Finding my Ki

I was in my Junior year of high school when I discovered aikido. I was studying in the Philippines, and my math teacher, a guy who epitomized the combination of brains plus brawn (swam three miles every day, avid long-distance biker, plus, there was that math teacher thing) encouraged me to give it a try - he had been studying for a while. I was interested, because I had studied tai kuan do when I lived in Korea (I was six, and there are still a few pictures floating around of little me, looking stern and yelling "hi-yah!") Plus, I had a raging crush on said math teacher, which I'm sure was as transparent as glass because I am and still remain a quiet, bookish nerd with no idea how to flirt discreetly. So I went ahead and signed up. Classes were held in a quiet dojo on the grounds of the Manila Polo Club, where my horse was stabled. A kendo class was there before us, so usually I arrived to hear the *thwack* of bamboo swords against armor. I'd run and change, and come in and make my bows.

It turned into one of the best things I had ever done for myself. I found myself doing things I had never expected; my cumbersome body was starting to become fluid. I learned how to fall. I learned how a small turn of my wrist could be the difference between success and failure. I cherished the long callus on my foot that came from working on the mats, because it was proof that I was part of this community of students. I adored weapons practice, working through katas in the still-lingering heat of Manila's early evening. I grew to love the smell of my own sweat, honestly earned.

( On a completely shallow side note... )