Loss
I haven't written a blog post in a while. I haven't really felt up to it. A little over a month ago, my father died unexpectedly. Being in Japan made things more complicated, and I had to decide whether or not to go home to Canada. For a number of reasons, I decided not to go back, and tried to carry on with normal life here.
A few days after learning of my dad's death, I went to the Western Tokyo Iaido Tournament. I had been asked to attend as a judge in the lower-dan divisions, and also as a competitor. Judging was fairly nerve-wracking because of the pressure not to mess up any time aspect of the etiquette, as every single thing you do is dictated by some rule or other. In addition, it is very tiring being a judge. You can't allow your attention to relax or your mind to wander for even a few seconds. And even watching very closely, there were still a number of instances where I just couldn't decide. Many of the competitors were university students who had probably started iaido only a few months or perhaps a year ago, and to be perfectly honest, the majority of them were making a lot of mistakes. It often came right down to the final etiquette and I thought, "Well, which one do I choose? They are totally neck-and-neck. Okay, I'll choose whoever has the nicest closing etiquette..." And then, after you raise your flag, you see the look of dejection on the face of the loser, and want to tell them, "Honestly, I didn't want to have to judge against you. Don't take it so hard, kid..."
After a full morning of judging on and off it was lunch time. Quite a few of the students I had officiated for walked by as I was eating my bento lunch, and bowed or said hello. Pretty soon, it was time for us to compete. As one of the youngest 5-dans, I was stuck out there in the first round of the elimination tournament. I felt very self-conscious for a couple reasons. First, I couldn't sit in seiza because my knees were hurting too much. Secondly, I had gotten permission to wear tabi during competition, mainly because it was not a very large or important tournament. Both of these facts made people sit up and think, "Oh, what's this now?" when I went out.
Well, it was pretty awful - certainly one of the worst showings I've made in a long time. My first technique, Mae, was absolutely dull and shaky and weak. My mind was blank with nerves and I don't remember the other techniques we were told to do, but I do remember that we ended with #9, Soete-zuki. As I stepped back to do chiburi, my left foot slipped a bit and I staggered. Even the rank beginners I had been judging had managed to keep their balance, but I was about to fall over. I lost 3 flags to zero.
After the event, I felt (imagined?) that the students had lost what small amount of respect they had for me. I could almost feel them shaking their heads and thinking, "THIS guy was judging US?" It felt really awful.
Most of us continue with something because we feel we're good at it, or because we feel we're making progress, or because it makes us feel good. I didn't feel any of that. I felt like quitting iaido completely.
A few days later, I regrouped and realized that I was being a big baby. I resolved to just practice harder, starting with pushing myself a little bit and trying to get back into seiza. At the next practice, I was doing techniques from kind of a "half seiza" where I would leave my toes supporting my weight. This kept me from putting quite as much pressure through my knee joint.
About 10 techniques in, I did koryu Uke Nagashi. Just as I stepped out with the left foot and put my weight on that leg (sword overhead to block) I heard a loud snap from inside my knee (others in the dojo turned and looked) and was immediately in agony. I could barely walk out of the dojo. I managed to change clothes and took a taxi to Keio University Hospital. They took some x-rays and told me I had sprained my knee. (Thanks.) The next day, I went to an orthopedic clinic about 500 meters from my house. It took all of my effort to walk there and back. The doctor told me I had injured my medial collateral ligament, and it would be about a month's recovery time.
It has been a month and a half, and I am still not better. My knee is still obviously swollen, and a friend in the rehabilitation business tells me that it may also be a ruptured meniscus. Between this injury and my arthritis (the doctors showed me some of the floating bone chips in my knee and the ever-growing bone spurs) I am imagining a future without seiza or tate-hiza.
Frankly, I think that suwari-waza are the heart and soul of iaido. There are some people who do iai from standing, and more power to them, but for me, it is somehow not the same, and I can't get very excited about the future.
Loss of a parent.
Loss of a tournament.
Loss of respect.
Loss of physical freedom.
Loss of motivation.
It all sounds very melancholy, and self-pitying, and I know that. I'm blowing things out of perspective, and I know that too. Just look at the above list, and some of the things are laughably trivial. But at the moment, it all comes across as part of one big downhill slide.
In a way, though, writing this Blog is therapy. I have waited a while to write again, and I'm already starting to feel better about things. If anything, continuing to write this Blog is my way of reassuring myself that I'm going to continue with the martial arts.
A few days after learning of my dad's death, I went to the Western Tokyo Iaido Tournament. I had been asked to attend as a judge in the lower-dan divisions, and also as a competitor. Judging was fairly nerve-wracking because of the pressure not to mess up any time aspect of the etiquette, as every single thing you do is dictated by some rule or other. In addition, it is very tiring being a judge. You can't allow your attention to relax or your mind to wander for even a few seconds. And even watching very closely, there were still a number of instances where I just couldn't decide. Many of the competitors were university students who had probably started iaido only a few months or perhaps a year ago, and to be perfectly honest, the majority of them were making a lot of mistakes. It often came right down to the final etiquette and I thought, "Well, which one do I choose? They are totally neck-and-neck. Okay, I'll choose whoever has the nicest closing etiquette..." And then, after you raise your flag, you see the look of dejection on the face of the loser, and want to tell them, "Honestly, I didn't want to have to judge against you. Don't take it so hard, kid..."
After a full morning of judging on and off it was lunch time. Quite a few of the students I had officiated for walked by as I was eating my bento lunch, and bowed or said hello. Pretty soon, it was time for us to compete. As one of the youngest 5-dans, I was stuck out there in the first round of the elimination tournament. I felt very self-conscious for a couple reasons. First, I couldn't sit in seiza because my knees were hurting too much. Secondly, I had gotten permission to wear tabi during competition, mainly because it was not a very large or important tournament. Both of these facts made people sit up and think, "Oh, what's this now?" when I went out.
Well, it was pretty awful - certainly one of the worst showings I've made in a long time. My first technique, Mae, was absolutely dull and shaky and weak. My mind was blank with nerves and I don't remember the other techniques we were told to do, but I do remember that we ended with #9, Soete-zuki. As I stepped back to do chiburi, my left foot slipped a bit and I staggered. Even the rank beginners I had been judging had managed to keep their balance, but I was about to fall over. I lost 3 flags to zero.
After the event, I felt (imagined?) that the students had lost what small amount of respect they had for me. I could almost feel them shaking their heads and thinking, "THIS guy was judging US?" It felt really awful.
Most of us continue with something because we feel we're good at it, or because we feel we're making progress, or because it makes us feel good. I didn't feel any of that. I felt like quitting iaido completely.
A few days later, I regrouped and realized that I was being a big baby. I resolved to just practice harder, starting with pushing myself a little bit and trying to get back into seiza. At the next practice, I was doing techniques from kind of a "half seiza" where I would leave my toes supporting my weight. This kept me from putting quite as much pressure through my knee joint.
About 10 techniques in, I did koryu Uke Nagashi. Just as I stepped out with the left foot and put my weight on that leg (sword overhead to block) I heard a loud snap from inside my knee (others in the dojo turned and looked) and was immediately in agony. I could barely walk out of the dojo. I managed to change clothes and took a taxi to Keio University Hospital. They took some x-rays and told me I had sprained my knee. (Thanks.) The next day, I went to an orthopedic clinic about 500 meters from my house. It took all of my effort to walk there and back. The doctor told me I had injured my medial collateral ligament, and it would be about a month's recovery time.
It has been a month and a half, and I am still not better. My knee is still obviously swollen, and a friend in the rehabilitation business tells me that it may also be a ruptured meniscus. Between this injury and my arthritis (the doctors showed me some of the floating bone chips in my knee and the ever-growing bone spurs) I am imagining a future without seiza or tate-hiza.
Frankly, I think that suwari-waza are the heart and soul of iaido. There are some people who do iai from standing, and more power to them, but for me, it is somehow not the same, and I can't get very excited about the future.
Loss of a parent.
Loss of a tournament.
Loss of respect.
Loss of physical freedom.
Loss of motivation.
It all sounds very melancholy, and self-pitying, and I know that. I'm blowing things out of perspective, and I know that too. Just look at the above list, and some of the things are laughably trivial. But at the moment, it all comes across as part of one big downhill slide.
In a way, though, writing this Blog is therapy. I have waited a while to write again, and I'm already starting to feel better about things. If anything, continuing to write this Blog is my way of reassuring myself that I'm going to continue with the martial arts.
posted by Jeff at 7:43 PM
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