The Next Step?

Many of my students know about this already, but it is, and will remain, a topic that is very much on my mind at the moment: What is the next step for our dojo?

When I began teaching Aikido, my needs and wants were modest. I simply wanted a location in which I could share my practice. At the time, I lived across the street from a YMCA; after some convincing, they allowed me to try out an Aikido class. That was nearly 5 years ago. Today, we have anywhere between 12 and 16 students. That’s a relatively small number, but when you consider that we get little to no advertising and street traffic, I find that we have done rather well.

There have been problems, however. Our space is not suited for training with bokken or jo; in fact, the use of these tools is met with some trepidation from the YMCA staff members. I can understand their concern; these items look like weapons. The fact that we train in them more to learn better how to apply Kokikai principles is hard to get across unless you are actually on the mat. We are also limited in the number of classes we can offer. At present, we offer three classes a week, with most people participating in two. Due to other YMCA classes, we can’t add a class later in the evening, nor can we add classes during other days of the week.

There is also the matter of cost. For the past five years, the YMCA has charged its members $3 per class and non-members $5 per class. For students training twice a week, that amounts to $24 per month or $40. This is indeed a great value. However, Y members are also paying their membership dues, which is around $40 per month, and many of my students are members of the YMCA solely because of our dojo. Even so, this is a pretty good value.

Starting in October, however, the fees are changing. For Y members, the cost will be $4 a class, or $32 per month. For non-members, the cost is $10 a class, or $80 a month for two days a week. Now the perceived value of the class is harder to discern. I could play the “Training in our art is worth any price!” card, but that concept is hard to convey to new students; especially when they could join a full-time dojo for the same amount. As the chief instructor, I now have two concerns:

• Will I lose students because they cannot afford or do not want to afford these new fees? If so, the dojo will quickly collapse.
• Will I fail to gain new students because it is too hard to illustrate the value of membership? If so, the dojo will die slowly, as a constant stream (or, at least, trickle) of new students is important to any dojo.

When I combine these concerns with the fact that our class schedule is limited, I have been forced to wonder what our next step is. My instincts tell me that it is time for our dojo to step out and truly become it’s own entity. There are two ways we can do this:

1. Find another space that we can rent on a per-hour basis, such as a community center or church facility.
2. Find a space that we rent full-time as a dojo.

In the first scenario, we would potentially gain more class time, and practice in an improved facility that would allow us to expand our curriculum. Because we’d be renting by the hour, there would be minimal risk to me financially if the dojo were to disperse. We would also be able to fully take ownership of our advertising. The downsides include the fact that we’d still have to set up and take down the mats at every class, and that we’d still be at the mercy of the given center’s schedule. That said, I’m sure I could find a space like this that would allow us to charge $80/month for classes; which is a reasonable rate compared to other stand-alone martial arts schools.

In the second scenario, we would definitely gain more class time, and also practice in an improved space (although the overall environment might be less asthetically pleasing). We would have access to the space 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, which would give us complete freedom to have a full Kokikai curriculum. As the space would be ours, we could set up the mats and leave them down which would be a very nice benefit. We’d also be fully responsible for our advertising and other costs. The major downsides include that we’d have to move the dojo at least 15 minutes away from its current location; I would also be putting myself at a much greater financial risk should things fall apart.

In either case, I would still need to set up the dojo as a business and get liability insurance. I worry less about that, because I certainly wouldn’t mind being able to write off training expenses as business expenses, and liability insurance seems to be pretty straightforward. Dojos smaller than mine can support it, at any rate. But, I must admit, both cases are big enough changes in the dojo that my heart pounds at all of the possibilities that exist.

That said, I am strongly leaning towards finding our own space that we can use as a dojo full-time. The financial risks and responsibilities will be overcome a thousandfold if it means that my current students can train more effectively and enjoyably, and we are able to attract and retain new students because we have a broader and more accomodating schedule. I have even found a space that has a great deal of potential: it is a small, older warehouse. The space is relatively small (about 1100 square feet), but it has high ceilings, windows, ample parking, and a secure door. The rent is extremely reasonable; reasonable enough that were things to go wrong I would not be in dire straits. (Of course, I wouldn’t be happy! But I wouldn’t be facing years of debt either).

In the end, the final decision will be made of by the dojo. I could simply tell my students: “We’re moving. Let’s go.” But that is not the way I would like to lead. Hopefully, I can either show my students that this move is best for our training and for the growth of our dojo, or they will convince me that our interests are better served elsewhere.

It is very exciting, to say the least!

On Injuries

A little more than a week ago, I was commuting home from work. My commute requires that I take a local bus, then switch to a commuter bus that gets me into my neighborhood. On that day, my local bus was running late; as a result, I had to run to catch my next bus.

Normally, this isn’t an issue. Unfortunately for me, I have what one physical therapist described as “poorly designed knees.” Basically, my leg alignments are slighly off; just off enough to make me more prone to leg injuries than others. There’s probably a small chance that my years sitting in seiza haven’t helped matters, but for the most part I’ve been able to adjust my movements accordingly.

Not this time, however. As I ran, a part of my right leg said “No, no thank you.” The result? A strained IT band that requires some good anti-inflammatory medicine in the short term, and some solid physical therapy for the long term.

So it’s understandable that the subject of this blog has weighed heavily on my mind as of late: injuries.

First, let’s look at injuries as the pertain to the martial arts world in general. All martial arts, by their very nature, put their practitioners at high risk of injury. We are, after all, practicing self defense movements. I have met many people who fear getting injuried. In some cases, this fear is warranted. For example, I met an Aikidoka once who was a professional musician. He wanted to learn self-defense, but got very worried when we studied certain jointlocks because they could affect his ability to perform. People who have pre-existing conditions or situations in which an injury could be devestating to either their life or their livelihood have a right to be concerned.

As a side note: these people also have the right to train as well, so long as they do so knowing that they are putting themselves at risk. I’ve met a few folks that train with the attitude of “If you’re afraid of getting hurt, don’t train.” That’s a strange statement. If I were a professional guitar player, should I deny myself the benefits of studying a budo art simply because there is the chance I could hurt my wrist doing so? Maybe–but it’s my choice, not someone else’s. The dojo is a place to learn, to study; not a place to abuse myself unnecessarily.

Most people I’ve met who are afraid of injury, however, have no reason to be afraid other than the fact that, well, getting injured hurts. This attitude prevents them from really being able to understand and use the martial art they are studying. We have all met people who fit this category: they tend to attack poorly and defend timidly. This might be acceptable in a new student; after all, they have little experience and don’t know what to expect. But I am constantly surprised at how many people get nervous about strikes and throws. I’ve met aikidoka who were frightened of getting hit in the face; I’ve met karateka who quivered at the thought of getting thrown. For my part, although I have never been in a serious fight, I have received more punches and kicks than I’d care to recall. (Most from my days studying kung fu.) After a couple of hits, you start realizing that getting hit will either end the fight for you right there, in which it’s too late to worry about your injuries; or you’ll suck it up and move on. In short: overcoming one’s fear of injury is essential to fully practicing a martial art.

Now, let’s look at Kokikai Aikido. In Kokikai, we are unique in that we avoid injury if at all possible. Sensei Maruyama, our founder, despises injuries. Why? Because they slow progress. Getting injured means you cannot train as effectively as you normally could. Basically, I don’t think Sensei Maruyama’s concern over injuries is for the student; instead, I think he dislikes them because it means it will take longer for that student to get better at the art.

Some people may read the preceding paragraph and think: “Well, if you avoid injury, you must not really attack each other.” This is not the case. We train hard when we are on the mat. I have yet to meet a single Kokikai instructor who will let their students get away with anything less than a fully committed attack. The difference is that we study how to throw and how to uke to the point that we can handle these committed attacks in the safest way possible. On the mat, we ride the edge of our limits, constantly pushing ourselves. Yet we are always mindful of each other so that we rarely end up exceeding our own limitations or the limitations of our fellow students. Kokikai allows us to have a far greater degree of control than one might expect. When someone punches, I can choose to throw hard or throw soft; either way, I’ve resolved the conflict. This control allows us to ensure not only that we are safe, but that our attackers are as safe as possible as well.

Another point that I’d like to make: as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I am injured. One would think I would need to back away from training until I was healed. While it’s true I won’t be taking any serious ukemi for a short while, I was amazed at how I was still able to handle fast, strong, committed attacks. Keep in mind that my leg mobility has been reduced significantly–yet I could still take my uke off balance. Again, this shows one of the strengths of Aikido: even when injured, you can still employ its principles to great effect.

In the end, the best way to handle injuries is to prevent them from happening in the first place. Be honest with yourself and recognize the weaknesses in your own body. Inflexible? Stretch more. Poor muscle strength? Lift weights or a similar anaerobic exercise. Poor stamina? Try increasing your cardiovascular health. Make sure you understand the risks associated with your martial art. It is also important that you watch your training students. Is someone sparring recklessly? Be ready for that when you next train with them.

Injuries are sometimes unavoidable. Yet, we can minimize their occurences by raising our awareness both internally and externally. If you’re a Kokikai student, look at our system of movement and appreciate how it blends effectiveness with safety. If you’re not a Kokikai student, look at your own art and see what steps it takes to ensure both safety and effectiveness. After all, we cannot guarantee that, should we need to defend ourselves, we will be in top physical form. We might be sick, we might be tired, we might be sore from last night’s training. Any art should encourage a drive towards physical fitness, but it should by no means require it for it to be effective. This is one of the main reasons why I appreciate Kokikai Aikido.

On Demonstrations

Yesterday, I had the honor and privilege of participating in a demonstration of Kokikai Aikido. The location was a popular Japanese cultural festival. As usual, we had a only 20 or so minutes of actual demonstration time, and my portion of it lasted all of maybe a minute. Nonetheless, we conducted ourselves well; I think we were both entertaining and informative.

Demonstrations, however, are always very interesting in a martial arts context. They often seem to be inevitable; after all, people need to see what you’re doing to get some sense of whether the art is right for them. Yet, whenever I come across a discussion on a particular Aikido demonstration (or any martial art demonstration, for that matter), I seem to encounter three common responses:

• Those who have no idea what was going on. These are folks who have no martial arts training, so the entire art is new. I love listening to these types of people, because they offer such a fresh insight as to how the art appears to the uninitiated. I know I had such a perspective when I began training, but that was a long time ago!
• Those who thought the demonstration seemed “fake.” I’ll be blunt: I’ve seen these folks all too often, and I am convinced that they are people who have very fragile egos indeed. Sometimes, they have some martial arts experience. Sometimes, they just want to be act tough. These folks never ask questions during the demonstration itself (we often allow for questions at the end of our demos). Instead, you hear them as they walk by. They’re usually making comments such as “That was so choreographed” or “Those attackers were going so easy–I would have really hit them hard.”
• Those who know the demonstration was a demonstration, neither more nor less. These are folks who know what they’re looking at, and understand that a demonstration is, in the end, a choreographed snapshot of what a given martial art is like. These are the best folks to talk with, because even if they don’t join your dojo, you’ll likely have a good conversation about martial arts training and philosophy.

Why bring this up? Because I think understanding these three personality types can help when preparing for a demonstration. For example: I know that a good portion of the audience won’t have a clue as to what’s going on. Therefore, while I endeavor to conduct things formally and well, I won’t stress about being too formal or too ritualistic; it’s meaning will get lost and the audience will likely get bored. Another portion of the audience will think that everything I do is fake or won’t work in a real-world scenario. They’ll feel that way no matter what I do, so there’s no need to try to prove anything extraordinary when giving a demonstration. You’d think these ideas would be very simple; yet I have seen demonstrations in which half of the time was spent on bowing and formal politeness. I could see the audience (including myself) grow bored as a result. I have seen demonstrations in which the presenter wants to prove the art even to those who don’t want to understand; they want only to critique. The result is a demonstration that provides a warped perspective of the art in question.

So, what makes a good demonstration? In my mind, Sensei Bannister does a great job in this regard. So, to take a page from his book, as it were, here are the hallmarks of a good martial arts demonstration:

1. Organize. Show the audience that you know respect their time by not wasting it shuffling around with setting up mats and so forth.
2. Rehearse. Practice, but don’t over practice. Yesterday, my Aikido partner and I were going to do 4 techniques. We did; but only 2 of them were the ones we actually practiced beforehand!
3. Move. Keep it moving at all times! This is a demonstration, not a lecture.
4. Engage. Make it personal for the audience. Talk to them, even bring them onto the mat to illustrate a point.
5. Relax. Demonstrations rarely go as planned. Be ready for the unexpected by staying relaxed and enjoying yourself.

Remember, too, when observing a demonstration: it’s supposed to be choreographed, and it may yet look a little staged. Why shouldn’t it? Who would allow a martial art school to demonstrate their style if all they said was: “Yeah, we’re just gonna start fightin’ now?” If you find yourself one of those critiquing an art based on a demonstration, I challenge you to visit the dojo in question. See what their training is like away from an audience. Visiting one class still doesn’t give a complete view of how a martial art works, but it’s better than sitting back in your chair and feeling elitist. (And yes, I’ve been guilty of this too.)

In the end, demonstrations can often be a lot of fun. They provide a bonding experience for the participates, and gives new folks a chance to see something they might like to try. I’ve got two more demonstrations slated for this month (I haven’t done one in years until now!)–I may post more on this after those are finished.