I thought I'd passed...

On Failure

8/26/98
Two weeks ago, I failed my third degree black belt test. I'm not used to failure. Not recently, anyway. I've studied Aikido for seven years on a nearly daily basis and even though understanding doesn't always come easy, I hadn't failed before.

FAILURE 1. The condition or fact of not achieving the desired end or ends. 2. One that fails. 3. The condition or fact of being insufficient or falling short. 4. A cessation of proper functioning or performance. 5. Nonperformance of what is requested or expected; omission. 6. The act or fact of failing to pass a course, a test, or an assignment. 7. A decline in strength or effectiveness.
- The American Heritage Dictionary

My life isn't structured for failure. I don't tend to put myself into win/lose situations. Aikido itself is a martial art based on partnership rather than combat; there are no matches, competitions or tournaments. As a writer, you would think that failure would occur on a regular basis, and in a sense it does. Occasionally I fail to meet an assignment deadline. Or I fail to generate enough new business for a particular quarter. But these failures are to some extent self-imposed. I can always negotiate a new deadline and the business goal was something I created. I rarely view them as failures.

There is a stigma attached with failure. In America we love the winners and we pay little or no attention to the losers. There's a list somewhere of how many times Abraham Lincoln ran for office and lost, but all that is wiped out by his ultimate success. On television, failures are the subject of ridicule. They are peripheral characters designed to make the stars look good, or anti-heroes like the Bundys on Married with Children. Perhaps the only program which features failures in a positive light is The Simpsons. I find that interesting. Only by watching a cartoon can we empathize with the plight of a bunch of losers.

By the way, I knew going into the test that there was a chance I'd fail. Maybe even a good chance.

Most of the time when Aikido students take a test they're already assured of success. They train for months in advance. Their teacher tells them they're ready. They train some more. And they test. By and large their performances are good, but even when a performance isn't 100 percent, they tend to pass because the teacher knows their work and realizes that the test is a high stress situation.

Preparation

I began thinking about testing for Sandan (third degree) about a year ago. Usually when I prepare for a test, my motivation to practice increases. I train harder. That's one of the reasons that I've tested as frequently as I have, because it's been an excellent motivational tool. On the one hand, I like the feeling of progressing in rank, but I enjoy being involved in the high-intensity training prior to testing.

Not this time. This time I have a two-year old son and a loving wife who have needed more of my attention. This time I was in the process first of selling our house, then looking for a new one, and then moving. This time I was working on books, articles and trying to find more work.

And most of all, this time I felt as if I wanted to test as me, not me-plus.

So, instead of intensifying my training, I kept to my regular schedule. Aikido five days a week, practicing for three of those and teaching for two. I did add a bit of bokken (wooden sword) training with a friend to fulfill some of the AAA test requirements, but we had to learn that off a video, and we didn't have the jo (wooden staff) routines on video.

I was feeling pretty good, too. Until about a month before the test. That's when my brain shouted, "ARE YOU FREAKING INSANE?"

By then it was too late. The test was scheduled for Aikido Summer Camp two weeks after our move from Chelmsford to Providence. The two weeks before the move were about packing. The two weeks after the move were about unpacking. Extra Aikido training was not in the schedule.

So, I got to the summer camp terrified that I was going to fail.

I knew that I didn't know the AAA weapons routines cold, and that worried me.

Aikido Weapons

Over the years I've studied both weapons on and off. I find them an odd component of Aikido. On the one hand they are meant as training tools to help us learn the open-hand work better. On the other hand, if you only treat them as a tool and not as a "live" weapon, then the training's effectiveness is diminished. After a seminar in Virginia with Saito Sensei (a known master of both weapons) I developed a calmer but more attentive use of the weapons. The main problem I've had is that every single instructor's weapons routines are different. Some of them are radically different, and some are just a little bit different. It's like a ballet. Ask two choreographers to stage the same ballet and you'll get radically different interpretations. So I never bothered to learn any one form. Instead I tried to pay attention to the movement, to the relationship between the people, and to the intention. Give me a week or so, and I'll learn the routine.

Except I didn't have a week. I found a gracious partner to work on the bokken and jo routines, but we really didn't have more than an hour to practice. Still, having worked from the videotape, I felt as if I knew the AAA sword routines fairly well. The staff routines were vague. I still knew how to use a staff, but wasn't sure whether the routine went cut-block-poke or poke-block-cut.

Sunday - Test Day

On Sunday afternoon I sat on the edge of the mat thinking, "I could be doomed."

As I watched the other tests -- two first degree black belt tests and two second degree tests -- the feeling did not diminish.

Everyone who tested was younger than I. They (unlike your poor foolish narrator) had obviously been training hard for weeks before the test. Their techniques were crisp and clean. They never ran out of breath or looked tired. Heck even their hair was short enough, or in the case of the girl's tied back well enough, so that it looked perfect throughout.

I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to pee.

It got stronger. Eventually I had to make a choice. I could spend the next hour or two squirming, and hope that my bladder didn't burst when I bowed in for my test, or I could discreetly excuse myself. I chose the latter, and a few minutes later was in the men's room.

I'm not sure it would be polite to say who I spoke with there. He asked how I was doing, and I told him the truth. "Terrified, but I'm going to do my best." Then I made my way back to the mat, pausing only long enough to answer some questions from a confused police officer who was interested in finding an Aikido dojo.

During the next pause, I bowed politely and resumed my position on the mat.

"Mr. Binder!" bellowed the voice of the head of the testing committee.
"Yes, Sensei." I answered back loudly.
"Were you excused from the mat?"
"No, Sensei" (Excused? Huh?)
"Where did you go?"
"To the bathroom, Sensei."
"Next time, get permission."
"Hai, Sensei."

Now I knew I was completely doomed. I had just alienated the entire committee by some Gaijin breach of etiquette. Oh well.

Focus

Now that I didn't have to think about my bladder, I was able to watch the other testers a bit more closely. I began to ask myself, "What are they missing? What do I know that they don't? What can I do better?"

And after a while, I saw something very clearly.

They all paused. During their techniques there were breaks, moments of hesitation, places where the attacker could easily regain balance. Their techniques were good, but jerky, straight-lined rather than circular. They were jagged-edged rather than smooth.

That was something I could do better. That would be my focus.

I'm not going to give you the blow-by-blow on the test right now. ("Booo," from the crowd.) I know what my perceptions were, but I haven't seen the videotape, so I don't know what it looked like. I know that parts were good and that other parts were a complete disaster. (For instance, ending up flat on my back under a six-person pile-up during the randori freestyle attack... Twice.)

What I do know is that I did my absolute best.

And I failed the test.