(part one)
by Mark Binder
It seemed like an excellent omen. I was taking the MBTA commuter train from Billerica and we were just crossing under the highway on our way into North Station when the conductor announced, "Next stop, Disney World, the magic kingdom! Visit the Tiki Tiki Room. Ride on Space Mountain!"
I had to crack up.
Until that moment, I'd been feeling a little sad and a little excited. I was on my way to Chicago for the National Aikido Instructor's Seminar. On the one hand I was looking forward to challenging my body with four six hour days of martial arts training. On the other hand, I was leaving Alicia and Max alone from Thursday until Sunday.
"Next stop," the conductor boomed, "Disney World!"
I started studying Aikido seven years ago in Providence, Rhode Island with a teacher named Glenn Webber. He was a third degree black belt and could throw me halfway across the room. Not that he did that on the first day.
Aikido is a Japanese martial art based on the premise of self-defense, or self-protection. It's sort of like Judo or Jujitsu, but subtler. We don't hit people, we throw them, and when we throw people, we very rarely pick them up. Instead, if someone attacks, you move out of the way and give them a little nudge. Imagine swinging a baseball bat at a tree and suddenly the tree's behind you. You'd probably fall over.
Now, I'm not a violent person, and if you'd told me ten years ago that I'd have a second degree black belt I would been quite skeptical. I was looking for something physical to do, some kind of exercise or movement that was fun. I hated running, and long distance bicycling bored me. Swimming was tolerable, but again dull. Tai Chi seemed attractive, but you needed to practice by yourself, and I knew I'd never do that.
So I tried an Aikido class. The first day, Glenn Webber showed me a simple technique called shihonage, which means four-direction throw. Basically, you hold your partner's wrist, put her knuckles on her shoulder, and then cut down. Carefully.
I loved it. I loved throwing people, I loved rolling and taking falls, and I loved working with partners. (When you're a writer, you spend a lot of time talking to yourself, so it was a great social break.) It wasn't phenomenal exercise, but it got me moving and thinking at the same time.
After the first class I signed up for a month. After the first month I signed up for a year. That was seven years ago. Whenever I travel, I pack my gi (uniform) and hakama (sort of a cross between a blue skirt and the Japanese version of cowboy chaps) and go to the local dojo. Since Aikido is a fairly new martial art, many of the chief instructors around the United States studied directly with the founder, Morihei Ueshiba. As a result, you can go to Aikido schools just about anywhere in the world and see pretty much the same techniques. It's a wonderful feeling to go into a strange city and immediately find camaraderie.
In fact, the reason I live in Chelmsford is because of the local dojo. A few years ago, Alicia got a job with the Merrimack River Watershed Council, and one of the first things I did was visit Northeast Aikikai.
Founded in 1978 by Lou Perriello, Northeast Aikikai is Northern Massachusetts' oldest Aikido dojo. Lou is a seventh degree black belt who began studying Aikido in 1962, the year I was born. His school has more than 70 active students, including about 20 first, second, third and fourth degree black belts.
At first this was intimidating. In Providence, I had been one of the senior students, top of the heap. I even taught classes sometimes. Now I was the newest black belt, low man on the totem pole.
Thankfully, everyone in the school was friendly and welcoming. I went back to being a student, and found out that there was still more to learn.
That's probably what keeps me practicing Aikido. Aside from the pure joy of flinging somebody across the room, (or flying across the room after being thrown,) there's always more to learn. Everyone who studies Aikido has a different style. Some of this has to do with body type. A short woman, for example can't reach up to throw a three-hundred pound man. She has to bring him down to her level. Four years have sped by and now I'm teaching again. We have a few state troopers taking classes now, and that's gotten me thinking about practical "street" applications.
Now, the last weekend in April, I was flying off to Chicago to study with instructors from all across the United States and Japan.
"Next stop, Chicago!"
Click here to read Part Two -- The Fleabag Hotel