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Sensei would exemplify and then we would attempt to match his example. He had gone first and there were at least eight, maybe ten attacking him. Because we thought Sensei was invincible, we would go all out and as hard as we could, trying to plant a strike.
He didn’t mess around either. It was like being hit with a Mac truck padded with cotton wool or the wind at the edge of a cyclone. But we’d get up as he’d taught us to, and re-attack again and again.
On this fine day I was one of the uke. I must make it clear, for the record, in those days we did not “TAKE” ukemi for Sensei. We ATTACKED with all our might using real attacks brought from other disciplines such as judo, karate, boxing etc. Simple as that.
And we would end up flying regardless. We would keep getting up and repeating until he finally called, “Yame!” We considered it a courtesy to attack as hard, fast and ruthlessly as possible, holding nothing back, so that Sensei could continue to improve himself. It was our obligation to him for so selflessly providing impeccable instruction.
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