School of Chinese Martial Arts Ireland

Some things in martial arts stay with you.

I recently got the chance to catch up with my old training partner Paul, who I hadn’t seen in at least 15 years, and Mick, an instructor I first met at a seminar in Newcastle back in 2004.

That brought back a lot of memories.

My martial arts journey started when I was just 7 years old. I’m 46 now, and over those years I’ve seen countless people come and go from training. Some stop because of life, work, injuries, money, family or simply because their path takes them somewhere else.

And that’s just life.

We all take different roads on our martial arts journey. Some stay on the mats for decades, some take breaks, some never come back. But I think one of the most valuable things I’ve learned over all those years isn’t necessarily a technique, a belt, a title or a certificate.

It’s the people.

Knowledge is everywhere now. The internet has completely changed that. You can find techniques, seminars, instruction and information on almost anything with a few clicks.

But finding good, decent people to share the journey with is something different.

People you can train with, learn from, laugh with, disagree with, catch up with years later and still feel like no time has passed.

That’s what makes martial arts special to me.

And after nearly 40 years of training, my number one criteria for training partners,students and coaches remains pretty simple:

Don’t be a di****ad. 😂

Train hard.
Keep learning.
Help the people around you.
Respect the journey.
And, most importantly, surround yourself with good people.

The techniques might change. The arts might change. Our circumstances certainly change.

But the people and the memories can stay with you for a lifetime.

Morning Taijiquan by the Sea — Castletownbere

Each morning while I was in Castletownbere, I made time for my Taijiquan practice on the grass beside the sea.

My preference is to train barefoot on the grass, especially in the early morning when the light dew is still resting on it. There is something very grounding about feeling the earth beneath your feet as you move, breathe and settle into the practice.

After doing this regularly for the past few years, I have really come to appreciate the benefits it brings me. I find that it helps me quiet and calm my mind, while at the same time I feel my physical energy begin to rise. I also notice that I feel more mentally clear, focused and sharper afterwards.

There is something particularly special about practising beside the sea, surrounded by the natural landscape of Beara.

Bare feet. Fresh air. Morning light. Taijiquan. A simple way to begin the day.

Esoteric Elitism and the Creation of Specialness

Some traditional systems can unintentionally or deliberately create value by restricting access to information. When knowledge is presented as secret, exclusive, or available only to those who have reached a particular level, it can create a powerful psychological effect: rarity begins to feel like proof of effectiveness.

“Secret techniques,” “closed-door teachings,” and “advanced knowledge” can make students feel that they have been given access to something special. But it is worth asking:

Does exclusivity actually make a skill more effective or does it simply make the student feel more invested in the system?

There is an important distinction between developing genuine ability and developing a sense of identity around belonging to an exclusive group.

A healthy training environment should ultimately be able to demonstrate progress through things that can be observed: better timing, movement, understanding, decision-making (fight IQ), adaptability, pressure-testing and practical competence.

When progress instead becomes heavily dependent on gaining access to increasingly expensive courses, seminars, secret levels or private teachings, we should perhaps pause and ask:

Are we paying for genuine development, or are we paying for the feeling of being given something special?

This is where an environment can potentially become more focused on milking a person's money than developing their skill. The student may continue investing because each new piece of information is presented as the next missing key rather than being encouraged to develop, test and refine what they already know.

None of this means that traditional knowledge has no value, or that teachers who preserve and pass down specialised knowledge are necessarily acting in bad faith. Nor does exclusivity automatically mean something is ineffective.

But perhaps we should question the underlying assumption:

If a skill is genuinely effective, shouldn't its value ultimately be demonstrated by what the practitioner can actually do and not by how secret, expensive, ancient, or exclusive the teaching is?

The goal of training should surely be to become more capable, not merely more "special."

And perhaps that is a useful question for anyone involved in martial arts or any tradition built around specialised knowledge:

Am I developing a genuine skill, or am I developing an identity around possessing knowledge that other people don't have?

That is not an accusation.
It's simply a question worth asking.

Xingyiquan lung ying - this form developes the legs and ability to change and attack high and low.

6 years ago - getting the hard rounds in

Training over the weekend with Coach Mick Shore and his students that travelled over from the UK.

𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗲𝘀

After years of training with people from different systems, different instructors and practitioners of all levels, I've noticed something.

One of the biggest red flags for me is certainty.

Now don't get me wrong. If you're teaching a technique then you should be confident in what you're teaching.

The difference comes when that certainty goes beyond the technique itself.

Things like:

"This always works."

"That style is useless."

"My way is the correct way."

Or simply dismissing something without explaining why.

Those are the sort of comments that make me stop and think.

In my experience, people who've genuinely tested themselves under pressure don't usually speak like that.

That doesn't mean they don't have strong opinions. They do.

The difference is those opinions have usually been earned.

Instead of saying:

"That will never work."

They're more likely to say:

"I've never seen that work against someone who's really resisting."

Or:

"In my experience that's a low-percentage option because..."

Then they'll explain why.

Maybe they've tried it themselves.

Maybe they've seen it fail over and over in sparring or competition.

Maybe they've spent years pressure testing it with students.

Their opinion comes from experience, not assumption.

And if someone proves them wrong, they'll usually be interested rather than defensive.

I've noticed something else over the years.

The people with the most experience also tend to leave the door open.

Instead of saying:

"This is the only way."

They'll say:

"This is how I teach it."

Or:

"This works best for me."

Or:

"If this doesn't suit you, try this variation."

Sometimes they'll even say:

"I've never really got that version to work for me, but I've trained with people who do it very well."

Why?

Because they understand we're all different.

Some people are fast.

Some are strong.

Some have great timing.

Some have long reach.

Some are naturally more flexible.

Good instructors recognise that and help people build around their own strengths instead of trying to make everyone move exactly the same.

The same goes for styles.

The people I've respected the most have never felt the need to constantly put other martial arts down.

Not because they think every style is equal.

But because they've trained long enough to know every system has strengths, weaknesses and exceptional practitioners.

Combat isn't a script.

It's unpredictable.

It's messy.

Things go wrong.

Techniques fail.

People adapt.

The photo with this post is one of me losing.

I could have posted a photo of a win instead.

But the truth is, I've probably learned more from the days things didn't go my way than the days they did.

Losing has a way of stripping away ego.

It forces you to ask questions.

What did I miss?

What could I have done better?

What do I need to improve?

That's where real progress starts.

For me, that's what martial arts is really about.

Not finding techniques that never fail.

Learning how to adapt when they do.

That ability isn't built through success.

It's built through failure.

Through being caught.

Through realising what you thought would work... didn't.

Then having the honesty to ask why, adjust and keep improving.

Experience leaves clues.

One of the biggest clues I've found is this.

The people who've tested themselves the most are usually the least interested in speaking in absolutes.

They're confident in what they know.

Honest about what they don't.

And humble enough to know that no matter how long you've trained, there's always something left to learn.

A nice memory from 20 years ago.

This was from the Tix Richárd Memorial Cup (Tix Richárd Emlékkupa) National Championship, held in Hungary in 2006. On the day, I was awarded Most Technical Practitioner.

I competed in four events:
Beng Bo Quan
Empty Hand Form - I cant remember what set
Weapons Form - Spear
Sanda - Fighting

I always liked the idea behind this award. Rather than recognising a single event, it rewarded a well-rounded practitioner who could demonstrate technical ability across forms, weapons and sparring.

Looking back, it's one of the achievements I'm still pleased to have earned.

Morning Yoga and Qi Gong.

I’ve learned this inversion posture and its variations through both Yoga and Daoist Qi Gong. While each tradition has its own unique purpose and subtle differences, both agree on one thing:

Going upside down is profoundly good for your health, longevity, and spirituality.

"The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second-best time is now."
If you're humming and hawing about starting training, or getting back into it, just begin.
Time will pass before you know it, whether you start or not.
This is me training Baguazhang and with the gada around 5–6 years ago.

The garden may have changed, but I'm still here putting in the work. I still have so much to learn, and plenty of skills to sharpen, but I'm grateful I started all those years ago.

A few years from now, you'll be just as glad that you did.