Voice
of the Fox
The Newsletter
of the Martial Arts Training Service
Aikido
in My Life
by Barbara
G. Young
Autumn
1997
I
first saw aikido in 1977, when some friends invited me to a demonstration
in Chicago. I'd always had a fascination with martial arts--as an observer--but
I'd never seen aikido, although I'd heard about it.
What I saw at that
demonstration was amazing. The aikido movements were beautiful and graceful,
and somewhat terrifying, all at the same time. The visual play of black
and white cloth against the spartan elegance of the dojo had a strong
aesthetic appeal.
After the first
five minutes of the demo, I knew I wanted to learn to move like those
people. I was disappointed to learn that I would have to travel at least
an hour to the nearest aikido dojo. With a small child at home, being
away so long seemed impossible. So I bought a book about aikido, and
I decided that I would practice aikido . . . someday.
I next encountered
aikido in 1988. I'd just moved to Crystal Lake, Illinois, and found
an aikido class in the local college's community education schedule.
I observed a class and was pleased to discover that it looked very much
like the aikido I'd seen demonstrated 11 years earlier. Unfortunately,
while the aikido hadn't changed, I wasn't in very good shape. Aikido
looked strenuous, and I hadn't done anything physical since I'd met
my college physical education requirement by taking a folk dance class.
"I'll be back
when I get in better shape for this," I told Jeff Clayton Sensei.
I don't remember his exact words, but they had the tone of, "Yeah,
sure." I know now that he'd heard similar promises many times before.
By the spring of
1990, I was 40 pounds lighter and in better shape than I'd ever been.
My daughter was in high school, I was nearing my 41st birthday . . .
and I'd lost the aikido club!
The next college
session brochure came out, and there was no aikido in it. Frantic, I
called the college and got Clayton Sensei's home phone number. I must
have sounded like a crazy person when I called and asked, "Where
are you? Aikido, I mean."
The aikido club
now had a home with the local park district. I had four weeks to wait
until the next session started, so I sent in my registration and bought
a judo-gi. On the first night of class, I was the only beginner. I could
have started at any time, but what was another four weeks after waiting
13 years?
The reality of aikido
practice was wonderful and horrible. I'd spent a lifetime being reasonably
good at whatever I attempted, mostly tasks that involved using my brain.
Aikido, however, was mind and body, and my body didn't know how to learn
in this way. There were very few other women in the dojo, and the guys
were big and serious. I went home from practice in tears on many evenings,
worried that I would never be able to do the aikido I'd been picturing
in my mind for so long.
Gradually, I became
a part of the dojo. I found jobs that needed to be done, and did them.
We spent so much time together on the mat that the other members became
some of my closest friends. We shared something that was important in
all our lives.
After several years,
I began to help teach our children's aikido class. Working with the
kids was extremely rewarding. They were not as self-conscious as adults,
so moving their bodies in strange ways was fun to them. They also didn't
have the self-discipline of adults, so keeping their attention without
losing track of the principles of aikido became an ongoing effort.
Over the years,
I saw several children stay with their practice, growing from boys who
barely came up to my chin, to tall young men now in high school and
college, for whom aikido is a fundamental part of their lives. It's
hard for me not to be jealous of their early start in aikido.
In 1996 I moved
to Aurora, Illinois, and began practicing at Fox Valley Aikikai with
Maureen Browne Sensei. I'd practiced as a guest there several times
in the past, so I knew it was a comfortable yet serious place to practice
aikido.
I wasn't quite prepared,
however, for coping with the USAF Western Region "accent"
to the techniques. In some ways, it was like learning a second language,
much harder than learning aikido for the first time. The biggest differences
were in the basic techniques, those motions I'd practiced repeatedly
for six years. Here were new ways to do ikkyo, iriminage, shihonage.
Some of the techniques had different names. Worse, my ukemi was all
wrong, and I could no longer fall effortlessly without thinking about
what I was doing.
At first I went
through an inner rebellion: "Why do I have to change everything
I've worked so hard to learn? What's wrong with the way I do things?
I'll never fit in here." After a month or so I was able to regain
my "beginner's mind" and put aside many of my old patterns
of movement in favor of the new way. Of course, when I don't think about
what I'm doing, something Midwestern comes out. My aikido may forever
be a hybrid, but I hope to be able to take the styles I've learned and
fuse them into my own aikido.
I believe that the
most important lesson I've learned from aikido is the value of commitment.
I have never been athletic and am not well coordinated, but I have been
able to progress in aikido through showing up regularly for class. While
I may not have the speed and stamina of a younger person, particularly
a younger male person, I have stuck with aikido for seven years of regular
practice. Thankfully, I've never had to take time out for injury repair.
My advice to new students who seem unsure about their progress is, "Just
keep practicing." Like the tortoise in that famous race, slow and
steady is the key.
There are many reasons
to begin the practice of aikido, and many more reasons to continue practice.
In the beginning, I had an idealized image of aikido. I wanted to move
gracefully and fluidly, to participate in a unique cultural experience,
to be part of a dojo community. Now I practice because I can't conceive
of what not practicing would be like. Aikido has brought depth and purpose
to my life.