31 January 2012


I'm sure I've written about this before. The five “rules” of our dojo are:

Self Control

I'm still not sure why they're called rules—more like guidelines really. The rules consist more of things like:

No singing on the dojo. Except Sensei.
Only hit your neighbor if you are willing to accept the consequences.
Don't flinch when Sensei uses you as the punch in dummy.
Break a mirror and the rest of us get to plan your funeral.

Back to the first set.


Tonight we got started and after a brief meditation (so short even I, the short one, missed it) began with punches.

Oh, another rule is to kiya (however you spell it) each time you either strike or get hit.

Well, we threw out some punches, and only a few people in class did a kiiiiyyyyyaaaa! I almost always do it. Where else can I yell for an hour and not get in trouble? So sound factor was weak. Also, as I looked around I could see that no one was really into it. If our punches were handshakes, a majority of us gave the limp fish.

Not good. I saw Sensei go from being in a good mood to his face dropping into a mask of “seriously?”, his teeth clenching together and his eyes narrowing at us.

Great, I thought. Just wonderful. Here we go.

Sure enough, we then did more kicks than we've done in the whole month of January combined. We got a mini version of the “do you have the fighting spirit? If someone comes after you and you're tired or having a bad day, will you back down or do something about it?” speech he delivers a few times a year.

Effort. Put the effort into it, and not only will you probably enjoy it more, but you'll improve. And Sensei won't get mad. There is something to be said for keeping that man happy.

I'm really sweaty. Proof of my effort I suppose. Go ninja girl!

I think I need a writing sensei to help me put effort into my writing--it's been waning this past week. How do I get one of those?

1 comment:

Antiquarian said...

Is that all you got Schneider? A measly couple of words, a TOKEN plot? You sorry excuse for a writer! Drop and give me 3,000!

Let me guess you want to write a row-MANce novel, with glitterin' boy and woosy girls that spend their time wonderin', "does my booooyfrieeeend liiiike me".

Plot that you can drive a mac truck through! I want grit Schneider! I want MEN with guns and women who can kick some baggy a$$ all the way back to their first birthday.



(you are welcome)