very social and tended to be passive. I was also somewhat passive when it came to finding partners for practice.

But one of the black belt members of Japanese descent often looked out for me and teamed up with me. He also taught me relevant judo techniques. During Nagekomi (throwing practice), he would often let me throw him unilaterally while he didn’t throw me, which allowed me to practice my throwing techniques more.

Another very tall brown belt member, noticing that I didn’t join in the group discussions during the mid-session break, would deliberately come over to talk to me and help me interact with others.

These two members were also the ones who, at the end of the last class in December, proactively said to me, “Happy holiday, see you next year.” I am very grateful for their care and attention.

There was also an older red-and-white belt member who often gave me guidance after Randori. He would point out what techniques I could use, how to grip my opponent to apply pressure, and so on. He often explained things to me individually.

There was a young green belt member who would, after sparring with me in Randori, proactively point out my weaknesses. For example, my footwork didn’t move at all, which made it easy for my opponents to figure out how to deal with me. He reminded me that I needed to move my feet constantly.

I am very grateful to all of them. Even now, I don’t know their names. This often happens—frequently participating in activities with someone but not knowing their name. I’ve realized that I should make a point of asking the names of the people I do activities with.

By the time I wrote this, it had been nearly two years since my judo training ended. Not being good at expressing emotions immediately is something I feel I need to improve on. Over these two years, I have been slowly working on improving in this area. My regret is that I wasn’t able to express my gratitude to them at the time, and such things become harder to express the longer you wait. Even though I may not be good at expressing emotions (at least back then), I have always remembered my gratitude toward them in my heart. I am also writing these things down without holding back, to remind myself of that regret, so that in the future, when similar situations arise, I can make the choices I truly want to make.

During the three months of training leading up to receiving the yellow belt, I never missed a single session. The head instructor also decided to promote me to orange belt.

After receiving the orange belt, I still had about a month and a half of training left. I managed to get through the first week, but after that, my body started to feel that it couldn’t keep up.

Why couldn’t I keep up? At that time, I had a full-time job, and it was physically demanding. I also needed to train at the gym 2 to 3 times a week, attend judo classes twice a week, and boxing classes twice a week. Each of these—gym, judo, and boxing—would leave me completely exhausted. This isn’t an exaggeration; it truly exhausted me. I could reduce the gym sessions to twice a week and lower the intensity slightly. But for judo and boxing, it was completely impossible to lower the intensity—every session was full-on, my clothes soaked with sweat, and I would be utterly exhausted by the end. In other words, with a physically demanding full-time job, I had 2 to 3 days of moderate-to-high intensity training and 4 days of full high-intensity sessions in a week; there wasn’t really a single day when my body could truly rest.

The first four months didn’t feel too difficult. I was tired, but it didn’t affect my life. It wasn’t until the fifth month that I realized this fatigue accumulates. My body started to feel that it couldn’t cope. I realized I had overestimated my energy, and taking on two high-intensity sports at the same time wasn’t a good idea—especially when combined with other workouts. This began to affect my work performance, and I felt completely drained. Gym training was the core of my exercise routine and something I couldn’t give up. Even reducing it to twice a week with lower intensity wasn’t enough to recover, because I didn’t have a single day in the week for my body to rest. At that point, I had to make a choice: I needed to “survive first.”

So I had to skip one session each week from judo and boxing—one week I would skip a judo class, the next week a boxing class. This gave my body time to recover. This also meant that I ended up missing a few classes during the last month or so. During my first year and the first half of my second year of university, I was immature at the time, so I didn’t take skipping classes seriously. It wasn’t until the second half of my second year that I realized I couldn’t continue doing that, and that made me successfully graduate from university. After that, I decided that for anything I do, I would maintain full attendance. Missing some judo classes became one of my regrets.