Sport Spotlight

 

It wasn’t long after I agreed to meet with the Aikido Club for one of their sessions that I turned my attention to what aikido actually might be. I was almost sure I had seen it on a board outside one of those clinics along with shiatsu and aromatherapy, but maybe that was wishful thinking. Consulting my existing knowledge of martial arts (I used to have Tekken 3 on Playstation) was a little more scary; I knew the one with mostly kicking is taekwondo, but other than that, I could be in for anything. I just hoped it wasn’t the one with the samurai sword.

When I arrived and met the Club President, Daniel Wright, I was relieved to hear that aikido isn’t one of the aggressive, Tekken-esque martial arts; the focus is on incapacitating the opponent without causing damage. Wright explains that it is “more about the self than the show,” a fact reflected in the belt system: where most martial arts ascend through several colours, aikido students progress through six stages of white before finally reaching black belt.

Aikido came about when Morihei Ueshiba, a dissatisfied student of several kinds of jiu-jitsu, decided to develop his own style. Students refer to him as Ósensei (“great teacher”), and bow to the framed portrait of him propped up next to the mats, overseeing the session. I wondered what he would make of me: a student journalist who was trying to simultaneously digest the relief that no swords were involved, and also the disappointment that there were no lovely fragrances either.

The warm-up started with a rowing exercise; thrusting both arms forward together shouting “Ah!”, and then bringing them back into the waist with a “Shi!”, also transferring weight forwards – “Ah!’, and backwards – “shi!”, “SHOUT IT!” called our sensei, “AH! SHI! AH! SHI!”. I felt underwhelmed and self-conscious, a bit like when you try dancing before drinking. I found myself, as a linguistics student, thinking: well my movement might be horrible, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting these vowels spot on! It’s surprising what you take pleasure from in times of desperation.

We then sat cross-legged and pressed our knees to the floor to exercise the leg muscles. After that we held our feet with our hands, but interlocking – like you would with a girlfriend or boyfriend, except there’s an overwhelming awareness it’s actually your own foot – and we shook our feet, gently at first and then more vigorously. The strangeness receded (ever so slightly) as we moved our hands up to our ankles, and shook our feet again, and then for a reason unknown to me, we punched our feet once, before finally leaving them alone.

To complete the warm up, we stood with our feet shoulder-width apart, hands cupped together, and shook them. Think: Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth in The King’s Speech, or if you haven’t seen that, think of the trailer for it. We were encouraged to loosen the whole body, rocking the hips as well. As a spiritual student, perhaps you’d feel your energies harmonise, or at least your muscles relax, but after seeing the smirking Vision photographer in the dance studio mirror I could feel nothing but the focus of his lens, burning on my awkwardly bobbing buttocks.

Our sensei, a man with long pony-tailed hair and a Brummie accent, ran through a restraining technique apparently similar to “what the police do when they run out of handcuffs.” What followed in practice was quite unusual: after a bit of fumbling and lots of cooperation from my “attacker”, I finally had her face down on the mat, where she was advising me on how to inflict a bit of discomfort: “Maybe if you twist it the other way?” … “What?”… “The other way”…”Sorry, I can’t hear you, you’re speaking into the mat”… “Twist it the other way”… “Oh, like this?”…”No, that doesn’t really hurt”…”Is it in the right position?”…”I don’t know, I can’t see anything.”

I hoped I’d have more luck with the next technique. The aim was to catch the attacker’s punch and step in behind them – spooning them – and roll them across your chest, sending them hurtling to the floor. My partner for this one was a fellow first-timer.

After observing us in several incorrect, and seemingly quite tender positions, sensei stepped over to give some instruction. “Hit me,” he requested. I was hesitant; trying to hit a sixth white belt aikido sensei seemed a little counter-intuitive. Half-way into the punch I saw his arms were still by his sides, so I slowed down and stopped just before his face, at which point he took my arm, stepped in and cradled me against his shoulder. I was little spoon. I felt his breath on my neck as he explained in dipping Brummie tones how vulnerable I was. I didn’t need telling. In an effortless motion, he knocked me off balance and I crashed to the mat. He advised me that my falling could do with some work.

Proficiency in aikido takes time and patience, and the slightest bit of balance and capacity to remember simple procedures probably wouldn’t go amiss. That in mind, I doubt Mr. Ueshiba will be eagerly anticipating my return. However, next time I get punched in the face, I’ll know exactly what I should’ve done.