Imagine yourself as a young teenager. You go to the dojo two days a week and put in your four hours of time. That is all the classes they have and since it still isn't enough, you practice at home or go into the dojo on weekends (you are trusted with a key) to work on your weapons and such. For four years, you never miss one class. You show up, you train hard and you strive to improve. Over the course of four years, you find yourself a purple belt (the fourth of six belt colors in the dojo). Because life has continued to progress, you find yourself heading off to college (six hours away). Obviously, you aren't going to be able to continue training at the dojo (or anywhere for that matter- this particular martial art is hard to find). When you come home for winter, spring and summer breaks, you put in the mat time, but in the end, you feel like you are just getting back into the swing of things and you are off to college again. Somewhere along this winding road, you find yourself wearing a brown belt instead of the faded purple one that was turning white.
Four more years pass you by and before you know it, you have earned your bachelor degree and have plans of earning a master degree. In order to go to this college, you will continue to be unable to train because, this time, you are moving to an apartment and you won't be coming home for breaks. You break the news to your instructor and tell them that you will have to cease training with them in a couple months, as you are moving away. Eventually, those couple of months pass you by and you find yourself at your last class. You are a bit sad that this chapter is coming to an end, but happy that you had the experience. As the class comes to a close, you are surprised to learn that you are being promoted to black belt (you earn your first degree stripe down the road at this dojo). You rei and take the belt, take the old tried and true brown belt off that has been shaped and molded to fit your every move and put on this strange, new, stiff, awkward…. black belt.
Everyone comes over to congratulate you and they give you hugs or a pat on the back. Photographs are taken and you find yourself smiling, but the entire time you feel as if you are an imposter. You feel like you are wearing a belt you don't deserve and you can't help but feel like it is a going away present…. a consolation prize for putting in eight years of training, but not sticking it out any longer. You are dying to ask why they gave it to you, but you keep your mouth shut. To this day, you still consider yourself a brown belt and when you open up that old martial arts bag and see the black belt, you feel a bit resentful at the belt you only wore for about fifteen minutes. Instead, you pull out the brown belt and take a mental trip down memory lane….
Flash forward three years and you find yourself training in a new martial art (though similar) and you quickly find yourself throwing everything into it. You are immersing yourself to the point that you're on the verge of drowning… and you're loving every minute of it. You are at the dojo training four days a week and you are putting in at least 9.5 hours of mat time. You really find your place here and this is truly YOUR home. It is as if the dojo has just been waiting all these years for you to find it. Everyone becomes your extended family…. even the "frienemy"….
Like usual, you have your ups and downs and own internal struggles that you are dealing with, but you are as happy as a clam out there getting thrown about. Your presence is reliable and when the dojo has its lulls, you find yourself getting private or semiprivate lessons. The dojo even gives you scholarships to fully cover various seminars in order to ensure your attendance. At one point, you are even mistaken as a child of the instructor at a seminar because of "the way you interact" and when you later inform the instructor, they laugh and say "Well in a sense, you are!"
This dojo doesn't do testing very often…. maybe once a year. After training for two years, you find yourself a 4th kyu and are happy where you are. You aren't really big on ranking anyway, not after what happened to you previously. Everyone below shodan wears a white belt here and you find that you love blending in with every other white belt (at least until the action begins). Things are going good until you get an injury that forces you off the mat and when you come back, your ability to train is limited and you find yourself not being able to attend all the classes you could before because your body can't handle that amount of training yet. Just when you are the downhill side of healing, you find yourself applying for a new job; a great job. One that you wanted in the past, but it just didn't work out. You decide to interview for the job and when things start to get serious, you decide it is time to let your sensei know what is going on.
When it comes time to tell them, you find yourself having a hard time forming the words that are essentially saying "I am leaving." Once again, you find yourself breaking the news that you are moving away and will be unable to continue training with them. You can tell that they are sad, but they also wish you well. Eventually, you let them know that you got the job and that you will be moving in one month. Once the news gets out, it is as if time is going at warp speed and before you know it, you find yourself bowing out of your last class. Luckily, it is a small class and those who are present aren't going to make a big issue of it. Then, in a surprise move, you are called up front and you are promoted to 3rd kyu. You rei, thank them, take the certificate and shikko back to the line to finish bowing out.
After you change and say your goodbyes, you leave feeling as if you have now been scammed twice. You sarcastically think to yourself "At least I am still leaving as a white belt." as you walk to your car looking at the certificate with the same look a child has when you give them robitussin. You were content being a 4th kyu and you were more then happy to leave as one. As you get in the car, you can't help but contemplate about this habit you have of getting promoted on your last day at a dojo. So tell me, did you earn both of those ranks or were they just a nice honorary goodbye gift?
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Finding a good dojo is a lot like house hunting. You have a list of qualities and features that you must have, ones that you would like to have and a few that are "bonuses". You usually have a price range in mind and you also tend to know the size that will suit you and your needs.
When it comes to house hunting, sometimes you find your "home" right away. Other times, you search and search and search some more. Sometimes it is the unexpected "house" that catches your eye, or even better, it seems to find you. They always say that you will "just know" when you have found "the one".
I of course, have never been house hunting, but I have heard of the joys and difficulties of this process from family and friends. I have however, went dojo hunting before. With the first dojo I went to, it was the only one I could afford ($10 a month for two classes a week) and it wasn't too far from my house (though my Mom still complained about the drive). It quickly became a home away from home and I made some good friendships and found some new people that I added to my extended family. Eventually, life caused me to leave that home behind. I was sad at the time, but looking back, I think I needed to move on. I needed a different home; I had outgrown that one. I still keep in touch with those I became close with, but I have closed that subchapter of my life.
Without really planning it, a new home found me several years later. In a desperate attempt to get my grouchy husband out of the house for something to do (the poor guy couldn't find a job for a while and was going batty), I helped him find a dojo. I had no interest in doing martial arts again and told him that I was merely going along for moral support. We went to one dojo and he wasn't really enthused about the place, so we decided to try another. It was further away and rather unassuming from the outside. It appeared to be an old church and it sat across the street from an old, but well maintained cemetery. The moment we walked in, my husband got this goofy grin on his face that just wouldn't fade away.
I knew at that moment, that my husband found his "home". We went back the following week to give a class a shot and my husband decided he liked it and wanted to join. Problem was, he refused to join without me. After pissing a moaning and not being able to win (my husband is rather stubborn), I figured I would join long enough to get him into it, then I would "lose interest" and quit, leaving him to do his own martial art thing. It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time….
Slowly, this humble and assuming dojo started to become my sanctuary. Before I knew it, the sensei and the other people who trained there slowly became friends and eventually they became family. I no longer had any plans of leaving. It suddenly seemed like a ludicrous idea a madman had conjured up. That was when I realized my "home" found me. I was happy; I was content. Occasionally, there were times when I had to force myself to show up, but once I got there, I got that warm, homey feeling and knew I had made the right decision to come. That "warm, homey" feeling was probably just me being hot and sweaty from rolling around with the boys, but I enjoyed it none the less.
One day I found myself contemplating leaving my "home"; flying from the "nest". It wasn't because I was unhappy there…. I was VERY happy there, but I had a strong feeling in my gut that it was my time to go. My family was calling me and I needed to migrate where they were, but I was afraid. I wasn't ready to leave the "nest". I flapped my wings and contemplated diving, but it was a difficult thing to do. In the end, my sensei told me that sometimes, life is bittersweet. He told me that unless I experienced bitterness, I would never appreciate something sweet when it came along. At that point I cried, but I felt that he had given me his blessing to move on and a month later, I flew the "nest".
I flew and I flew and I flew. It was a long journey, but I had family and a job waiting for me. After many days, I had reached my new abode. It is a lovely townhouse in a nice area, but something is missing. Everything I had before is here…. except the dojo I left behind. I gave up one family to be with another. Although I am certain I made the right decision, I still miss them each and every day. I ache to fill the hole that is now empty. I know nothing will replace them, but I long to have a "home" and until I find something to fill that gap (even a tiny bit), I won't truly be "home." So, I have gone "house hunting"…..
Like southern Oregon, my options are limited. I had three options there and I have three options here. None of the three are affiliated with Birankai, but that isn't a deal breaker for me. None of them screamed my name when I looked at their websites, so we decided to go to the one that is closest. It is only 3 miles away, which is much closer than the 18 plus I was doing each way before.
The dojo was quiet and unassuming and the people there seemed friendly enough. It was all the little, unimportant, things that had me feeling out of place. Everyone practically yelled something in Japanese that I didn't understand, at the front door before entering. The only bit I understood was the end where they said "onegaishimasu". The mat space was big and felt like it would swallow me whole… and the mats were canvas. I was used to this cozy little dojo with imitation tatami. They lined up in several rows of threes, where we lined up in one big line. They bowed, clapped twice and bowed again, whereas we just bowed once to the shomen. When it came time to demonstrating techniques, it seemed like there was an awful lot of talking. It was all relevant, just a lot more chit-chat then I was used to in my old "home".
I struggled to find some similarities, but all I seemed to notice were differences. They put the top of their foot on the mat for backwards ukemi, where we kept our toes active. They did a lot of backward rolls, where they were frowned upon in my previous dojo. All little things, but for someone desperate to find another "home" that was just like the previous one (unrealistic I know), they were devastating. In an attempt to find something similar, I began to look at the broad picture. Stylistically, it was similar and they also weren't huge on breakfalls, which is nice. I like doing them, but I hate doing them all the time and those are tough on my husband's body after a while. I was able to recognize what techniques they were doing and slowly I began to see that I would be able to hold my own out there. They had a nice mix of yudansha, mid level kyus and a few beginners. I don't know if that class is representative of all their other classes, but if it is, I will be one of the only females there… which is what I am used to.
At the end of class, they invited us to join in their circle. Things were going good until the end. The way they leave the circle is odd and my best guess is that it is based off of seniority, but I stood up to leave at three different times… and each of them were wrong! HAHA. By the time I finally got up to leave, I was confused and humbled. My husband seems to like the place, though he didn't get the same goofy grin he got before. We are going to go back in the beginning of the year to try a few classes and see if we fit in. In the meantime, I am hoping that maybe, just maybe…. Once I am there, I will realize I have found "home" once more….
When it comes to house hunting, sometimes you find your "home" right away. Other times, you search and search and search some more. Sometimes it is the unexpected "house" that catches your eye, or even better, it seems to find you. They always say that you will "just know" when you have found "the one".
I of course, have never been house hunting, but I have heard of the joys and difficulties of this process from family and friends. I have however, went dojo hunting before. With the first dojo I went to, it was the only one I could afford ($10 a month for two classes a week) and it wasn't too far from my house (though my Mom still complained about the drive). It quickly became a home away from home and I made some good friendships and found some new people that I added to my extended family. Eventually, life caused me to leave that home behind. I was sad at the time, but looking back, I think I needed to move on. I needed a different home; I had outgrown that one. I still keep in touch with those I became close with, but I have closed that subchapter of my life.
Without really planning it, a new home found me several years later. In a desperate attempt to get my grouchy husband out of the house for something to do (the poor guy couldn't find a job for a while and was going batty), I helped him find a dojo. I had no interest in doing martial arts again and told him that I was merely going along for moral support. We went to one dojo and he wasn't really enthused about the place, so we decided to try another. It was further away and rather unassuming from the outside. It appeared to be an old church and it sat across the street from an old, but well maintained cemetery. The moment we walked in, my husband got this goofy grin on his face that just wouldn't fade away.
I knew at that moment, that my husband found his "home". We went back the following week to give a class a shot and my husband decided he liked it and wanted to join. Problem was, he refused to join without me. After pissing a moaning and not being able to win (my husband is rather stubborn), I figured I would join long enough to get him into it, then I would "lose interest" and quit, leaving him to do his own martial art thing. It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time….
Slowly, this humble and assuming dojo started to become my sanctuary. Before I knew it, the sensei and the other people who trained there slowly became friends and eventually they became family. I no longer had any plans of leaving. It suddenly seemed like a ludicrous idea a madman had conjured up. That was when I realized my "home" found me. I was happy; I was content. Occasionally, there were times when I had to force myself to show up, but once I got there, I got that warm, homey feeling and knew I had made the right decision to come. That "warm, homey" feeling was probably just me being hot and sweaty from rolling around with the boys, but I enjoyed it none the less.
One day I found myself contemplating leaving my "home"; flying from the "nest". It wasn't because I was unhappy there…. I was VERY happy there, but I had a strong feeling in my gut that it was my time to go. My family was calling me and I needed to migrate where they were, but I was afraid. I wasn't ready to leave the "nest". I flapped my wings and contemplated diving, but it was a difficult thing to do. In the end, my sensei told me that sometimes, life is bittersweet. He told me that unless I experienced bitterness, I would never appreciate something sweet when it came along. At that point I cried, but I felt that he had given me his blessing to move on and a month later, I flew the "nest".
I flew and I flew and I flew. It was a long journey, but I had family and a job waiting for me. After many days, I had reached my new abode. It is a lovely townhouse in a nice area, but something is missing. Everything I had before is here…. except the dojo I left behind. I gave up one family to be with another. Although I am certain I made the right decision, I still miss them each and every day. I ache to fill the hole that is now empty. I know nothing will replace them, but I long to have a "home" and until I find something to fill that gap (even a tiny bit), I won't truly be "home." So, I have gone "house hunting"…..
Like southern Oregon, my options are limited. I had three options there and I have three options here. None of the three are affiliated with Birankai, but that isn't a deal breaker for me. None of them screamed my name when I looked at their websites, so we decided to go to the one that is closest. It is only 3 miles away, which is much closer than the 18 plus I was doing each way before.
The dojo was quiet and unassuming and the people there seemed friendly enough. It was all the little, unimportant, things that had me feeling out of place. Everyone practically yelled something in Japanese that I didn't understand, at the front door before entering. The only bit I understood was the end where they said "onegaishimasu". The mat space was big and felt like it would swallow me whole… and the mats were canvas. I was used to this cozy little dojo with imitation tatami. They lined up in several rows of threes, where we lined up in one big line. They bowed, clapped twice and bowed again, whereas we just bowed once to the shomen. When it came time to demonstrating techniques, it seemed like there was an awful lot of talking. It was all relevant, just a lot more chit-chat then I was used to in my old "home".
I struggled to find some similarities, but all I seemed to notice were differences. They put the top of their foot on the mat for backwards ukemi, where we kept our toes active. They did a lot of backward rolls, where they were frowned upon in my previous dojo. All little things, but for someone desperate to find another "home" that was just like the previous one (unrealistic I know), they were devastating. In an attempt to find something similar, I began to look at the broad picture. Stylistically, it was similar and they also weren't huge on breakfalls, which is nice. I like doing them, but I hate doing them all the time and those are tough on my husband's body after a while. I was able to recognize what techniques they were doing and slowly I began to see that I would be able to hold my own out there. They had a nice mix of yudansha, mid level kyus and a few beginners. I don't know if that class is representative of all their other classes, but if it is, I will be one of the only females there… which is what I am used to.
At the end of class, they invited us to join in their circle. Things were going good until the end. The way they leave the circle is odd and my best guess is that it is based off of seniority, but I stood up to leave at three different times… and each of them were wrong! HAHA. By the time I finally got up to leave, I was confused and humbled. My husband seems to like the place, though he didn't get the same goofy grin he got before. We are going to go back in the beginning of the year to try a few classes and see if we fit in. In the meantime, I am hoping that maybe, just maybe…. Once I am there, I will realize I have found "home" once more….
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Circle
The circle- it has no beginning and no end. It just continues to be what it is- a repeating pattern. This is only the second dojo I have trained at, but I am all too familiar with what is happening. Periodically, a dojo will receive an influx of new people. My dojo is no different and we have recently acquired five new people over the last week and one other person said they were interested, but has yet to return.
Each time this influx of students appears, I hope that we will retain at least one. Sadly, the majority of the time I am let down. In fact, in the little over two years I have been training, there are only three new people who are newer then I (and two don’t train regularly). Some of the people who leave discover that their grandiose idea of what aikido (or martial arts) is, was shattered. Some discover that aikido isn’t quite what they want in a martial art. Others quit because they aren’t picking up the moves and progressing through the ranks as quickly as they would like. Yet others, have the best of intentions and seem to like aikido, but don’t find it on the top of their priority list. They have a job, a family, or decide to train for a marathon, play sports in school, travel abroad or leave for college.
Although I may be sad to see them leave, I can’t help but be thankful for their brief moment in the dojo. Without even knowing or trying, they have impacted my training in a remarkable way. Beginners are a wonderful, wonderful thing. They keep me humble. They remind me of how it felt to be a beginner. They move in a way that feels natural to them. Their responses are not trained, thus you find yourself in some odd situations that you would not otherwise have the chance to experience. They might spin out of shihonage or they might spin their back towards you in sankyo because to them, that seems like a logical way to get away from the pain.
These responses seem to be how many untrained people would react. It is hard to tell a trained person, “React like a beginner will you?” I myself can recall a few times where I did not respond the way I should have as a beginner. One class I remember, my partner had a jo and I was to grab the end of it (ai hanmi). They would then pull the jo back and then move it forward again in order to have me off balance and put me into a roll. When my partner pulled back, I simply slid in, keeping the same foot forward. They tried over and over and finally, in exasperation, told me I was moving wrong.
I was confused. You pulled me. I kept my center and slid in. It was not a completely untrained response on my part. It was a trained response from my aikijitsu training. Finally, the instructor was called over and I was informed how I was supposed to move. In aikido, we are constantly being told how to move. It allows us to work on a specific technique and also allows us to protect ourselves. Not to mention, martially, it gives us options that might not be available otherwise. So, when I get my hands on a new person, although it can be frustrating, I relish in the gift that I have just been given. It is a precious gift that they unknowingly handed over to me and I know I can only have it for a relatively short amount of time. It is like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day; it will eventually melt away.
As I sit back and watch this circle repeat itself over and over again, I can’t help but wonder what people thought of me when I joined. Did they think I was just a brief visitor, another one who would come and leave? Or did they think, like the circle, I would keep returning to the dojo to get my aikido fix? The thing about newbies, is that you never know who will be the one to go or who will be the one to stay. The maniac newbie who trains every day for months may very well fizzle out in the end like a fourth of july sparkler. Meanwhile, that clumsy beginner who struggles at everything may very well continue to grow and blossom as if they are a happy daffodil rising up out of dormancy to greet the spring sunshine…..
Each time this influx of students appears, I hope that we will retain at least one. Sadly, the majority of the time I am let down. In fact, in the little over two years I have been training, there are only three new people who are newer then I (and two don’t train regularly). Some of the people who leave discover that their grandiose idea of what aikido (or martial arts) is, was shattered. Some discover that aikido isn’t quite what they want in a martial art. Others quit because they aren’t picking up the moves and progressing through the ranks as quickly as they would like. Yet others, have the best of intentions and seem to like aikido, but don’t find it on the top of their priority list. They have a job, a family, or decide to train for a marathon, play sports in school, travel abroad or leave for college.
Although I may be sad to see them leave, I can’t help but be thankful for their brief moment in the dojo. Without even knowing or trying, they have impacted my training in a remarkable way. Beginners are a wonderful, wonderful thing. They keep me humble. They remind me of how it felt to be a beginner. They move in a way that feels natural to them. Their responses are not trained, thus you find yourself in some odd situations that you would not otherwise have the chance to experience. They might spin out of shihonage or they might spin their back towards you in sankyo because to them, that seems like a logical way to get away from the pain.
These responses seem to be how many untrained people would react. It is hard to tell a trained person, “React like a beginner will you?” I myself can recall a few times where I did not respond the way I should have as a beginner. One class I remember, my partner had a jo and I was to grab the end of it (ai hanmi). They would then pull the jo back and then move it forward again in order to have me off balance and put me into a roll. When my partner pulled back, I simply slid in, keeping the same foot forward. They tried over and over and finally, in exasperation, told me I was moving wrong.
I was confused. You pulled me. I kept my center and slid in. It was not a completely untrained response on my part. It was a trained response from my aikijitsu training. Finally, the instructor was called over and I was informed how I was supposed to move. In aikido, we are constantly being told how to move. It allows us to work on a specific technique and also allows us to protect ourselves. Not to mention, martially, it gives us options that might not be available otherwise. So, when I get my hands on a new person, although it can be frustrating, I relish in the gift that I have just been given. It is a precious gift that they unknowingly handed over to me and I know I can only have it for a relatively short amount of time. It is like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day; it will eventually melt away.
As I sit back and watch this circle repeat itself over and over again, I can’t help but wonder what people thought of me when I joined. Did they think I was just a brief visitor, another one who would come and leave? Or did they think, like the circle, I would keep returning to the dojo to get my aikido fix? The thing about newbies, is that you never know who will be the one to go or who will be the one to stay. The maniac newbie who trains every day for months may very well fizzle out in the end like a fourth of july sparkler. Meanwhile, that clumsy beginner who struggles at everything may very well continue to grow and blossom as if they are a happy daffodil rising up out of dormancy to greet the spring sunshine…..
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A step in the right direction
For months I have been limping along, unable to take a full stride in the direction I want to take. I can see where I am headed, but the journey is painfully slow. About a week or two ago, I began to realize that I was no longer limping my way around. Instead, I was beginning to move without fear of pain. In fact, I realized I hadn't given my foot much thought at all lately…..
Okay, so technically, I haven't been limping from my injury in several months, but the pain has never subsided. It has always kept me sidelined or made me pull away or hold myself back from the simple joys I once took for granted. I have never been graceful on the mat, but for the past several months, I looked more like a cow on ice. I was awkward, lost and scared. I constantly found myself desperately searching for that green pasture I remembered; the one where I felt like I was on stable ground.
Somewhere along this journey, when I stopped looking so far ahead, I realized that I was already in a green pasture. Sure, it isn't the one I can picture further down the road, but it isn't bad. The grass is green and though there are a few weeds here and there, it isn't overrun by any means. Instead of finding myself moping about, wishing I were in the pasture down the road, I found myself enjoying this one. The grass smelled just as sweet as I remembered and the grass still felt amazing under my bare feet. I found myself frolicking about, without fear of holes or bees that may sting the bottoms of my feet. I tumbled onto the grass and just soaked up the moment. I finally let go and allowed the sun to warm me from the outside in.
Letting go of all the things that were holding me back was liberating. I didn't realize that carrying an injury around for so long was such an exhausting experience. By body was tired of compensating, my mind was exhausted from trying to remind me how to move without pain… and my spirit was broken from being knocked down and held back for so long. As I stared at the clouds lazily passing me by, I realized that I had finally made a step in the right direction.
It has been at least eight months since Abe crashed into my foot. Eight months of my life have passed me by. For those eight months, I took the back seat and played a passive roll in my life. If I have learned anything over the past few months, it's that I need to fight to maintain an active roll in my life, listen to my body and that being stubborn doesn't always solve a problem.
Last week I actually found myself enjoying aikido again. I wasn't anxious or afraid that pivoting on the balls of my feet would cause a great deal of pain. I wasn't conscious of my cow on ice-like movements. Instead, I just enjoyed being on the mat practicing. Saturday, I even gave iaido a shot. Last time I took iaido, it was a huge mistake. It caused my foot to get cranky and once that happened, it wouldn't behave itself anymore.
This time, my foot was more then cooperative!!! In fact, it went so well that I told my sensei I would be joining aikido class as well! We had previously discussed me training iaido one weekend and watching aikido after and vice versa the next weekend. As of today, my foot is still a happy camper. HOWEVER, my quads are KILLING me!!! I didn't realize how out of iaido-shape I was.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
My Blog Has Attitude?
I received an Attitude Blog Award from Lynn.
Lynn, sorry it has taken me so long to do this, but I can be a bit of a slacker at times. :O( Let me start off by saying that I am touched that you chose me. It is a really sweet gesture that won't be forgotten.
Three random things about myself.... hhmm......
Lynn, sorry it has taken me so long to do this, but I can be a bit of a slacker at times. :O( Let me start off by saying that I am touched that you chose me. It is a really sweet gesture that won't be forgotten.
Three random things about myself.... hhmm......
- I spend more time online playing facebook games then I probably should :O/
- I can only cook like five different meals (but my stuffed shells are a major hit with all)
- Some of my new obsessions: vanilla coke, Smith's rose mint lip balm, jasmine green tea and nutella
- Daisy This girl is an amazing person. She has a way with words and is a determined, strong willed, sincere person. I wish her all of the best in her life (she recently got engaged!!)
Speed Skating
Sometimes I feel like a speed skater.
I take a deep breathe and exhale slowly as I step out onto the ice. My breathe rises into the chilly air as my legs begin to move in rhythm with my heartbeat. The glassy surface of the ice glides beneath me as I lean into my turn. I'm balanced and feeling confident as I pick up speed. I pick up the pace and do a mental check to ensure that my body is streamlined. The sounds of my skates on the ice and my heartbeat are the only sounds that I take note of.
I push myself to go harder, faster as I race around the rink. My confidence shatters as my left skate begins to wobble with wild abandon beneath me. I desperately try to regain my balance as I careen towards the wall. The wall seems to run towards me in greeting and crashes into me. I bounce off the sideboard and collapse to the ice in a spinning, sliding heap.
Before I even have time to assess the damage, tears fill my eyes. It was my body's preemptive strike, as if it knew that pain was on its way, but I was just too shocked to feel it yet. I lay there, resting my cheek on the ice, watching my warm, salty tears fall from my face, creating a tiny puddle on the glassine surface. The pain slowly sinks into my awareness as I begin to take note of what hurts.
I push myself up to the seated position. Not only am I sore, but the cold ice is making me more miserable. As I attempt to gain my footing and stand, I wobble once more and nearly collapse to the ice again. What the hell? That is when I realize that my blade came loose. The reason for my fall was because my foundation, the blade of the skate, was compromised. Without a proper foundation, you have nothing to stand on.
The same can be said for aikido. Without a proper foundation, you have nothing. Since I have only been training for two years, I am still working on my foundation. I am constantly becoming more aware of the weaknesses. I go back and try to caulk up the cracks and sometimes, I need to just redo that entire section.
The other day, I was made painfully aware of a few of my weaknesses. Saturday morning, I discovered that my foot may not be healed enough for me to continue training the way I am. An hour of iaido already made my foot sore and aikido just aggravated it more (additional info on that a few paragraphs from now). I was already in a low to moderate level of pain and my movement was compromised. In aikido, I was made aware of yet another weakness; ukemi.
While working on tsuki soto kaiten sankyo, I was not able to keep up the pace with nage as they brought me around. Try as hard as I may, I constantly found myself unable to stay close to them and found myself frantically running in a large circle further away from them. This of course made it feel like my wrist would be ripped off at any moment. I was working in a group of three people and I was ecstatic whenever I had the chance to sit out and rest my wrists.
Somewhere along the way, between the foot pain, the wrist pain, getting hit in the face, my stupid nose that wouldn't stop running (hello allergy season!) and the emotional duress I was in, it became too much. It was as if I careened into the sideboard at the skating rink and crumpled to the ground all over again. I found myself fighting back tears that kept trying to force their way out. One person asked if my foot was okay and if that was why I was crying. They said if it was pain, that I should stop, but if its emotional, to keep training. I told them I was fine and kept training. I was determined not to let my failed attempt at a kool-aid impersonation get the best of me. Sometimes, crashing into walls is part of training. I know that one day, I will break down those walls and will come out on the other side yelling "OH YEAH!"
By the end of class, I had pulled myself together, but was still in a fragile state. I helped run the mats with the rags and then went downstairs to change and head home. I have given it much thought, but I have yet to come up with a reason for why I am so emotional. I never had this problem before I left for my injury hiatus. All the feelings I have now: frustration, pain and determination, I had before I took two months off. So… why now? Why am I becoming such a big baby?
Foot update:
Well, as you know, a couple weeks ago the doctor gave me the green light to add my activities back in. He wanted me to do everything that I did before. I made it clear to him what I was doing and he said EVERYTHING I did before, to begin doing again. Well, I was training twice a week for a couple weeks and this week, I decided to add in a third day. Saturday, I decided to push my foot a bit. I had been avoiding suwariwaza and iaido because those used to be painful, even though I was told I could do them again. Since I had an appointment in a few days, I figured if it got worse, I could keep it and if was fine, I would cancel it like he said.
Well, as you know from above, the activities I did hurt the foot. I iced it after iaido and I remember going ouch a few times doing all the suwariwaza in the beginning of class. Pivoting on that foot and doing rolls during ukemi can also cause pain. Earlier in the week, I felt pain in that foot, but it didn't make my foot terribly sore the next day. I can't quite say the same thing after Saturday.
Well, despite the pain, I cancelled my appointment with that doctor. I have decided that I don't trust his opinions. He contradicts himself way too often and I'm not getting the results that I want. I realize that injuries take time to heal, but this is bullshit! I've been dealing with pain, icing the foot, taking medicine, resting the foot, wearing sneakers and limping around for over six months! I want this to be over!
Since I am headed back east for a couple weeks, that will allow my foot to rest for a bit. When I get back, I am going to resume training again and if it does indeed get worse, I have another place that I am going to call. It is an orthopedic center that has about 8 doctors on hand. Each one specializes in an area (spinal, upper extremity, knee and pelvic, foot and ankle, etc). I can send them over my x-rays from my current doctor and if I need an MRI, they can do it on site there. My husband went there in the past and a coworker of mine went there for an ACL injury. I was told that you leave with a plan and various options you can take. I think that they may be better able to help me then the podiatrist I have been seeing for the past couple of months.
My fear isn't being told to rest longer, though that would suck, but not really knowing what is wrong with my foot. The scientist in me wants to know what is wrong and I want to know how to fix it. I have also wondered if PT would help with my injury, but the podiatrist I saw never made that an option for me.
This situation is beyond frustrating and I am tired of just coping. This has gone on long enough and I want to put this behind me. I want to train again without experiencing pain and be able to take ukemi or do a technique without fear of it hurting. I want my body to be able to relax and enjoy the time on the mat instead of treading on eggshells, fearful of it rebelling against itself……
::sigh::
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Lovely To Be Back
For the past several days I have been really looking forward to training again. I had put my personal emotional breakdown behind me and was finding myself more excited the closer Tuesday became.
The entire day I spent in random daydreams about aikido. Honestly, I feel like a beginner all over again. Perhaps my mini vacation will prove to have been a good thing. I now find myself with a better appreciation of what it is I am doing, as well as for my sensei and other students at the dojo.
My hubby and I arrived at the dojo to see William there. He had moved away a while ago and it was nice to see him back. He explained that he was back to prepare for some wedding plans. We chatted for a bit before I went to change into my gi. On my way upstairs, I stopped and chatted with Erin. She said she wouldn't be able to train since she is feeling a bit sick, but came to help clean the dojo.
Once we were upstairs, I discovered that there were only three people total (me, my husband and William). Where is everybody? Usually Tuesday evenings have a better turnout. Maybe it with it being spring break around here, people are off traveling. William fell us in and started warm-ups and sensei then took over warm-ups once he arrived.
We lined up in the back of the class as sensei grabbed William to demonstrate our first technique- tai no henko. As we were watching sensei demonstrate, a fourth student bowed onto the mat- Don. That made us an even four, which is always nice. Though, sometimes if you are the third man out, you get the perk of sensei grabbing you and working on that technique or something else all together.
The majority of the class was spent on different varieties of kotegaeshi, but we also worked on kokyuho as well. At one point, sensei clapped and we all rushed to the back of the mats to watch the next technique. Before that, we were working on a variation of kotegaeshi from a gyaku hanmi grab and you deflect their hand away with your other hand and then enter (irimi). At this point, you turn and face the same way as uke and then you place one hand near their elbow bend and the other hand grabs kotegaeshi. For this, we were supposed to just slide back and take uke off balance. Evidently, we were turning our hips instead of staying straight because sensei decided to tell us a story about a time with Chiba sensei. He said Chiba sensei got frustrated at a seminar and said "When I ask you to turn your hips, you don't. I finally give you a technique that doesn't require it, and you turn your hips!" Sensei said this story in a joking manner, but it got the point across all the same.
This is a skill that I am still working on. Not just watching, but truly seeing what he is doing. What is his footwork? What is his starting orientation, versus ending orientation? What technique is he doing? What are his hips doing? These are all things that I am slowly learning to watch for, but inevitably, I end up missing something. It is that thing I am missing that keeps me coming back. My desire for perfection will keep me coming back for years to come, as aikido is a never-ending process of learning from your mistakes.
Sensei then calls me up and demonstrates ai hanmi shihonage. I partner up with William and before I know it, sensei is clapping and we all line up to bow out. Wow did time fly! As we bow out, I can't help but give thanks for the opportunity I have. I am hot, sweaty and exhausted, but I wouldn't have it any other way………
Wednesday first hour was weapons class. Sensei had us work on some basic cuts and then we would practice some of those same movements empty-handed with our partners. It was nice to see some of the similarities and be able to get a better sense of the line of attack.
Second hour was regular aikido and there were four yudansha and three kyu grade students. We started off the class with a bit of suwariwaza iikyo to loosen up our shoulders. I did the technique standing, as suwariwaza is still a bit too much on my foot. We then moved on to variations of kotegaeshi, kokyuho, jujinage and iriminage. It was a good class and I feel like I have this new appreciation for aikido and how it works. I definitely have many weaknesses I need to work on, but I feel like I am able to notice them a bit more now from watching sensei so much. Maybe it is all in my head though…..
Sensei called me up to demonstrate an iriminage variation. Things were going okay and then one time he pulled me in and next thing I know, I am accelerating towards that mat at warp speed! My feet were pointed up at the ceiling and I was looking at sensei the whole way down. I did the only thing I knew I could do; slap. As soon as I landed, I apologized to sensei because I think I kicked him on the way down. He asked if I was okay and told me not to fall at his feet or I could get kicked. The weird thing was, I did NOT intend to fall at his feet. Up until that point, I had been falling away from his feet. It was as if my feet kept walking past my body, up an imaginary wall until they were on the ceiling. It was the most amazing feeling in the world!!!!!!!!!
Later on that night, while working with a sixth kyu on an ai-hanmi katatedori direct entry variation of iriminage (slide in with forward foot), he stiffened up his arm and upper body and wouldn't allow me to do the technique. I tried a few times to figure out how to get his elbow up and see tried to find the line needed to off balance him, but I couldn't seem to find it. I was almost there. I could sense that if I just somehow could get a bit further, he would go, but I couldn't seem to get over that last little rock. Finally, I reached up with the other hand, grabbed the back collar of his gi-top and pulled down ever so slightly. Down he went. Although I wasn't successful with the particular technique we were working on, I was glad that I was still able to see another opening and found out it was successful that time.
Once again, before I knew it, class had come to an end. My foot was killing me and I was tired and hungry, but I somehow found my way to the line to bow out. When I got home, I assessed my foot and decided to take some medicine to help with the inflammation that I felt. I also noticed that I had a nasty bruise developing on my right ankle. I tried to recall what I might have done, but nothing eventful comes to mind. As I sit here now, it would probably be easier to say what doesn't hurt. Ah, it's good to be back!
The entire day I spent in random daydreams about aikido. Honestly, I feel like a beginner all over again. Perhaps my mini vacation will prove to have been a good thing. I now find myself with a better appreciation of what it is I am doing, as well as for my sensei and other students at the dojo.
My hubby and I arrived at the dojo to see William there. He had moved away a while ago and it was nice to see him back. He explained that he was back to prepare for some wedding plans. We chatted for a bit before I went to change into my gi. On my way upstairs, I stopped and chatted with Erin. She said she wouldn't be able to train since she is feeling a bit sick, but came to help clean the dojo.
Once we were upstairs, I discovered that there were only three people total (me, my husband and William). Where is everybody? Usually Tuesday evenings have a better turnout. Maybe it with it being spring break around here, people are off traveling. William fell us in and started warm-ups and sensei then took over warm-ups once he arrived.
We lined up in the back of the class as sensei grabbed William to demonstrate our first technique- tai no henko. As we were watching sensei demonstrate, a fourth student bowed onto the mat- Don. That made us an even four, which is always nice. Though, sometimes if you are the third man out, you get the perk of sensei grabbing you and working on that technique or something else all together.
The majority of the class was spent on different varieties of kotegaeshi, but we also worked on kokyuho as well. At one point, sensei clapped and we all rushed to the back of the mats to watch the next technique. Before that, we were working on a variation of kotegaeshi from a gyaku hanmi grab and you deflect their hand away with your other hand and then enter (irimi). At this point, you turn and face the same way as uke and then you place one hand near their elbow bend and the other hand grabs kotegaeshi. For this, we were supposed to just slide back and take uke off balance. Evidently, we were turning our hips instead of staying straight because sensei decided to tell us a story about a time with Chiba sensei. He said Chiba sensei got frustrated at a seminar and said "When I ask you to turn your hips, you don't. I finally give you a technique that doesn't require it, and you turn your hips!" Sensei said this story in a joking manner, but it got the point across all the same.
This is a skill that I am still working on. Not just watching, but truly seeing what he is doing. What is his footwork? What is his starting orientation, versus ending orientation? What technique is he doing? What are his hips doing? These are all things that I am slowly learning to watch for, but inevitably, I end up missing something. It is that thing I am missing that keeps me coming back. My desire for perfection will keep me coming back for years to come, as aikido is a never-ending process of learning from your mistakes.
Sensei then calls me up and demonstrates ai hanmi shihonage. I partner up with William and before I know it, sensei is clapping and we all line up to bow out. Wow did time fly! As we bow out, I can't help but give thanks for the opportunity I have. I am hot, sweaty and exhausted, but I wouldn't have it any other way………
Wednesday first hour was weapons class. Sensei had us work on some basic cuts and then we would practice some of those same movements empty-handed with our partners. It was nice to see some of the similarities and be able to get a better sense of the line of attack.
Second hour was regular aikido and there were four yudansha and three kyu grade students. We started off the class with a bit of suwariwaza iikyo to loosen up our shoulders. I did the technique standing, as suwariwaza is still a bit too much on my foot. We then moved on to variations of kotegaeshi, kokyuho, jujinage and iriminage. It was a good class and I feel like I have this new appreciation for aikido and how it works. I definitely have many weaknesses I need to work on, but I feel like I am able to notice them a bit more now from watching sensei so much. Maybe it is all in my head though…..
Sensei called me up to demonstrate an iriminage variation. Things were going okay and then one time he pulled me in and next thing I know, I am accelerating towards that mat at warp speed! My feet were pointed up at the ceiling and I was looking at sensei the whole way down. I did the only thing I knew I could do; slap. As soon as I landed, I apologized to sensei because I think I kicked him on the way down. He asked if I was okay and told me not to fall at his feet or I could get kicked. The weird thing was, I did NOT intend to fall at his feet. Up until that point, I had been falling away from his feet. It was as if my feet kept walking past my body, up an imaginary wall until they were on the ceiling. It was the most amazing feeling in the world!!!!!!!!!
Later on that night, while working with a sixth kyu on an ai-hanmi katatedori direct entry variation of iriminage (slide in with forward foot), he stiffened up his arm and upper body and wouldn't allow me to do the technique. I tried a few times to figure out how to get his elbow up and see tried to find the line needed to off balance him, but I couldn't seem to find it. I was almost there. I could sense that if I just somehow could get a bit further, he would go, but I couldn't seem to get over that last little rock. Finally, I reached up with the other hand, grabbed the back collar of his gi-top and pulled down ever so slightly. Down he went. Although I wasn't successful with the particular technique we were working on, I was glad that I was still able to see another opening and found out it was successful that time.
Once again, before I knew it, class had come to an end. My foot was killing me and I was tired and hungry, but I somehow found my way to the line to bow out. When I got home, I assessed my foot and decided to take some medicine to help with the inflammation that I felt. I also noticed that I had a nasty bruise developing on my right ankle. I tried to recall what I might have done, but nothing eventful comes to mind. As I sit here now, it would probably be easier to say what doesn't hurt. Ah, it's good to be back!
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