“How you feeling?”
If you don’t know the answer to that question, then it’s time to show up for the next 12‑hour workout. Born from the legendary 24‑hour sessions, this tradition pushes you right to the edge of your limits.

It started earlier than I would have preferred these days, and colder than I’m used to. Regardless, everyone showed up ahead of time — alert, buzzing, and ready for action. Some were fueled by excitement to push themselves and reach new levels of achievement. Others, of whom were not yet initiated into the tradition, carried a mix of anxiousness and anticipation, eager to finally experience what their peers had been raving about all year.

As always, the first 20 minutes followed the ritual set by Grandmaster Ron — longstrides to the longest remix of “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” by Santa Esmeralda. With GM Ron himself in attendance, the group dove into his signature drills and absorbed his insights on training harder, smarter, and with intention. Those early hours set the tone.

Then came Great Grandmaster Juarez, the architect of these legendary training marathons. He challenged and bewildered everyone with drills built from deceptively simple techniques — the kind that look easy until they completely disrupt your rhythm and scramble your thought process. For the higher ranks, it was a humbling reminder that mastery always circles back to the basics.

Afterward, Sensei Donavan led the group through foundational techniques from our system, drawing from his focused background in Danzan‑Ryū Jūjitsu. His precision and clarity helped reset the mind and body after the chaos of the previous session, grounding everyone in the fundamentals of falling.

And finally, I had the pleasure to close out the day with more than six hours of Pinyan 13 — a true “chop‑suey” of variations drawn from across the Gaylord Method. Step by step, we unpacked each sequence and its alternate applications, peeling back the layers of technique while also diving into historical context along the way. Go on, ask me about the Shoto Chop.

We ended the same way we began – longstrides, but this time, somewhere halfway through, it got quiet. Looking around the room, you could see the concentration on everyone’s faces as we reflected on the ordeal we put ourselves through. In the last two minutes, you could see many who were struggling through exhaustion and/or pain. Some began to cry, but everyone started encouraging each other not to quit, not to give up. And that right there – ‘that’ almost made me cry. It was a fitting way to end an already demanding day of training. One unit, one family. ʻOhana.

And if reading this leaves you wondering how you would hold up… well, you already know where you need to be next time.