5 Things Every Effective Club Leader Does

11/10/2025

Our vibe attracts our tribe.

I started coaching/leading a dojo when I was 15. (Born in 1983, if you want to do the math.) Like most coaches, I never got a handbook on “how to lead.” I just copied what I’d seen. Loud. Confident. Borderline brash. Sometimes I inspired people. Sometimes I just came across like a dick.🤦

Over the years I have shifted around. There were times I was textbook autocratic: strict sessions, low tolerance. That drew in a certain kind of member. Then there were other years when the dojo felt more democratic, more collective. That drew in a different crowd.

Actually, this was an early lesson for me as a club leader: our vibe attracts our tribe. Every dojo draws in the people who want what we are offering. That's not a bad thing. If we find our people, we've found our people.

This post is not about which leadership style is best. Autocratic, democratic, or somewhere in the messy middle, they all work in their own way.

What matters more are the traits that sit underneath any style. The traits that make people feel connected, capable, and part of something that matters. Fisher and Grout (2011) call these the foundations of effective leadership, and they're what keep people coming back.

Because the truth is, today’s learners are different. They don't just turn up for discipline. They come looking for belonging and challenge. They want to be seen, have a voice, and know their time on the floor means something.

That's the real shift in modern coaching. It's not enough to just run a good, hard session anymore. We have to build clubs that feel worth belonging to - places where people choose to spend their time and money.

And that is what the next five traits are about: the actions that make a huge difference. The habits that turn good sessions into lasting cultures.

1. Notice People Out Loud

Every dojo has had them: the beginners who start strong and then quietly disappear. They turn up early, fold their hakama neatly, bow in sharp, and throw themselves into every drill like it really matters. For a while, they’re always there. And then, one day, they’re not.

We’ve all seen this happen. Way more than once.

But in my experience, I'm not always convinced that they’re leaving because work or school got too full-on; or because trainings are too hard-core. It’s just as possible they’re leaving because they never really felt seen.

As motodachi, we nod, we say “good job,” and we think that’s enough. But I don't think it is. Silence grows heavy when effort goes unrecognised.

Now picture the flip side: a sensei who ends keiko by calling everyone together and saying, “Your kiai lifted the whole room tonight.” Ten seconds, one line, but the whole place shifts. The beginner stands taller. People smile and give a wee round-of-applause. The room feels connected again.

Fisher and Grout (2011) remind us that recognition matters more than anything else when it comes to motivation. The simple act of noticing someone’s effort can be the difference between them staying or slipping away.

We all know what it feels like to put in hours of work with no pat on the back, right? It's the same for our people. Not just for beginners or seniors on the floor, but for the people who make everything else possible: the ones who open the dojo early to sweep the floor, chase fees, manage the admin, and keep the place alive.

Recognising effort out loud can lighten someone’s load, help them feel connected to the club, and ultimately keep them contributing.

Action: End every practice with one line of recognition out loud. It doesn’t have to be technical. “Your energy lifted the room.” “That seme was sharp.” “Thanks for helping the juniors.” One line, every session. That’s enough to start shifting the culture.

2. Set Challenges, Not Commands

I'll be honest, I have run my fair share of 'zombie lines'. You know the ones. “Again! Faster! Louder!” Everyone moves in sync, cuts are sharp, but the spark isn't there. They're technically fine, but emotionally flat. (Hence the endless calls for “More kiai!”, I guess).

For a long time, I thought that was good coaching. If people looked tidy and worked hard, I assumed they were learning. But what I was really creating was compliance, not engagement.

The shift came when I started turning commands into small challenges. Not every time, not perfectly, but just enough to change the atmosphere.

Instead of “again,” I might say, “Can you make me move first?” or “Can you get clean men before I cut back?” Suddenly people were alert. They weren’t just following; they were thinking. Partners encouraged each other, the pace lifted, and the room started buzzing again.

Fisher and Grout (2011) describe this as a shift from control to enablement. Our job as leaders is not just to make people obey but to help them find their own drive to perform. When we frame drills as challenges, we invite curiosity, competition, and ownership.

We can still run disciplined, hard sessions, but adding challenge keeps people learning instead of just repeating. It is a small change that opens big doors. (Learn how to do this here).

Action: Next time you find yourself about to yell “One more time,” try switching it up. “Can you pressure me all the way to the wall?” or “Can you land that cut when you see your opponent resetting?” The goal is not to sound clever, just to invite thought. In time, the energy and attention you get back might surprise you.

3. Make Your Dojo Sticky

Some dojos feel like train stations. People come in, do their reps, and leave again. The trains keep pulling out, the faces keep changing, and the leader starts asking the same tired question: “Why can’t we hold onto people?”

From what I've seen, this happens when there's no glue. More to the point, the dojo doesn't yet have a story worth sticking around for.

Imagine: one night, mid-practice, a coach stops everyone and says: “We are not just here to pass gradings or win shiai. This dojo is about building a place people want to belong to for life.”

Now, that is a spark.

But sparks don't last.

Here is where many of us blow it: we say the 'big thing' once, then assume everyone will remember it. A month later, the dojo is back on autopilot. People keep drifting away, and us leaders are left shrugging: “Life happens, I guess.” 🤷

But it wasn't life. It was the lack of a 'drumbeat'.

The dojos that thrive keep beating that drum. Not with slogans on posters, but in small, everyday ways: reminding a beginner that sweeping the floor makes them part of the club, telling a junior “one day you will be teaching this cut,” or saying before bowing out: “Gradings are just milestones. We are here for kendo for life.”

Fisher and Grout (2011) call this vision and momentum. One without the other dies, and it's on the club leader(s) to beat this drum...constantly.

Action: Ask together: “Why does this dojo matter, beyond gradings/shiai?” Then say it, show it, and repeat it until it is part of the air people breathe. That is what makes a dojo sticky.

4. Lead With Our Feet, Not Our Mouths

Back when I first started leading, I thought speeches were the thing. Big voice. Serious face. A few “kendo is about character development” lines dropped in for good measure. I imagined people hanging on my every word.

But the truth was: my actions betrayed me. Preaching humility but ignoring the beginner’s greeting. Demanding intensity, then phoning in my own motodachi. Rolling in late while juniors were already lined up. (I dropped the ball on this just the other day).

Guess what people copied? Not my speeches. My habits.

Fisher and Grout (2011) put this simply: actions speak louder than words. In the dojo, every little thing we do is a broadcast. The way we line up. The way fold up our gear. The way we lose. We are modelling culture whether we mean to or not.

Our members don't follow our mouths. They follow our feet.

Action: Ask: “If everyone in this dojo copied me tonight, what culture would we have?” If we don't like the answer, we fix our habits before we fix anyone else’s.

5. Leaders Reflect, Not Just Command

Reflection sounds simple, but it can be pretty bloody uncomfortable when done properly.

I learned that the hard way. Years ago, I pushed my club to breaking point. Not because I didn't care, but because I thought effort alone meant good leadership. I was running more sessions, pushing harder, setting higher standards, all while ignoring the signals that things were off.

Parents tried to raise concerns. A few seniors went quiet. And I brushed it off as people being soft. The truth was they were reading the room better than I was. And when the dust settled, I realised I had built a culture of compliance, not connection. People did what I said, but they no longer believed in it.

Fisher and Grout (2011) remind us that real leadership is not about always being right. It is about being willing to learn. Reflection is not weakness, its awareness. It's what lets us notice when our approach, tone, or expectations are not landing the way we think they are.

Now, when things feel tense or flat, I try to ask myself, “What part of this is on me?” Sometimes the answer stings. But I also know that the sting is where growth starts. And interestingly, I've noticed that when I own my part, others start doing the same. The dojo shifts from defensive to open, from fault-finding to forward-moving.

Action: Build reflection into your regular practice. Take five minutes after training to ask what went well, what missed, and what was yours to fix. No incense needed. Just honesty.

The Real Test of Leadership

In the end, leadership in kendo is not about who talks the loudest or who can plan the most flawless session. It is about whether people walk out of training motivated, proud, and wanting to come back.

If we can notice more, challenge more, repeat our purpose, lead with our actions, and admit when we get it wrong, then we build a dojo culture worth sticking to. That is the real test of leadership.

None of us started coaching with a handbook. Most of us copied what we saw, made mistakes, and learned the hard way. I know I did. But the good news is, we don't have to be perfect leaders. We just need to lead in ways that make people want to belong.

Because that's what keeps them coming back. And ultimately, that's what keeps a dojo alive.