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I studied traditional karate for about four years in my youth, during which time I had three official teachers (as opposed to higher-ranked students just filling in for a night). 

The first was an ex-cop who ran a security business. He'd undergone an old-school "40-man fight" to earn his black belt and had the bloody photos to prove it. He'd also done his share of brick and board breaking over the years. Occasionally, we would be treated to a wild, violent story from his days walking the beat in a rough 'hood.

The second you might have picked as a surfer, with his longish hair and laid-back demeanour. I suppose, looking back, that he was just one of life's natural athletes, because in addition to being a martial-arts instructor, he was a star in the local footy team. Not that he mentioned it. I was only aware from attending the odd game with pals.

The third had a hot girlfriend who did karate as well, a pet Rottweiler strangers weren't allowed to pat and wicked tattoos that included - if memory serves - a grinning goblin holding a curved dagger. He seemed a nice guy, though. Good sense of humour and, since he didn't drive himself, always appreciative of lifts to and from training.

There was sort of a fourth teacher emerging as I drifted away from the sport/art. This bloke had rapidly risen through the belts, asked questions about our techniques and did heaps of extra training outside of class. A friend and fellow student was (un)lucky enough to live close to him, and the guy would come over to my mate's place and badger him into going for a run up and down a nearby mountain.

I guess he knew that to make it to the top, you gotta make it to the top!