THE INNER PATH – A SYSTEM OF DISCIPLINE

Forgive me—the marketing guy says I need to name my training system… so I called it The Inner Path. Let me try to explain at least part of it here.

Origins of the Inner Path

The Inner Path is a custom-developed system created by Ovando Carter. It is the culmination of decades of learning, practice, and lived experience. As of 2026, Ovando has trained more than 3,000 students and worked across 20+ schools and universities. His experience spans parkour-based physical education classes, after-school clubs, and student societies; work with children with Special Educational Needs, pupils in referral units, adults aged 40–70, and students in private schools.

Beyond education, he has collaborated with charities, housing associations, and youth centres across London, as well as private gyms throughout the south of England.

But the Inner Path began long before parkour.

At its core, it started as a desire to improve—to overcome obvious limitations. At one stage in my life, I realised something fundamental: to overcome the physical barriers I could see in the world, the obstacles that prevented me from progressing, I first had to turn inward. I had to confront the internal barriers holding me back—self-limiting beliefs, many of which, as is true for most of us, were imposed by societal expectations.

If I had to summarise it simply, the Inner Path has been shaped by three core disciplines:

• Physical

• Spiritual

• Intellectual

The Old Ways

But enough of the doom and gloom. Every system has a story—and the story of the Inner Path begins with history, martial arts, and self-improvement.

As a child, I loved ancient history. It captured my imagination, as it does for many people. As I grew older, that interest deepened into a fascination with how people in the ancient world trained themselves. The Agoge of Sparta, the mystery schools of Kemet (ancient Egypt)—these systems were designed not merely to educate, but to forge human beings.

In many of these traditions, students trained from a young age to master specific skills. For the Spartans, these were physical and survival skills; for the people of Kemet, intellectual and spiritual mastery. In the mystery schools, students memorised vast bodies of knowledge and were expected to recite them verbatim at the culmination of their training.

The human capacity to store, recall, and apply large amounts of information is extraordinary—and today it would be considered a superpower. In an age where attention is fragmented and memory outsourced to devices, focus and recall have become rare skills.

The old ways produced strong humans—physically, mentally, and spiritually.

Martial Arts: Discipline in Motion

I first experienced echoes of these old systems through martial arts training. Here, the master–student relationship is central. You train under someone who has spent years—often decades—refining their craft. A large part of this process is learning how to listen, how to observe, and how to be guided by someone who truly understands their field.

We also had gradings. Interestingly, I learned far more from these than I ever did from school exams. The pressure I placed on myself, combined with the expectations of the community, taught me resilience, composure, and responsibility.

I began training in Shaolin Kung Fu in Year 8, continuing on and off for around 23 years. Along the way, I also studied Capoeira, Muay Thai, Jiu-Jitsu, and various forms of Kenjutsu. Each discipline offered a new way of moving, thinking, and solving problems.

Every time I entered a new system, I started at the bottom and worked my way up. This cultivated humility, adaptability, and openness to learning.

What mattered most was this: a systematic method of training, clear guidance through the master–student relationship, and gradings that created a tangible sense of progression.

Roman Catholic School (Yes, Really)

By the way—I’m not Catholic at all.

Still, if we are speaking honestly about influences, the Roman Catholic school I attended from Years 7 to 11 played a significant role in shaping my outlook. I am Barbadian, and while Christianity is common in my culture, it is not something typically forced or loudly proclaimed. As a child, I read the Bible—this was before the internet, when distraction was limited—and I found it genuinely engaging. That said, I never considered myself deeply religious. Science always held more appeal.

There was a nun at the school. We attended Mass. These things left an impression.

What I absorbed most was an understanding of spiritual discipleship: holding yourself to a moral code, guiding others, and cultivating community. Many of the teachers did not see education as just a job, but as a vocation—a calling. What a powerful concept.

Later, when I attended non-religious sixth forms, I noticed a stark contrast. Many students complained that teachers did not care, that education felt transactional. I’m not claiming this is universally true of religious or non-religious schools—but the contrast shaped my understanding of what people need to truly grow.

Those who had never experienced teachers who genuinely cared often couldn’t articulate what was missing.

My takeaway was this: spiritual discipline is about inner work that enables outer change. It is about guidance, connection, and overcoming internal battles.

The physical world is not the most important world. The most important world is the inner one—and how you relate to others within it.

Meditation, Yoga, and the Mind

Another early influence was meditation, which I first encountered in primary school. Entering deep meditative states was far easier as a child—no worries, no burdens. As life’s responsibilities increased, it became more challenging.

I explored several methods: some focused on dreaming, others on physical meditation. One technique involved contracting and relaxing different parts of the body to guide the mind into stillness.

Interestingly, during sixth form I studied drama, including method acting. The similarities to meditation were striking. You learn the character’s gestures, voice, thoughts, and emotions—then you become them, sustaining that state through focused awareness.

Both practices revealed the same truth: the mind is immensely powerful. Profound transformation is possible through what we release—and what we consciously cultivate.

Through historical study, I also learned that yoga originally emerged as a meditative practice. Over time, yogis began using physical postures to support deeper states of awareness. The body became a gateway to enlightenment.

We use the body to train the mind.

The PhD: The Living Defence

Another deeply transformative experience was my PhD.

One lesson stood above all others: if you make a claim, you must be able to prove it. In academia, every argument is tested, dismantled, and scrutinised. Peer review is not optional—it is the foundation.

This culture of critique extends beyond publications to presentations and even casual conversations over coffee. Opinions are not enough. You must defend your position with data, models, and evidence.

Outside academia, I noticed that many people form beliefs based on hearsay or emotion rather than facts. This often leads to rigid thinking and dogma—ideas that feel true but are not. When we cling to unexamined beliefs, we force evidence to fit our views rather than allowing reality to inform them. This prevents genuine understanding and meaningful problem-solving.

The PhD culminates in the viva—the living defence of your thesis.

Here, you stand before experts in your field and defend the validity of your work. Not with opinions. Not by bending facts. But with rigorously tested data, statistical significance, and sound scientific principles.

The grading system I developed for our classes draws inspiration from both martial arts gradings and the living defence. It is an authentic moment—one where students demonstrate not only skill, but understanding, presence, and personal growth.

The Inner Path is not about perfection.

It is about progress, awareness, and becoming more than you were yesterday.