We'll never produce an elite athlete again (and that's fine by us)
- Zoe Jagger-Hinis
- Apr 18
- 4 min read
Once upon a time, Goju Ryu Karate Centre was home to multiple national athletes, and a training base for athletes from other dojos, all coming for coaching under Ché's demanding terms. In this era, from about 2001, the dojo came to dominate the provincial scene, with many athletes going on to represent South Africa on a number of international karate stages. Ché himself was a national kumite athlete as well as a coach, on his own punishing routine of training and weight management. On Friday nights and Sunday mornings, you would find the team members doing extra training. And as late as 2017, Ché was still coaching the national Goju Ryu team for the WGKF championships.
But now, when you visit our dojo, you’ll see students of all abilities, of all ages, and all fitness levels, and growing more every year. No more Friday night and Sunday morning training, the dojo gates closed to the outside world. What changed? Why would we leave the glory and prestige of tournament karate?
Because being an elite athlete, and creating those elite athletes, requires a certain level of pathological obsession - everything must be done to the maximum, and the training is all-consuming. In the build-up to a big tournament, every day of the week is a training day. There’s travel to events, to seminars, and to competitions, both local and international. Every single contact session is intense, and the coach (because this is not the work of a sensei) must be equally demanding, and focused like a laser on every athlete’s progress. Every single move must be polished, every possible counter honed to perfection. In kumite, everything is split-second decision-making, coupled with ringcraft, temperament, weight management and incredible athleticism. Even kata competitors still need an edge in speed, power and BMT (big match temperament). There is no room for anything but the pursuit of excellence, and the medals and trophies to prove it.
In all of this, where is there time to nurture anyone else?
Over time, as Ché got older and moved into the next season of his life, of fatherhood and marriage, the time came for the dojo to adapt or die. Ché had already begun distancing himself from being closely involved with the tournament scene at all levels, and by the time 2015 rolled around, it was time to start focusing everything on authentic, Okinawan karate. And as superb a coach as he was, and still could be, what he’s really, really good at is Okinawan karate. It's not just me writing this as his wife - the success and following of our Youtube channel from practitioners all around the world is testament to his knowledge. His (long overdue) sixth dan, presented to him by the highest ranked Okinawan grandmasters in the world, is proof enough of his skill.
In this day and age, more than ever before, we need the best parts of karate. There needs to be a return to the original roots of traditional karate, which are as far removed from the goals of sports karate as possible: self-improvement for the sake of self-mastery. No medals, no timeline, no comparison with others. Just the quiet work that goes into traditional karate. With traditional karate, there is the opportunity for a long, rewarding journey, training for longevity, good health, emotional balance and mental fortitude. The sensei is a guide on that path, but ultimately the student is responsible for their own journey and growth.
We believe that karate really is for everyone, though the coveted black belt is reserved for the precious few that stick it out long enough and train hard enough to get it. But for 95% of people, a few months or a few years of karate can still make all the difference in their lives. This difference is what we work for now. It’s seeing the painfully shy child come out of their shell. The impulsive kid learning to control their body and temper. The physically weak adult growing stronger and gaining strength and flexibility they never knew they had. Teens discovering a love of teaching and mentorship. The extra little lessons we teach, like basic first aid, which has been used to help someone at home or school. And my personal favourite: kids standing up to the school bully and ending their torment on their terms.
We have hundreds of stories like this, and it is our great joy and privilege to create a dojo that is both a soft landing and a place for growth. We attract parents who want what's best for their children, knowing that they are never going to wear the green and gold of a national athlete. (And it means we don’t attract what I call PTPs - pushy tournament parents.)
Gone are the days when GRKC was famous for being one of the hardest, most grueling tournament dojos in Joburg. We still train hard, and we still have high standards for our students, of course. Our students pride themselves on how hard they work, and we still push them out of their comfort zone into their growth zone. But now everyone can train hard to their best level, rather than national athlete level. Now there’s space for the moms getting back into training after years off. Now there’s space for kids with physical and learning disabilities, who need karate the most. Now we have a wonderful group of adults, who have made great friends and found a new third space to enjoy. When we see our students’ joy, their individual progress, it confirms what we have always believed: karate can change your life, if you put in the work.
So, yes, no one is coming to us because they want to be a Protea anymore. That’s okay, because a dojo can’t survive on just Proteas. A dojo grows and thrives when everyone works together towards their own individual goals, without the punishing nature of elite training. And most importantly, our students can enjoy karate for a much, much longer time, for all the right reasons.
PS: This blog post was lovingly handwritten, because who needs AI when you have a BA in English?
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