The Way of the heart, the Flow... and why you tire yourself out for nothing

The heart, the flow... and why you're tiring yourself out for nothing

I had a simple insight the other day, one of those moments when something you've always known suddenly hits you as if you were seeing it for the first time, like an obvious truth that finally reveals itself after being hidden under your nose for years.

It's often said, "The heart never stops; it beats continuously until we die." That's true. But at the same time, it's not entirely true, because if you really look, between each beat, the heart rests, it pushes and then settles, it contracts and then relaxes, and without this rest it would die, without this relaxation it would no longer have the strength to beat. The pause between beats is even longer than the contraction, which means we can say that the heart rests more than it works, that its fundamental intelligence lies in its ability to alternate effort and recovery, tension and relaxation, in a rhythm that never strains, that never exhausts itself, that lasts a lifetime.

So perhaps we have long been mistaken about what the heart teaches us. Perhaps it is not a symbol of continuous effort, of relentless perseverance, of constant tension, but rather a symbol of intelligent rhythm, of wisdom embodied in the natural cycle of life.

And that's where it gets interesting.

The fighter who fights against himself (and loses every time)

When you start to see that, it becomes very interesting for the fight, because everything we try to do on the tatami in forced mode, in tense mode, in "I'm going to give everything until I die" mode, all of that goes exactly against what our own heart has been showing us since our first breath.

We've all seen that tense fighter, the one who steps onto the mat with shoulders raised, jaw clenched, breathing shallowly, always pushing himself, always trying to hold on, to prove himself, to control every microsecond of the fight as if his life depended on it. He's like a guy trying to hold his breath throughout the entire fight, thinking it will help him, that by toughening up he'll become invincible, that by never giving up he'll eventually win.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't help.

In fact, it almost guarantees that he will lose, or at the very least that he will burn through all his resources before the fight has even really started, that after forty seconds he will be breathing as if he had just run a marathon while his opponent looks as if he is taking a relaxing stroll in a park on a Sunday afternoon.

Now, look at the opposite.

You can see the one who enters the Flow right away, even from afar, even if you know nothing about combat. Gentle gaze, relaxed body, precise movements, brief explosions followed by an immediate return to calm, like waves that rise and fall, that hit then retreat, that never remain frozen in the effort.

Exactly like the heart. Impact, rest, impact, rest. It's not laziness, it's not softness, it's not a lack of intensity or courage, it's a living intelligence that knows that true power comes from rhythm, not permanent tension, that the blow that comes from a relaxed body penetrates infinitely better than the blow that comes from a tense body that fights against itself.

Why you fight with the handbrake on (and how to remove it)

In combat, power does not come from a muscle that is constantly contracted, never; it is in fact exactly the opposite. A tense muscle is a slow muscle, a muscle that sabotages itself; a tense body is a body that brakes itself, like driving with the handbrake on, wondering why your car isn't accelerating, why it's vibrating, why it smells burnt.

True explosiveness arises from the ability to remain deeply relaxed, then to contract at the precise moment of impact. Not before. Not all the time. Only at the moment the fist pierces the target, the shin cuts the leg, the structure engages exactly at the point of impact.

That's what kime is: a brief, precise, sharp contraction, surrounded by a vast space of relaxation. Like a flash of lightning from a calm sky. Not a constant hardness that turns the fighter into a statue of tension. A flash of energy. Then a return to calm.

Relaxation, acceleration, impact, return to calm. Like the heart: diastole, systole, diastole again.

The movement becomes pure. Fast. Clean. Waste-free.

The mistake that 99% of beginners make (and how to avoid it)

The beginner often believes that to "win", he must give everything, all the time, hit without stopping, stay tense, never let down his inner guard, maintain constant pressure as if he were a machine that never shuts off.

And what happens?

He burns through everything: his physical energy, his nervous system, his lucidity, his ability to perceive, adapt, and respond intelligently to what is happening before him. He is drained before the fight has even truly begun, wasting his inner strength by fueling a tension that serves no purpose other than to create resistance against himself.

Here's what your heart knows and your ego ignores:

This alternation of contraction and relaxation, as the heart has always shown us if we take the time to look, allows us not to waste energy unnecessarily, not to burn resources for nothing, to protect the body and also the nervous system, to keep the head clear, the breathing alive and the presence available for what really matters: reading the opponent, perceiving the openings, acting at the right time.

It's not about hitting more, it's about hitting better, perhaps less often, but with accuracy, with that quality of presence that makes all the difference between a blow and a blow that counts, between moving and acting, between forcing and manifesting.

Flow is not what you think

Flow isn't about "holding on, holding on, holding on" as if you were holding your breath until you suffocate. Flow is: I connect, I act, I release, I return, I pulse, I breathe with the struggle instead of fighting it, I let living intelligence flow instead of blocking everything with tension.

Power does not come from constant tension; it comes from the ability to let emptiness return within oneself, to create space so that the next action is born fresh, alive, unforced, unplanned, not fixed in a mental script that never holds up against the unpredictable reality of combat.

Like the heart. Like true kime. Like the generative fighter.

(And in your life, it's exactly the same)

And in life? Same principle, exactly the same, without exception.

You can't live in constant contraction, you can't always be performing, always pushing, always "holding on" as if your worth depended on your ability to never let go, never stop, never breathe.

If you want to last, if you want to remain human, if you want to stay connected to what really matters in your existence, you have to fight and rest, you have to contract and release, you have to explode and return to calm, otherwise you are no longer in the Flow, you are in survival, you are running in permanent panic mode wondering why you are always tired, why nothing flows, why everything seems so difficult.

The question that changes everything

So I'll ask you the question, and take a few seconds to really think about it:

And you, how does your inner heart beat? And how does your body react in combat? Always tense? Always brute force? Always in "give it your all now" mode until you burn out, until you exhaust all your resources, until you no longer know why you're doing what you're doing? Or are you capable of alternating power and gentleness, precision and relaxation, impact and rest, as the heart has done since birth without you having to think about it, without you having to force anything?

Perhaps the true fighter is not the one who pushes the hardest, but the one who has understood the simplest and most vibrant wisdom contained in our heart: he beats hard because he knows how to rest.

BONUS: The dialogue that will clarify everything

Coach-Student Dialogue: The Constipated Warrior

Student: Coach, I have a problem. I'm exhausting myself all the time in fights. After a minute I'm already dead, breathing like I've run a marathon with a sack of potatoes on my back, while my opponent looks like he's just strolling through a park on a Sunday morning. I don't understand it. I train hard!

The Coach: Mmh. Show me your guard.

The Student: (takes a fighting stance, fists clenched, shoulders raised)

The Coach: Perfect. Now hold that for two minutes.

The Student: What? Just stay like this?

The Coach: Just stay like that. Go ahead.

The Student: (maintains his guard, begins to tremble after 30 seconds) Damn... my shoulders...

The Coach: Yeah. Imagine doing that for a two-minute fight while trying to punch, block, move, think. You see the problem?

The Student: (lowers his guard, shakes his arms) Okay, okay. But if I relax, I'll get hit!

The Coach: (laughs) Oh yeah? Touch your heart. Is it beating?

The Student: Uh... yes?

The Coach: Is your heart constantly tense?

The Student: Well... no?

The Coach: How does he beat?

The Student: It... beats. It contracts then it relaxes.

The Coach: Exactly. Contract, release. Contract, release. And guess what? The pause between beats is longer than the contraction. Your heart rests MORE than it works. And it's been doing that since you were born, without ever stopping, without ever burning out, without ever getting exhausted. Now, you want to fight by staying tense the whole time like a guy holding his breath thinking it'll help?

The Student: (silence) Shit. When you say it like that...

The Coach: Your heart has literally been showing you how to fight for forty years and you've never noticed. (smiles) It's kind of like having the best coach in the world living in your chest and you're completely unaware of it.

The Student: (laughs) Okay, but what do I actually do? Do I just completely relax and get my ass kicked?

The Coach: No. You learn to pulse. Like the heart. You stay relaxed, open, available. And when you strike? BAM. Explosive contraction at the moment of impact. Then an immediate return to calm. That's kime. It's not about being rigid all the time like a statue. It's about being a lightning bolt that bursts from the calm sky.

The Student: A flash of lightning that bursts from the calm sky... I like that.

The Coach: You want to know the funniest thing?

The Student: What?

The Coach: Beginners think that real fighters are tense, tough, always in "intense warrior" mode. But go watch a champion. Go watch someone who's truly in the flow. He looks... relaxed. Almost asleep. Until the moment he strikes. And then, his whole body engages in a fraction of a second, the blow lands, and he returns to calm as if nothing had happened.

The Student: Just like my opponent the other day. He looked like he was taking a nap standing up, and I was sweating like a pig in total panic mode.

The Coach: Exactly. Do you know why he was calm?

The Student: Because he's better than me?

The Coach: No. Because he understood that fighting against yourself by tensing up is the worst possible strategy. It's like driving with the handbrake on, wondering why your car won't accelerate. You're burning all your gas fighting against yourself before you even hit your opponent.

The Student: (grimaces) I do exactly that.

The Coach: I know. Everyone does that at the beginning. You want to be "ready," so you tense up. You want to be "strong," so you clench everything. You want to "hold on," so you contract your whole body like you're trying not to poop in a public place.

The Student: (bursts out laughing) WHAT?!

The Coach: (smiling) What, that's not a good metaphor? You're tense, red-faced, sweating, your whole body is trembling with useless effort...

The Student: (laughing out loud) Okay, okay, I get the image. The constipated warrior. Thanks, Coach.

The Coach: You're welcome. So now, do you want to fight like a constipated warrior who burns all his energy tensing up? Or like your heart, which has been beating calmly for forty years without ever straining?

The Student: (breathes deeply) Like the heart.

The Coach: Good. Get back into your fighting stance. But this time, shoulders down. Jaw relaxed. Fists... (the Student clenches his fists) ...no, not clenched like you're trying to crush a nut. Just closed naturally. Like you're holding a live bird. Close enough so it can't escape, but not so tight as to kill it.

The Student: (adjusts his guard) Okay... this is weird. I feel vulnerable.

The Coach: Hit the bag. Hard.

The Student: (hits)

The Coach: Did you feel the difference?

The Student: (eyes wide) Damn... it went by so much faster. And it hit harder.

The Coach: Because your body was no longer fighting against itself. The energy flowed instead of getting stuck in your tension. Relax, explosion, return to calm. Like the heart. Diastole, systole, diastole. Again.

The Student: (strikes several times, returning to calm between each strike)

The Coach: There you go. Now you look less like a constipated warrior and more like a fighter.

The Student: (laughs) I'll never forget that image.

The Coach: That's the goal. Because in your next fight, when you feel your shoulders rising, your jaw tightening, your fists clenching, you're going to remember: "Damn, I'm becoming the constipated warrior." And you're going to relax.

The Student: What if I get hit while I'm relaxing?

The Coach: You'll get hit a hundred times harder if you stay tense, because you'll be slow, rigid, and exhausted after thirty seconds. But if you stay relaxed? You'll be able to move, adapt, anticipate the blows, and when you hit, you hit with everything. Not with one part of you while the other part is fighting against itself.

The Student: (silence, then) Coach, why has no one ever told me this before?

The Coach: Because everyone thinks "strong" means "tense." But your heart knows better. It's been beating for forty years, billions of times, without ever straining, without ever burning, without ever tensing. It pulses. It breathes. It gives, then it receives. It strikes, then it rests. It's the simplest wisdom in the world, and it's been there, in your chest, since you were born. (taps the student gently on the chest) You have the best coach in the world right here. Listen to him.

The Student: (puts his hand on his heart, smiles) Osu, Coach.

Coach: Osu. Now go hit that bag for 40 minutes like a heart. Not like a constipated warrior.

The Student: (laughs) You're never going to let me forget that, are you?

The Coach: Never! I promise you.

Gaétan Sauvé, Kyokushin Karate practitioner since 1971.

Forthcoming book: The Generative Fighter and Flow in Combat