 More lessons from the 2025 Body Armor North Carolina State Games. As always, it was about far more than medals; it was a chance to see character revealed under pressure.
I left with more pride than any medal could bring, watching two powerful examples of the kind of young men we’re shaping in our dojo. I also left reminded of why our emphasis on character is so critical, after witnessing the flip side in a competitor who may not yet understand the deeper meaning of what we do. Trey’s Sportsmanship Two of our teen students, Trey and Henry, worked their way up the brackets to face each other for first place in sparring. The match was tight, 4 to 3, when Trey threw a kick that Henry blocked, but unfortunately, the force dislocated and fractured Henry’s index finger. Though Henry wanted to continue (the kind of warrior spirit we love to see), the officials had to stop the match. Trey was awarded the gold. Now, Trey and Henry have a friendly, competitive rivalry back home in the dojo. But they’re also friends, brothers in training. Without hesitation, Trey took the gold medal that he had just been awarded and gave it to Henry. Why? Because Henry didn’t have the chance to finish the competition. In that moment, Trey showed that sportsmanship isn’t just a word we throw around, it’s a value we instill and live out. His gesture spoke volumes about humility, empathy, and perspective, qualities that will serve him long after the thrill of competition fades. Jay’s Grit and Resilience Shortly after, it was our son Jay’s turn. Jay’s always been small for his age; he often looks like he’s giving up years and many pounds to his opponents. But he steps onto that mat like he’s a giant. In his match for first place, the score was tied 4 to 4; next point would decide everything. His opponent launched a spinning side kick that landed flush to Jay’s liver. Jay crumbled to the mat, struggling to breathe. I picked him up and told him something I’ve told countless students over the years: “It’s not about whether you get knocked down. It’s about whether you get back up. Win or lose, finish.” Jay returned to the center. The referee gave his opponent a warning for excessive contact, and the match restarted. Jay delivered a textbook right-leg side kick to his opponent’s ribs to win the match. Seeing him stand back up, push through the pain, and finish; that’s the kind of resilience that matters not just in competition, but in every arena of life. Whether it’s a setback in school, work, or relationships, he’s learning that toughness of mind and spirit matter more than physical size. A Lack of Discipline and Respect After the match, Jay extended his hand, as we teach all of our students to do, win or lose. His opponent refused to shake it, turned his back, and walked off. It’s moments like this that concern me. Because winning isn’t just about who scores more points; it’s about who you become through the process. That young competitor’s lack of respect and discipline isn’t just a breach of martial arts etiquette. It hints at lessons he’s either not being taught, or not embracing yet. Without respect and humility, even the most talented athlete risks becoming someone who struggles in life off the mat; someone who can’t handle setbacks or share in another’s victory. That’s why our dojo has never just been about punching and kicking. It’s why we emphasize courtesy, humility, perseverance, and integrity in every class. The Bigger Picture Sportsmanship, grit, respect, discipline…these aren’t just tournament day lessons. They’re lifelong assets. Whether it’s Trey showing compassion to a friend, Jay finding the will to get up and finish what he started, or even that competitor’s refusal to shake hands, each moment is a glimpse into the kind of men these boys are becoming. At our dojo, we use martial arts as the vehicle to build these traits, because we know the real victories come years down the road: in how our students handle challenges, how they treat others, and how they stand back up after life knocks the wind out of them.
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 This past weekend, I took several of our students to compete at the North Carolina State Games. While we were waiting for the competition to start, I found myself talking with two of our young black belts, both 16, who’ve been training with me since they were about six years old.
They asked me how many belts I’ve earned in different martial arts over the years. I explained that belts can mark milestones, but they don’t determine a martial artist’s true skill. It’s the time, sweat, and heart you put into your training that does that. Then one of them, half-joking, asked: “Does the man wear the belt, or does the belt wear the man?” It might have started as a playful question, but it’s actually one of the deepest things you could ask, whether in martial arts or in life. I told them that it’s easy to get caught up in the hype and prestige of a black belt. But it’s just as easy to get lost in the excitement of being captain of the football team, landing that management position at work, or even holding public office. There’s an old saying: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” With every position comes responsibility. The higher you climb, the more humility you need. Titles can start to shape people in ways they never intended — or worse, consume them completely. So I told them: “It’s not the belt that makes the person. It’s who you are without it that really counts.” Because leadership isn’t about the rank on your chest, the title on your office door or the color of your belt. Those things might show others what you’ve accomplished, but they should never define who you are. True character shows up when there’s no ceremony, no crowd, no applause. That’s where leadership really lives. And I reminded them: Leadership isn’t about the belt. It’s about the person wearing it. So don’t ever let a title consume who you are. Let your character guide how you handle the title.  There’s a story I carry with me, one I’ve told often in my dojo, in leadership seminars, and even in quiet conversations with friends who feel like giving up. It’s about concrete, yes; but more than that, it’s about mindset. In June 2018, I was conducting a black belt test. I’ve done that for over 20 years. That day, one adult student was testing, Ryan. Ryan’s a good man, built like a tank: 5’10” or so, about 230 pounds. Strong. Dedicated. A friend, and someone I respect deeply. After 4 to 5 hours of testing, he was physically spent. But there was one final challenge left: breaking a 2-inch concrete patio block. Now, physics would tell you that a man of Ryan’s size and strength could, and should, be able to break that block easily. But physics doesn’t account for fear, hesitation, or the internal dialogue we all battle when we’re tired and unsure. He struck the block with a palm heel once. Nothing. Again. Nothing. A third time. Still nothing but the sharp sound of his hand smacking unyielding concrete. I saw it in his eyes; that look I knew all too well. It took me back 25 years to my own pre-test practice session. Same block. Same outcome. I hit it again and again… and walked away without ever breaking it until test day. It wasn’t about technique. It wasn’t about strength. It was about the mental block I couldn’t see but could definitely feel. Ryan was in that same place. So I changed the break. I asked him to use an elbow strike instead of a palm heel. Slightly more difficult from a technique standpoint. But there was a catch: the elbow strike would force him to turn sideways…to take his eyes off the block. That shift changed everything. With one clean strike, he not only shattered the patio block but broke through the cinder blocks beneath it. Because the moment he stopped staring at the obstacle, his mind stopped limiting him. The Leadership Lesson As leaders, whether of people, teams, or even just ourselves; there’s a block we all face. Sometimes it’s external. Often, it’s internal. We fail once or twice and start telling ourselves we can’t. That it’s too hard. That maybe we weren’t meant for this. But the truth is, what stops us is not the block, it’s the belief that we can’t break through it. What helped Ryan wasn’t a new technique, it was a new perspective. He stopped focusing on the problem and started trusting the training. The shift in his eyes mirrored a shift in his mind. And that’s where breakthrough happens. What I Believe
Ryan earned his black belt that day, and later, his third-degree black belt. More importantly, he became one of the best students I’ve ever had. And one of the best men I know. And in case you’re wondering: I broke my patio block on the first try during my test. Not because I was stronger. But because I believed I could.   Years ago, while stationed at Incirlik Air Base in Turkey, I was dispatched to a loud noise complaint alongside a young K-9 officer. We arrived at the residence and could hear the music before we even got to the door.
As the senior patrolman, I gave the K-9 officer the opportunity to initiate contact. I hung back in an overwatch position. When the door opened, the odor of alcohol hit immediately. The resident was clearly intoxicated—slurred speech, unsteady posture. As the K-9 officer explained why we were there, the man cut him off mid-sentence, hurled a few expletives, and slammed the door in his face. At that moment, everything changed. As the senior patrolman, I stepped forward and knocked again. When he opened the door, I noticed his stance; left hand on the knob, right on the frame. I grabbed his right arm at the elbow, pulled it toward me, and pushed his left shoulder inward. He stumbled out and I pressed him against the exterior wall. He resisted, but we were able to take him into custody without further incident. That was a leadership decision—not a reaction. The door slam made the situation dangerous. I had no idea what was waiting inside. It was no longer a noise complaint: it was a threat assessment. The K-9 officer with me, though capable, had little experience handling moments like that. I had to act. Here’s why this story matters: This wasn’t about aggression. It was about decisive control to prevent escalation. That’s why I train law enforcement the way I do. I teach that control must be established early; through tone, posture, and presence. And when it’s time to go hands-on, you move with purpose and intent. Half-measures create danger, not only for the officer but also for the subject and the public. In that moment, I didn’t rely on brute strength. I relied on training. On awareness. On clarity under pressure. It was martial arts. It was military discipline. It was leadership…all in one move. My training philosophy is built around three things:
“Control isn’t something you use on others—it’s something you master within yourself.” — Cliff Kinchen  I didn’t have mentors growing up.
No coaches guiding me. No family members walking me through life’s decisions. I had Detroit—and the reality that if I was going to make it, I’d have to make myself. People hear “Detroit” and picture poverty, violence, and hardship. And yes, I saw that. I lived it. But the city didn’t break me. It built the first version of who I had to become. What most people don’t understand is this: Hardship doesn’t determine your outcome. Your decisions do. And more than that: your discipline does. I didn’t grow up with structure. I chose it. I found it in martial arts. I strengthened it in the military. And I refined it through leadership roles, college classrooms, and countless moments of pressure. The discipline I gained through martial arts became my foundation. The structure I found in the military gave me stability. And the leadership I learned, both through hardship and formal training; helped me take all of it and turn it outward: to lead, to teach, and to give others a path forward. I didn’t become a leader because someone handed me a position. I became a leader because I had to lead myself when no one else would. Detroit gave me grit. Martial arts gave me discipline. The military gave me clarity. But leadership? That came from everything; from learning how to show up when it was hard, speak up when it was risky, and stand firm when quitting would’ve been easier. I don’t carry resentment about where I come from. I carry responsibility. That’s why I teach the way I do. That’s why I expect more from my students. Because I’ve seen what’s possible—not from perfect conditions, but from pressure and resilience.  Over the past 30 years as a martial arts instructor, I’ve sat on countless black belt testing boards and led many tests myself. But there’s one test I’ve never forgotten: my own. It was December, cold, and I had been sick for days. There was no crowd. No family. No music or motivational cheering. Just me, my instructor, and eight black belts standing across from me, ready to spar. That day wasn’t about performance. It wasn’t for show. It was a private test of my physical ability, mental toughness, and personal grit. That experience shaped how I’ve conducted black belt tests ever since. In our dojo, no family or friends are allowed to watch the test itself. They’re welcome to come after, to celebrate when the student earns the belt, but not during. That part is earned in silence, pressure, and solitude. This benefits adults just as much as children. Facing challenges without a safety net builds self-trust, emotional endurance, and clarity under pressure—skills that translate directly into leadership, relationships, and real-world resilience. Whether you’re 10 or 40, learning to stand alone strengthens who you are. Some may find this approach controversial, especially in a world where parents want to be present for every moment. But here’s the truth: We can love our kids so much that we unintentionally weaken them. Helicopter parenting, though well-intentioned, robs children of the chance to build confidence through adversity. And black belt testing is adversity. It’s supposed to be hard. It’s meant to stretch a student to the edge of their limits. Why? Because life will do the same. When we remove every obstacle or soften every blow, we teach our children to depend on us instead of discovering their own strength. I want our students to know that when the pressure is on and the crowd is gone, they can rely on themselves. Of course, I hope every parent lives to be 150 years old. But the reality is, one day they won’t be there. And when that day comes, the greatest gift we can give our children is the confidence that they can handle hard things. That’s what the black belt test is really about.   In my years as a martial artist, Air Force leader, and leadership coach, I’ve learned that strength doesn’t come from being constantly unsatisfied—it comes from knowing how to balance peace with purpose.
I shared this with my daughter Payton when she was 16: “Be content, be grateful, but never settle…EVER.” Contentment means appreciating where you are without being trapped by where you’ve been. Gratitude reminds you that every step, every hardship, and every person in your life has shaped you. But settling? That’s where growth stops. That’s where dreams stall. That’s where excuses start sounding like reasons. Whether in the dojo, the military, or the boardroom, I’ve seen what happens when people stop striving—not because they’re tired, but because they get comfortable. I want better for my daughter. I want her to chase her best self with a grateful heart and an unshakable drive. If there’s one thing I want every young leader, every human striving for more to remember, it’s this: “Be content, be grateful, but never settle…EVER.” – Cliff Kinchen  As a martial arts instructor, a senior enlisted leader in the Air Force, and a leadership trainer, I’ve noticed a consistent truth: people often look for a way out when faced with something difficult or unpleasant.
Facing Discomfort in Different Arenas In the dojo, it shows up as students claiming they’re too tired to train or that schoolwork is too heavy. In the military, I’ve seen service members exaggerate injuries to avoid physically demanding tasks. In corporate life, I’ve witnessed people overstate their productivity; submitting inflated numbers to meet expectations. Sometimes the reasons are valid. Life gets busy, bodies get sore, and limits are real. But other times, these excuses are just shields to avoid doing something uncomfortable. A Lesson in Facing the Unpleasant Before I joined a pharmaceutical company, I sat through a tough panel interview with five territory managers. One of them asked, “What was your least favorite class in your MBA program?” I paused and answered honestly: corporate finance. Not because I couldn’t do the work, but because I naturally gravitate toward people over spreadsheets. That question stuck with me. I was never told why they asked it, but I believe they wanted to see how I handled something I didn’t enjoy. Would I still show up, give effort, and deliver results? The True Test of Character That, to me, is the true test of character: not how you perform when things come easily, but how committed you are when they don’t. You won’t always love the work. There will always be parts of the job—or life—that just aren’t exciting. The real difference-maker is whether you show up and give your best anyway. Outcome of Commitment As I waited for my luggage at the airport after that interview, I got the call—I was hired. By the way, I earned a B+ in that class.  Over the years, I’ve competed in hundreds of martial arts tournaments: local, regional, national, and international. I’ve fought in open-style striking events, judo, Olympic-style Taekwondo, kickboxing and boxing. I’ve won U.S. and North American kickboxing titles, and I had the honor of representing the U.S. Air Force on its Taekwondo Team.
More recently, in my 50s, I brought home gold in Karate at the North Carolina State Games in 2022, 2023, and 2024. So when people ask if I’d ever compete in kickboxing again at my age, it’s a fair question. Every fighter believes they still have one more great fight in them. The heart always wants to go one more round. But the truth is, I made peace with that chapter of my life after my final full-contact fight at 32. The Fighter’s Reality: Knowing When It’s Time to Walk Away Here’s what I’ve learned: fighters need to know when their competitive career is over. You might still have the desire, the will, even the discipline. But results will likely no longer match the fire that still burns inside you. And for some fighters, that disconnect is dangerous. Some continue chasing the fame and fortune they once had or that they never quite reached. They hang on too long, and the consequences: physically, emotionally, even spiritually, can be devastating. But martial arts is bigger than fighting. That part of the journey is just one phase. Evolving Beyond the Fight When it’s time, we must evolve. We become coaches, mentors, and guides for the next generation of fighters. We help them navigate the obstacles we once faced. We help them achieve more than we did. And that becomes a new kind of victory. A Lesson for Fighters…and for Leaders This isn’t just a lesson for fighters. It’s a lesson for leaders. Like fighters, great leaders must eventually recognize when it’s time to pass the torch, not because they’ve lost the ability to lead, but because their greatest legacy may lie in preparing others to lead even better. True leadership is knowing when to stop chasing the next round for yourself, and instead start building the champion who will step into the next one after you. Whether that next leader is the captain of a high school team or the future CEO of a Fortune 500 company, your willingness to step back and support their rise could be what keeps your organization from experiencing the kind of damage that happens when someone hangs on too long. Just like in the ring, timing is everything.  Martial arts is more than just technique, it’s a reflection of discipline, resilience, and leadership. As an instructor, I see this firsthand in the dedicated men who train 2-3 times per week. They’re fathers, husbands, professionals; each embracing the mindset of continuous improvement. The Leadership Mindset in Motion These men don’t train because it’s easy; they train because it challenges them. Their mental and physical resilience mirrors the mindset of strong leaders who step up instead of backing down. Discipline & Growth Week after week, they show up, ready to push their limits. That consistency speaks to their commitment to growth, a trait that extends beyond the gym into their families, careers, and personal goals. Confidence Without Ego Martial arts teaches more than physical skill, it builds self-assurance without arrogance. True leaders don’t need to dominate; they lead with composure, skill, and quiet confidence. Respect, Humility & Mentorship In my time working with these men, I’ve seen how deeply martial arts reinforces respect and humility. They train hard, support one another, and apply these values in their daily lives. Strategy & Adaptability Success isn’t about brute force: it’s about quick thinking and adaptability. Whether on the mat or in leadership roles, these men assess, pivot, and execute with precision, qualities that translate into life outside the gym. Leading by Example More than anything, they train because their actions speak louder than words. They’re building strength, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. This sets an example for their families, teams, and communities. Teaching these men is an honor because they embody what leadership truly looks like…a constant pursuit of excellence, growth, and the willingness to rise to any challenge.  |
AuthorCliff Kinchen is a lifelong martial artist and seasoned leadership trainer who blends combat discipline with real-world leadership insight. With decades of experience—from Air Force instruction to corporate boardrooms—he helps others grow through confidence, character, and challenge. His writing sparks reflection, inspires action, and invites readers to lead from the inside out ArchivesCategories |
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