The Way of the Intercepting Fist

Bruce Lee's symbolf for Jeet Kune Do. Photo credit: mma-academy.co.uk

            Like a many other martial artists, I owe my martial arts career largely to the inspiration, charisma, and talent of Bruce Lee. It was his incredible, dynamic energy that drew me in; an incredible mixture of ferocity and tranquility, of strength and intellect, warrior and philosopher. Lee wasn't a hulking brute--in fact he was almost exactly my size--but nor was he some mystical monk with a flowing fu manchu and seemingly supernatural powers. Lee was logical, scientific, and straight-forward about his study; he achieved great mastery through hard training and open-mindedness. He was adamant that anyone else coudl do the same. Like so many others, I was inspired by his modern philosophy.
            Though I had always been more bookish and intellectually inclined, it was not until I learned about Bruce Lee that I began to take physical endeavors more seriously. It started with lifting weights and physical conditioning, then moved on into reading his books, and progressed into an insatiable appetite for training; whatever style, technique, or school would take me. Whatever art or system I studied after that, Bruce Lee’s philosophies, the core ideas of Jeet Kune Do, were always in the back of my mind; simplify, keep what is useful, discard what is useless, use whatever is effective, and don’t be limited by rules, have “no style” so you can match with “all styles”; don’t limit yourself with rules, orthodoxies, or barriers.

In all my time studying martial arts I received only very limited direct training in Jeet Kune Do, starting with less than a year of infrequent classes with a private instructor who had been teaching a friend, and later former JKD students I met through other martial arts. While I studied the arts I had the time and resources to practice throughout college—primarily Aikido, Tang Soo Do, and bits of wrestling and Brazilian Jiujitsu—I was constantly tucking things away in my mental arsenal, assessing what parts would work best as part of a more total system. As I gained more knowledge and experience, I was able to start teaching myself from Lee’s books without the fear of learning totally incorrectly, and gradually refined techniques with experience. Through all this, I have eagerly awaited a chance to train at a genuine JKD school.

Jeet Kune Do has always been the “sought after” system for many martial artists; it is—with the exception of Bartitsu—the first popular fusion of Eastern and Western martial arts and philosophies, and has gained almost mythical status from the legendary prestige of its founder. Yet, with a focus on self defense instead of competition, it did not gain nearly the popularity of the Mixed Martial Arts; besides this, Lee’s untimely death left a dearth of qualified teachers, which makes good schools even harder to find.

It’s not hard to imagine my excitement when a friend of mine at Princeton University mentioned that his girlfriend was studying Jeet Kune Do at a school in town, and that when I came to visit I was welcome to attend a class. I was beside myself with excitement, and was browsing the web for the school’s website days in advance of my trip. The school, Princeton Academy of the Martial Arts (PAMA) featured lessons in nearly a half-dozen styles ranging from Muay Thai to Kali. The head instructor, Rick Tucci, had certifications in more martial arts than I had ever heard of, and most importantly had direct lineage to Lee himself, through one of Lee’s most well-known students, Dan Inosanto.

                By the time I walked in the door on a rainy evening in Princeton with a pair of friends, my excitement had been blended with nervousness; would my “dream art” be all I had imagined it to be, now that I could study with professionals? Would techniques I practiced years ago, or taught myself independently deliver when I put them to the test?

                My friends and I met one of the assistant instructors, who explained to us that though Sifu Tucci was out of town, they would have instructors to teach a basics class for my two friends, and if I liked I could attend the advanced class. We then got a tour of one of the most impressive schools I have ever seen. Not only did their facility host two large training floors, a small store, offices, mens and womens locker rooms, a kitchen, and a weight room, but the entire place was beautifully decorated with cultural icons that I’d expect to see in a traditional school in nearly any other Asian country. Buddhist statues and calligraphies, traditional weapons and shrines from Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, Thai, and  other cultures littered the walls, interspersed with pictures of students and teachers, certificates. I was particularly thrilled to see a reprinted photo of some late 19^th century gentlemen practicing Bartitsu. One wall in the main training room sported a huge image of the Beatles, and another in the lobby displayed the daunting array of Sifu Tucci’s rank and teaching certificates from at least a dozen martial arts associations.

               Not to get too carried away by the scenery, I restrained my staring and admiration at the library of books on JKD and other martial arts in their shop and headed to the locker room to change. By the time I was done, class was about to begin, and as I walked out on the main training floor I was immediately greeted by the teacher of the advanced class, easily recognizable in the instructor’s uniform of a smart black polo shirt and sport pants. He introduced himself as Mike Lee (no relation), and interviewed me excitedly about my previous training, even remarking that he used to train at Sityodtong Boston in the early `90’s. Class started with some complex bowing that I assumed was derived from Wing Chun training, and that I did my best to emulate, but it was over before I got too far, and had other things to worry about.

To my delight, we practiced a number of traditional Wing Chun techniques, including straight center punches, parries, and knife hands (the Cantonese for these escapes me) and I loved the compact, quick, and explosive feel of the movements. I soon gathered, however, that we were not there to practice Wing Chun; we were there to practice Jeet Kune Do, and that was an entirely different thing; as Lee frequently described it, it is a dynamic, active, and explosive art. As the practice continued, I was reminded again and again of things I had read repeatedly in Lee’s writings, and was thrilled to see how well the school seemed to adhere to Lee’s teachings.

(Bruce) Lee spoke and wrote about making practice “alive” and preventing stagnation by any means necessary; given his distaste for conventional training, it was said he tended to play music during his practices to prevent too much navel-gazing seriousness and instead encourage the type of dynamic action he expected from Jeet Kune Do. Our practice intensified accordingly as we spent a solid chunk of time practicing freestyle footwork (Lee expressed in several books that footwork, above else, could not be overemphasized in its importance) and moving about the space as quickly as possible, avoiding other students while trying to cover ground, shift direction, and control our equilibrium. This and the rest of the class went on to an upbeat soundtrack prominently featuring the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and I’ll be the first to admit that this rather unconventional training technique did keep the pace of the class up and prevent too much thinking. Further, it helped establish what Lee always called “rhythm”, a dynamic awareness of spacing and timing in martial movements which makes effectiveness without the need for conscious thought and analysis.

After spending at least ten minutes on shadowboxing and footwork alone (according to Bruce Lee, two of the most important elements of good martial art) we broke into small groups and began practicing striking combinations demonstrated by Mike. I watched Mike’s hands fly through techniques which combined trapping, beating, and pulling techniques from Wing Chun with the cross, hook, and uppercut from Western boxing and an array of snapping and pushing kicks. I was excited to practice mixing techniques from various disciplines I had studied over the years, and until then hadn’t truly realized just how confining it felt to be restricted to, say, backfists and reverse-punches in Tang Soo Do, or just jabs, hooks and elbows in Muay Thai.

Now, we were stringing together techniques that I had picked up from many arts throughout the years; a hammerfist might fly out after an uppercut, a snapping heel kick after a cross, etc. as we practiced what I remembered were key techniques of Jeet Kune Do, including “jamming the attack”, applying a “stop hit” to counter an incoming blow, trapping, weaving, and so on. We moved on to padwork next, and I was delighted to practice techniques from JKD that had been neglected by other striking arts; above all, a personal favorite of mine, the hopping side kick.

More or less interchangeable with a back-kick depending on the angle, this particular technique was almost entirely responsible for drawing me to martial arts in the first place. I’ll never forget watching Lee send a padholder flying into a stack of cardboard boxes in “Return of the Dragon”, or the ample footage from demonstrations where he would use the kick to send a heavy bag flying like it had been hit by a truck. The directness, the aggressive explosiveness of the movement has always fascinated me, not to mention the power when used correctly. There is ample footage of Lee showing the power one can achieve when applying the technique correctly, putting the whole force of the body behind it.

We finished the class with some light sparring drills defending from a leg kick. Defense started with the types of blocks and kick-returns I had learned from Muay Thai, but gradually progressed to a handful of intercepting kicks to the knee, pelvis and chest. One of my favorite lessons was in transitioning between ranges; specifically, we learned to bridge between kicking range to striking range, from striking range to trapping range, and from trapping to grappling range by applying a rear naked choke.

 

The lack of rules, customs, or limited repertoires of techniques was as liberating and exciting as I think Bruce Lee would have wanted it. Throughout my time at PAMA, I continually felt like disparate techniques and movements from my past training in other martial arts were being brought together and synthesized in a more complete, cohesive framework. I could see them all in context with one another, which was an even better feeling than learning an entirely new technique.

When the class drew to a close, we bowed together as a class and thanked our partners amidst a feeling of camaraderie and good cheer; the attitude of my fellow students was relaxed and intense throughout, and when training was over people were eager to introduce themselves and talk to me about the training. Unfortunately, my friends and I were late for our dinner plans, and had to leave in a bit of a hurry; I’m already looking forward to the next time I can visit PAMA. Though many fear that Lee’s art died with him, I am confident that it lives on in schools like this one, where not only the skills and techniques but the attitude of the style are preserved. Studying at the Princeton Academy of Martial Arts, one sees the Way of the Intercepting Fist as Lee saw it; dynamic, intense, all-encompassing and liberating.