London Copperbox Arena, Olympic Park.
29th March 2014
P Flaw
I had what
could politely be described as an “anxious” week in the build up to my latest
grading. Bitten nails, lack of sleep, fear of failure and just to rub salt in
it…a cold four days beforehand meaning I would wake up at 4am coughing, with my
face resembling a half melted candle.
Practitioner
3 had been initiation into the “Big Boys Club”.
P4 was
fighting for the right to remain there.
I was in two
minds up until the Dress Rehearsal that KMM ran last week, as to whether I
should postpone my grading until October. I had no fear of humiliation if I was
to fail after going in fully prepped. However I did not wish to go in half cocked
and crash out just because of wanting the extra bar on my patch.
After the confidence
boost from the pre-grading workshop the demons of despair decided to give me a
mild dose of the common cold. As working out or exercising while ill is a minefield
at the best of times, I worked out a strategy of only going to two classes in
the run up to the grading AND not going at all on the day preceding it. This
turned out to be a good idea as my body had time to recover and my mind was
more or less clear of Kravvy thoughts on the Friday.
One of the
big scares in the build up was knowing that the chief examiner on the day would
be Zeev Cohen. Master level 1/ Expert level 6. One of my club’s instructors had
passed his Kids Instructor’s course with Zeev as a tutor and said how good but
also how focused on perfecting the techniques Zeev is.
So…a face full
of phlegm, not 100% confident on passing and the number 2 for Krav Maga Global
would be there on the day.
To put it
mildly…I was bit nervous.
Due to
problems with the Birmingham venue at the October 2013 grading, KMG UK had
decided to hold only three in England this time. One in London, one in
Bristol and one in Penrith. I chose London but most of KMM seemed destined for Bristol. Luckily
two guys were heading down for P4 as well and we pooled a car to head down.
Morning of
the grading finally came to dawning with all the speed of continental drift. I
had to drive for an hour to where my mate lives to share the ride but my Sat
Nav decided to throw a tantrum about 10 miles from his house. Instead of simply
flashing up “Location Unknown” it kept taking me to obscure villages and three
left turns in a row (i.e. a circle). I finally rocked up about 45 minutes later
swearing my head off and the three of us piled in his 4x4 and headed off to
London.
When we got
the venue we had over an hour to spare. The Copperbox Arena is a hangover from
the last Olympics and a well designed and vast complex. We headed up to watch
the P1 and P2 guys going through their paces in the final stages of their
grading.
To see such
a vast amount of people in one place ALL being tested took my breath away.
There had been about 50 Practitioners at my P1 grading in October 2012 but here
there were 100+, all going through the motions while 6 examiners walked around with
white polo shirts and clipboards marking down scores. Zeev himself was blending
in well, with a blue jacket on, and not standing out at all. As he was roaming
around the hall checking people out and watching ground releases, it made it
clear that he was taking this seriously as were everyone else.
When things
finally wrapped up for P1 and P2 they separated into two groups and awaited
their fate. We were told that individual feedback was to be given this time
along with your percentage score.
Our
registration opened and we queued up to be handed a number that need to be
pinned to the back of our t-shirts and an endearing “Yanilov dollar” that
allowed us £5 off any KMG merchandise purchased that day from the store to the
side of the room.
As the clock
ticked ever nearer to our proposed start time we assembled on the other side of
the curtain dividing the hall and went through a few stretches and techniques.
Everyone was looking nervous and we could hear rounds of applause and names
being called out as our predecessors collected their patches and certificates.
I got chatting to two guys from a London club and one was showing me some last
minute wrist grab releases.
A few
endearing urban myths about Zeev were doing the rounds while we waited. One was
that he’d once walked into a P4 grading and failed everybody in the room after 10 minutes
with only the words “Not aggressive enough!" before walking out again. My emotions were clearly showing on my
face when one guy looked at me and smiled, saying “Don’t worry about it, it’s
all just bullshit.”
We started
about an hour later than we thought we would but as there were (thankfully) no
clocks on the walls, we didn’t really mind beyond wanting the stomach
butterflies to get lost. We were told to form four lines, with pairs facing
each other making two tunnels of partners. I was without a grading buddy as
my two mates had partnered each other. After yelling “Anyone need a partner?” I
got introduced to a really friendly French guy named Ian who was 56 and a
former boxer. Said he’d been doing Krav for about 5 years but had been slow on
taking the gradings.
Once we had
our places marked out we were told to remember where we were standing and Jon
Bullock called us over with a microphone (room was THAT big, he needed one). There
appeared to be about 150 of us, most going for P4. He asked us to shout out how
we felt right now. Answers ranged from “positive” and “determined” to “nervous”
and “scared”. Jon pointed out that the answers were both negative and positive
and then said:
“Turn to the person next to you and
you have 30 seconds to tell them EXACTLY how you feel right now, then it’s
their turn. GO!”
Ian was
nearest to me so I blurted out my fears and phobias and anxiety while he smiled
and nodded reassuringly. Then he told me that he wanted to pass but it was not the end of the world for him but he
was a little nervous.
Jon then
pointed out that our faces looked a little different now. His next tool to
boost our positive energy was to tell us: “Now
tell the person nearest to you what passing this grading will mean to you. GO!”
Same again
and by the time we’d finished some people were even laughing. Jon said that
this had changed the mood and added that success is 80% motivation and 20%
physical. He then added the finishing touch which was that we were to stand up
and assure our partners that they WOULD pass and we knew and believed in them.
Cue a lot of smiling and hugging and claps on the back. Feeling a lot more
confident and relaxed I took my place opposite Ian and finally we kicked off.
Due to the
sheer amount of people (50 or so in P4 and the rest spread between 3 and 5) we
had to wait a while before we had an examiner walk up to assess us. We were
told to practice the moves relevant to the level at about 50 to 60% and only to
go “hammer and tongs” if the examiner was with us.
Me and Ian
were the second to last pair on our row and when we got to choke hold releases
the examiner made Ian grab me again, saying “Don’t
try to be a friend. Grab him properly now!” We did the moves and then moved
on to stick and knife attacks plus bears hugs while constantly refreshing
techniques and keeping a crafty eye open for what was going on just down the
row, as our examiner moved closer and was asking people to show specific
movements and releases.
When our
technical abilities were finally done and dusted, we got called into a huddle and
told to put on shin guards, forearm guards, gum shields and MMA gloves. We were
all tired by this point, which the examiners blatantly knew and one said, “Here’s where you have to suck it all up.”
We were told to fight for 2 minutes with hands only, then 2 with feet only,
then 2 with hands and feet, then finally 2 with a stick or knife nearby to
attack our opponent with. Each round had to be a new partner.
I knew from
the milling we’d had on P3 that this would be hard but I’d forgotten just how
exhausting this type of thing can be. My first two rounds weren’t so bad and by
the time we got to “hands and feet” I’d chosen a partner who knew how to box so
he caught me a few meaty smackers in the
jaw. By the time we got to the final session I was with a guy who grappled with
me and I lost my left contact lens. He was a gent and paused when I told him,
but I realised I wouldn’t be able to find it let alone put it back in so just
carried on. Same dude then dislodged my gum shield which I decided not to
retrieve either. Big mistake as his next punch chipped one of my front teeth. I
finally managed to clinch with him and punched him up close a few times before
the much appreciated “STOP!” was shouted
across the hall
Guessing we
were far from finished I wasn’t surprised when we were told to put on 16oz full
boxing gloves and go again. The examiner said: “We have about 15 minutes left, we hope to get as many rounds in as we
can. 2 minutes again, change partners each time but feel free to try and take
your partner to the floor. Punch him a little bit, then get up and fight again.”
We were now
resembling combat-ready versions of The Walking Dead and as we began to fight
you could hear the panting and groaning. While I was fighting I tried a tackle
but realised that unless my opponent was as tired as me and not much stronger,
then chances are I wouldn’t get him down. Then the opportunity arose when I saw
two people come tumbling down behind him, which he hadn’t noticed. Seizing the
moment I shoved him over them both and followed him down. A roving examiner
watched us tussle for a few seconds then yelled, “GET UP AGAIN! FIGHT!” GET UP!”
As we
changed partners again I could feel my arms and legs getting heavier. I knew we
were being judged on aggression and resilience and was determined not to give
in. While scrapping this time a guy wandered up and began punching me, despite
the fact that I already had a partner. I had enough mental function left to
realise he was the “odd number” from when we’d started and had been told to
roam around and randomly pick on existing pairs.
The examiner
finally stopped the fighting and had another surprise for us. We now had to
fight for 2 minutes BUT it was to be groups of 3 with 2 against 1. I felt a
gentle tug on my arm and it was my buddy from KMM, who jerked his head to
indicate I should join them. As we kicked off it was simply a case of fighting through
the fatigue and remembering not to get cornered or “go between them.” When the
fighting was finally over we had one final surprise waiting for us.
“OK everyone. To finish: 60 push ups;
60 crunches; 60 squats and 60 burpies.”
The groaning
was audible and one brave soul panted, “16?”
The examiner
grinned and went, “Nice try, no. SIXTY!”
I managed
all the push ups, crunches and squats, but lost the ability to remember my own
name by the time I got to the burpies (think I probably maxed out at about 40
before I fell face down on the floor).
We then stumbled
over to get water and peel off our sodden protective gear while we recovered,
wolfed down a banana or a granola bar, and waited to hear our fate.
P3 and P5
got their results first as they were smaller groups. After about an hour the
examiners apologised for keeping us waiting and invited us to sit on the floor around
them to hear our scores. There was much grunting and creaking of joints as sore
bodies were lowered to the gymnasium floor.
He made it
clear that there were three results. A pass, a technical pass and a fail. A technical
pass meant that while you had achieved the minimum grade of 70% or more, you
were lacking in one or more things that they felt you should improve on to satisfaction,
before you would be awarded your certificate. Bottom line was that you had
passed BUT your own club’s instructors would have to sign you off as competent
in the grey areas and THEN give you your patch.
As the
numbers were read out, people raised their hands and the scores were given. A
guy behind me was one of the first names called and had achieved 92%. He was
beaming, clearly over the moon and the examiners congratulated him on having
the highest score. One of my mates was called next and had a high score of 82%.
I though he was through and clear when the examiner then added that he needed
to be reassessed on bear hugs.
Before long
someone was told they “need to retest”. On previous, smaller gradings this was
done privately beforehand, with people being taken to one side and informed
they had failed. This time the information was given flatly and the examiner
then moved on. It was bad seeing the hurt and disappointment on people’s faces
and as my name hadn’t been read out yet I could feel my nerves jangling once more.
My partner
Ian had the second highest score of 91% and was congratulated personally. My
number was next and I was optimistic of a similar score until the examiner said
“73%, you need to retake stick defences.” I nodded my acknowledgment and was
monumentally relieved to have passed while still narked off to have to wait
before I could get the sewing kit out once I got home.
There were
so many people who had to retake stick defences that the examiner eventually
started saying something like “Number
253? 78%. Sticks” and then moving on without elaborating. Of the 50 or so
people at around me, roughly 20 passed outright, 20 passed but had to be
reassessed on one area back at their club and 10 or 11 failed. This was the
hardest grading I’d been to where the expectations were set at a very high
level.
Finally we
applauded as the guys went up to collect their patches and certificates and
then made our way out. It was only then that I noticed Zeev Cohen again who was
chatting with Jon Bullock near the doors. He’d taken personal charge of
overseeing the P5 gradings and hadn’t taken part in our assessments. As I
looked back into the vast hall, the edges were littered with empty mineral
water bottles, chocolate bar wrappers and the odd banana skin.
I rang Al, one
of our club’s instructors to tell him we’d passed and asked if we could do the reassessments
the following Monday in 2 days. He laughed and reassured me not to worry and
congratulated us all on getting through.
We piled
into the nearest service station on the M40 for something to eat and I can’t
remember the last time I’ve finished 2 bags of chips, a double chicken ‘n’
bacon burger, a big piece of fried chicken, a pot of baked beans and a litre of
Tango before.
This was an
emotionally and physically draining experience. A week with little sleep.
Training with a cold. Fingernails bitten till they bled. Stress. Anxiety. Lost
contact lens. Lost gum shield. Chipped tooth. Exhaustion. Bruising. AND a resit of stick defences to come.
It was worth
it.
Bring on P5.