So along I trooped on Wednesday evening, all kitted out in the closest things I have to (dreaded) exercise clothes—I think I must be the only male in the entire western world who has still not stooped to the level of actually owning a pair of tracksuit pants. Through the torrential rain I trudged, shinai in hand, head bowed to Kura-Okami, the god of rain.
Upon arriving at the building, I was bade remove my shoes. No surprises there. And into the gym-like dojo. A rag-tag bunch of drowned rats like myself were milling around, some with, some without shinai. It was a bit of a nighmare actually, like that first day in a new school: some kids know each other and are all chummy, while others like me stand around twiddling their thumbs, waiting for the bell to ring.
And it did, kinda—out with the $135.00, and before we knew it, we were all being taught about the ancient art of kendo. About how to handle the shinai—it is an ersatz sword , so should never be a) held by it's blade or b) stepped over or c) fondled without permission of the owner. About bowing to the "High Place" upon entering and leaving the dojo, each and every time you leave the gym-surface for the carpet or the vestibule: this should be done to approximately 30°, focussing one's attention on the ground 1½metres ahead; how to show appropriate respect to one's adversaries in the dojo, in this case maintain eye contact and bow 15°.
See, it's all fun and games. Not at all a cult like my love surmises. I made the mistake of taking her to an aikido class once. I was never allowed back.
So once we were instructed in the niceties of the art, it was time to start bashing each other with our bamboo poles. Well, not quite. First, there was a half hour of warm up and stretching. A lot of stretching, mostly calf stretching, because most of the people there were weak as piss and don't have strong, masculine calves like moi.
So now we can lunge at each other with out teeth bared and our shinai ready to slice some mother-fucker's head off? Again no. Now we learn the age-old eastern arts of crouching, kneeling, paying respect, centring, meditating, and some sort of simulation of prayer. Which is all fine and good if you don't have a bloody ingrown toenail on your left big-toe meaning the thing is next to useless most of the time, but hurts like buggery whe pressure is applied the wrong way. Which the movement from crouching to kneeling and back again did. Ouch is an understatement. Throbbing pain that distorts your universe until you feel like Munch's Scream is more appropriate. In comparison, buggery is quite a pleasant experience actually.
[how funny that the Norwegian for scream is skrik, so close to shreik, but I won't even start on The Amazing Race at this stage of the day]
Now, drawing you shinai is actually quite fun—a simulation of drawing your katana, just like Toshiro. But it isn't something that is too easy to explain. Just imagine you're unsheathing a Japanese longsword.
The next stage we the impure moved onto after drawing your shinai, was how to hold it. Left hand at the base, right hand just behind the tsuba, with the V-shapes formed by your grip aligned with the tsuru which symbolises the cutting blade. Haaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-ya!
So finally, we get to wave this fucken thing around? No. Now we learn footwork. (It's always the way, isn't it? Try watching eastern movies—a whole different form of narrative.) Left and right feet parallel a foot apart, right heel aligned with left toes. Easy. Now try getting about and always returning your feet to the same position, and god help you if you rest on your heel at any time. That, it seems, is the cardinal sin. I have always wanted to be able to steal around like they do in those Japanese films, silently sliding the shoji back and pounce on my unsuspecting victim as he, I dunno, fornicates with some fourth-level courtesan. And now, without using my heels, it seems I can! Woo Hoo!
So now it's coming up to 2 hours, and it's time for all good greenhorns to get back to their normal lives. But now, yes, now, we ge to wave the stick around. 20 like this please. Ok. 20 more. Ok. Now try 20 this way. yeah, c'mon, my noodle house closes in 15 minutes and I don't want to starve tonight. Or eat wedding sausage. I'm actually quite partial to wedding sausage but not as a meal. 20 more this way. Louder. In Japanese. I can't hear you. 20 more. 10 more each side. ok, you can go now.
Phew.
Would you believe I'm looking forward to Sunday?
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