Why do I do it?

I have been practicing some form of Japanese martial art since the year I graduated from high school. I've moved more than once, lived in various parts of three different states, changed styles, and grown up a lot. I've gotten two degrees, had children, been married and divorced, and I keep coming back. I find when I train regularly, my life feels better. Whatever else is going on, if I have a dojo and go regularly, I can keep it together. Over the years, I have been asked the question, "Why do you do it?" many times in a number of different ways. 

The first time was in an Aikido class, the summer after I graduated from high school. I would commute 40 miles each way (5 of those miles on a dirt road) on the old motorcycle I had bought twice a week to take classes from one of the toughest women I've ever met. She taught us Ki-Aikido which is a style founded by one of Morihei Ueshiba's (the founder of Aikido) students. He, I am told, was asked not to call his style Aikido, as it was more mystical and less martial. He (and thus my teacher) taught the power of energy to effect an attacker without touching him or her. I was sitting on the mat, an awkward 19 year old, usually too shy to speak up in unfamiliar company, with these 30+ men (the teacher that night was a man, not the regular female teacher), steeped in the Iron John mystique of Robert Bly's men's movement. The teacher asked us all to answer two questions, why we started in Aikido, and why we kept doing it. I can't precisely remember the answers, but am sure that, "I do it to control the violence inside me," was one of them. This drew appreciative murmurs and nods from the assemblage. At the time I honestly didn't have any violence inside me. My life was a pretty sheltered one and my reaction to conflict was to retreat, not to get angry. So, at that point in my training, my answers were a very simple and honest, "I started Aikido because my parents were doing it (precisely speaking this was true, but it was a little disingenuous), and I keep doing it because it is fun." This drew indulgent, "Well, you'll be more sophisticated when you are older" looks from the others.

An excellent answer to this question was suggested to me by my friend and (briefly) Renshinkan Karate teacher, Kevin. I was in another class, struggling to push my stiff ankles to adopt Renshinkan's particularly rigorous interpretation of the forward stance (zenkutsu dachi), and he asked me a question:  "Why are your here?" He meant it in the big sense. Why was I there in that class instead of home in front of the TV, or taking a stroll on the beach. When I, taken by surprise, stumbled to find an answer, he suggested one:  "Because I choose to be." For whatever reason I would rather be sweating in that room, with my ankles hurting and my thigh muscles shaking than any of the other things I could be doing. It is an excellent answer, but it doesn't really get to the heart of the question. Why would I choose that? There are easier, cheaper ways to get exercise that put you at much lower risk of injury. 

I ask myself the question periodically. I ask it when I am getting up at 4:00 to prepare for a 6:00 karate class. I ask it when I think about the ligament damage and "arthritic changes" the doctors tell me are present in my wrists from years of unnatural twisting. I ask it when my right shoulder aches where it never quite healed from being separated after a bad highfall. I ask it while writing another monthly check for dojo dues. I could probably have supported a crack habit on what I've spent on martial arts over the years. An Aikido teacher I respect once told me a story. A young man came to him and wanted to start studying Aikido. This enthusiastic young man waxed eloquent about the wonderful health benefits of Aikido training. The teacher (approaching 70 years old) pointed at his left earlobe and said, "You see this? I have been training for years and this is the only part of my body that doesn't hurt. There are a lot of things to be gained from Aikido. That isn't one of them"

I can tell you some things that aren't the reason I do it. I don't do it for self-protection. I am almost 36 years old and I have yet to get in physical fight. Chances are very good I have done more damage to my body in my training than would be done if I got beat up some day and couldn't fight back. There is also ample evidence that the kind of training I have done (rote drills and practice with a compliant partner) conveys absolutely no advantage in a fight and may actually make one less effective. When the adrenaline dumps, even if you can remember them, you lose the fine motor skills necessary for fancy small joint locks. Even blocking probably goes right out the window. It is people who have learned to deal with the adrenaline, take a punch or two without losing their focus, and react with simple large motor movements like punches and kicks who do well in real fights. There is an extensive literature on this subject you can search out for yourself if you want to know more. 

In his book Meditations on Violence, Sgt Rory Miller lays out this argument very nicely. He has trained traditional Japanese jujutsu to the point where it can be used to devastating effect in a fight. What he says is that, in order to reach that point, you have to train yourself to a hair trigger. You have to react to a perceived threat in an instant with deadly force. Jujutsu, after all, is a battlefield art. Unlike him, I don't work in a prison where I am threatened with deadly violence on a daily basis. I don't live on a battlefield where I have to kill or be killed on a moment's notice. I have no interest in training myself to the point where I will break your arm if you are in my blind spot when you say "good morning." The Aikido teacher whose earlobe didn't hurt related another anecdote about this subject. When approached by a student who wanted to learn Aikido for self-protection, the teacher said, "If you want to protect yourself, go buy a shotgun. Aikido is a long slow road to winning a fight."  Even in New York, a state with very stringent handgun laws, I could get a pistol and a concealed carry permit for less than the cost of one year of training (and that includes ammunition and range time so that I might actually hit what I'm aiming at). I don't train for self-protection. My training may help me if I ever get in a fight, or it may provide that moment of hesitation that proves to be my downfall (wait, did sensei teach ikkyo or nihonage osae from this attack?). Regardless, it isn't the reason I keep choosing to go back. 

When I really think about it, I have to admit that the awkward 19 year old was on to something. I do it because it is fun. Now don't get me wrong. I have gained a lot of confidence from my training. I am no longer that shy kid and part of the reason for this is martial arts training. I may be deluding myself, but I believe I have a better chance in a fight than I would without it. I am not a trained ninja assassin, will never throw a chi ball, and do not have to register my hands as deadly weapons. I don't know how I will react if somebody takes a swing at me, but I am pretty sure that if I keep my cool and connect, I will acquit myself better than I would have without training. Sometimes I want nothing more than a place to go and hit things or people and yell and have that be socially acceptable. 

All of these are benefits, but I am not thinking about any of them when I change out of my street clothes and step out onto the mat. The thing that I love and the thing that keeps me coming back is the feeling I get when I can go all out against somebody. When they come full speed with that attack and I know that I can throw them and trust they will take the fall without injury. When they hold the pad and I know I can put everything I've got into my kick and they'll be safe. I get this feeling of intense focus combined with complete awareness. I believe that this feeling is what is meant by the Japanese term zanshin, often translated as no-mind or awareness. I think some people get this feeling from a triathlon, yoga, or meditation. For me, meditation happens in motion. I do my best thinking while walking, swimming, or otherwise going from one place to another. And I achieve zanshin under pressure, on the mat, sending somebody flying through the air. So why do I do it? Well, I could say I do it because I love it. I do it for the way I feel in the middle of it. I do it to achieve relaxation and focus. Or, like I said when I was 19 years old, I do it because it is really really fun.