It's better to do a few things exceptionally well than to do a whole gamut of things in a mediocre fashion. There are about 65 different judo throws, and you can become an Olympic champion having perfected only 2 or 3 of them -- if you can throw every single person in the world using those throws. Eliminate those 2 or 3 techniques from your repertoire, and you won't be able to throw anyone. So now you've got everyone studying those 3 techniques. That means that you have to evolve continuously and develop new techniques. If you've perfected 3 throws, there are still 62 others for you to learn.
How do you choose which techniques to perfect? By knowing yourself and by understanding your advantages, your disadvantages, and your style. There are all sorts of different styles. The Russians like to pull opponents in close, lock them up so they can't move anywhere, and then throw them over. They have awkward gripping techniques and stances that other people aren't accustomed to. They're successful because they're nontraditional. The Japanese are very technical. They like a lot of space so that they can execute their moves. Generally, you want to be strong in areas where other people are weak, and you want to keep your opponent off guard by being good at a variety of attacks from the same grip. Don't ever change your style to cater to an opponent. When I'm watching a videotape of a competitor, I make note of which throw beat him -- but that's not the first throw that I'm going to try. Execute your own techniques first and work your repertoire into the match. Only if the match isn't going well or if your techniques aren't working should you use your backup. You always want to have tactics that you may try in certain circumstances.
You can't win in the long run if you don't take risks. When you're winning a match, there's a great temptation to focus on trying to hold on to the lead, as opposed to going for the win by taking chances. Even if you end up losing the match, it's much better to take chances than it is to fight afraid and run away psychologically.
I learned that lesson the hard way, when I was 16, at the U.S. Open in Colorado Springs. In one match, I scored early and then got defensive. My opponent didn't beat me by throwing me; he beat me on penalties, because I was scared. I wasn't wrong for losing. I was wrong for not making the other person beat me. I beat myself by not having the will to win.
That match was a turning point in my career. From that day on, I was more afraid of playing scared than I was of losing. Now I take the match to my opponent. I'm always aggressive. Regardless of what the score is, I'm always taking chances.
I tell my students to attack as often as possible -- especially if the odds are against them. If you attack only once in the entire practice, then you haven't learned as much as if you had attacked 100 times. And you'll learn more by losing to someone who's better than you than you will by winning against someone who isn't. Learning is trial and error. If a throw doesn't work one way, try it another way, until you develop a technique that works for you.
I also tell students not to worry about what's going to happen. Just do it -- and worry about it later. Go home and think about it. Visualize it, and try to conceptualize why it might have gone wrong. Most people are afraid to try things because they're afraid of failing. But with failure comes success. If you fail enough times -- if you're persistent -- then you're going to get better.
It's important when you're competing to "do the right thing" -- use proper techniques, fight aggressively -- even at the cost of a match. You can always learn from a loss. But if you're winning using bad techniques, you're not improving your skills, and you're going to hurt your chances in the long run when you're competing against better, more-experienced opponents.
My father was my coach, and if I won a national title but didn't fight the way that he had taught me, he would be sure to tell me what I did wrong. He had bigger, better plans for me than just a national title. He wanted me to be the best athlete I could be.
Everybody has a dream. But most of the time, people think that their dream is far-fetched. What is your dream? What is the ultimate achievement in your mind? For me, it was being the best judoka in the world. If you met me for the first time and I told you that, you'd probably think I was crazy. You might think, He's never going to be the best in the world. Well, if I don't believe it's possible to get there, if I think my goal is just a pipe dream, then I'm never going to achieve it. When I began to prepare for the 1999 World Championship, I sat down and pictured what it would feel like to be a gold medalist. I imagined what my body would experience -- the goose bumps, the elation. I pictured myself on the stand receiving my medal, with the national anthem playing all around me. In my mind, I made up an opponent whom I'd beaten in the finals and put him right there on the second-place podium.
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