Ted Jungblut: Walking Two Paths

Ted Jungblut has had a long and storied career in karate. He started his journey in 1965, joining the Toronto dojo of Masami Tsuruoka, the founder of karate in Canada. He went on to dominate kumite competitions in Canada. For example, he won in Canada’s first three national championships (1974–76). He also fought and served as captain on different international teams competing in WUKO and PUKO (world and Pan American) championships. As a provincial and national coach for seven years, he helped to mold future generations of elite karate athletes.

Where many seasoned karate competitors might have been content with their competitive triumphs and retired, Ted has persisted in his practice, continually deepening his understanding of the art of karate.

From his home in Barrie, Ontario, where he lives with his wife Nona Finnbogason, Ted often lends his expertise to other dojo, teaching in Barrie, Parry Sound, Toronto and elsewhere. In recognition for his long dedication as a practitioner and teacher, the Tsuruoka Karate Organization awarded Jungblut-Sensei his ninth dan in the winter of 2024.

At age 80, Ted continues to pursue his love for both Shotokan and Chito-ryu karate, and teaches both to students and at clinics. He sat down for this interview in May 2024.

One of my friends read about karate in a magazine, so three of us went to the Tsuruoka dojo on Yonge Street [in Toronto] to try some workouts in the mid-60s. I was the only one who stayed on.

During that time, students included people like Don Hooper, Billy Doyle, Quoi Wong, Shane Higashi, and others. At that point, Tsuruoka-Sensei was the head of Chito-ryu in Canada, and we had some stories about visits from Chitose-Sensei. One time, he demonstrated how he drew his testicles into his body at will [as a protection against groin attacks]. Another time, he is supposed to have jumped from the dojo on the second floor, landing on the sidewalk in kiba-dachi.

Training back then with Tsuruoka-Sensei was hard, really tough. I remember the first class I took, where we had to do horse stance for an hour, looking into the mirror at the front of the dojo. For the next two days, I couldn’t walk, and then on the third day, I could walk up the stairs but not down. My legs would give out on me.

But I went back and trained again. I became a karate fanatic and worked out every day in two-hour classes. When I went for my yellow belt, I was turned down because I had only been training for two-and-a-half months, and you were supposed to be there for a minimum of three months.

I was so ticked off that when it came time for the next grading I didn’t bother. I didn’t grade until until seven months later. I faced a black belt in kumite and knocked him to the ground with a footsweep. I’m not bragging. That’s just what happened. I beat him quite easily.

I was with Tsuruoka-Sensei when he made the transition from doing Chito-Ryu to teaching Shotokan karate. He had met major Shotokan sensei, such as Nishiyama in the United States and Kanazawa. He also brought over JKA instructors such as Ogawa and the national university champion Ono. I think he liked the hardness and basics of Shotokan.

The tournament years

One of the first big tournaments I went to was the CNE [Canadian National Exhibition] Tournament in Toronto, which was the big annual competition at that time. I was an orange belt and there were about 300 competitors. We started early in the morning and didn’t finish until 11 at night. I won second place losing to another Tsuruoka guy whose name I forget. I usually beat him at the dojo but at the tournament I decided for some reason to try a back kick. He had good timing and caught me with a reverse punch.

One of the national championships that stood out for me was the one in Moncton [New Brunswick], in 1975. I had hurt my back quite badly and couldn’t go to my work as a firefighter. And I couldn’t train for the tournament for a couple of months. So I just used visualization, picturing how the other top fighters fought. I pictured everything and at the tournament no one could touch me or score on me. It went like clockwork and I won, despite my lack of physical preparation.

When I fought, I always relied on basic, simple techniques, like jabs, front kicks and reverse punches, using good timing and distance.

The fighting could be really tough. I remember [fellow competitor] Bill Carr in the hotel room after the fighting, soaking in cold water in the bathtub because he threw a lot of kicks and smashed his feet to pieces. We didn’t wear any protective pads in those days.

It was also rough internationally. I remember fighting at the Pan Am tournament in Brazil, in 1973. I was up against this tough Argentinian fighter in a team match. During the fighting, the referee shouted, “Yame!” [Stop!] and so I stopped. The Argentinian [ignored the match stoppage and] then hit me behind the ear and I went down on one knee. I went black just for a second. I think the match ended in a draw.

After the day’s fighting, I went on the Argentinian bus and saw the fighter and called him out, saying we should go outside and finish things. I was mad. But everyone kept us apart saying it’s OK, it’s OK. I met the Argentinian at another tournament and he gave me a big hug and was very nice. He turned out to be a great guy.

Becoming a coach

The difficulty in putting together a national team in Canada has always been the size of the country. One athlete may be from the East Coast and one from the West Coast. They may listen to different coaches and do things differently.

They did things differently in places like Great Britain, where a team is selected a year and a half before a world tournament and train together under a single head coach. If you missed a couple of practices as a competitor, you were gone.

I haven’t really kept up with the competitions today, but my impression is that the kids have to be great athletes. The rules force them to do a lot of kicks — 70% of them are hook kicks, roundhouse kicks, spinning kicks, and so on.

So the athletes are really good and they train harder but I’m not sure the competitions have the same intensity that we had. But they’re very athletic and offer good drama.

Finding peace of mind

In 1979, I retired from competition, struck out on my own, and opened a dojo in Toronto. I joined the Canadian Chito-Ryu Association. I had left Tsuruoka-Sensei’s organization for personal reasons, though Sensei and I eventually got back together.

So I did Chito-Ryu karate with my students and some Shotokan. During that time, young Chitose came to Canada to conduct a grading. I went for the test with others. We did things according to the Canadian manual, and young Chitose said that’s wrong, that’s wrong, that’s wrong, and everyone failed. I was ticked off about how that was handled.

Sometime later Higashi-Sensei asked to have a meeting with me in a restaurant. I agreed. He said I don’t want you to do any more Shotokan karate, just Chito-ryu. I said I can’t do that. He said you will have to leave the organization. And I said that was fine. There was no animosity between us. He told me he understood what I had to do, given my background.

I then spoke to Tsuruoka-Sensei and asked if he would take me back. He told me, “You have never left.”

So today I do both Chito-ryu and Shotokan karate. The Shotokan is more hard and linear, while the Chito-ryu is smaller techniques, shorter stances and it uses a different energy. So it takes an adjustment to do the two. Generally, if you have a Shotokan person doing a Chito-ryu kata, they can’t do it well. It takes them a while to make that transition.

I found that I had to make a bit of an adjustment, too, but remember I started in Chito-ryu. In those early days with Tsuruoka-Sensei, among the Chito-ryu katas, we also did the Pinan kata, but in a different way than Shotokan approach; we used cat stances and so on — so it was more like Chito-ryu. Niseishi was always done very hard. Tsuruoka-Sensei would have his shinai out and whack, whack, whack!

When I moved up north to Huntsville [and opened a dojo], I did tai chi for about a year or two. I learned to be softer. In karate, everything seems to be separate, like your blocks are separate from your body. This is especially true in Shotokan karate, where you ground yourself and then block. Whereas in tai chi, your whole body is engaged in the movement.

Today, I work on having different energies and tensions in my technique. Maybe it’s old age, but I’m at the point where I relax more and have limited tension. Rather than working so much on contraction, I focus on extension, which gives me more stability and strength.

If you contract all your muscles, you tend to get top-heavy.

I enjoy teaching and connecting with people. I like seeing students improve and have those eureka moments. It can be hard to change, especially when it comes to old habit. You may throw a punch a certain way and you may have the habit of your elbow going out, or not tightening your hand or something else. It can take a lot of work to change that. You might make some progress but then you forget to concentrate on the actual application of the technique and the bad habit comes back again.

So, everything has to be done in pieces, almost like a jigsaw puzzle. You put it all together to formulate a feeling or an energy. I warn people that it takes time. I’ll tell them to work on one aspect of a technique for three months, then another for three months, and so on, until it finally all comes together. Good technique takes real time and effort.

Today, when I train, karate gives me peace of mind. It completely takes the stress away because when I’m focused on my training, my mind doesn’t go anywhere else.