Time For a Change
by Tim Fry
My first impressions of aikido were fleeting glimpses of white-clad men and women, some in strange skirts, viewed through gaps in the curtain that separated my morning fitness class from the practice mats at the Y. Odd chanting, grunts, and occasional cries of pain would escape past the curtain and mix with my class' warm-up music.
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As the tedium of running around in a small circle every morning became too much, I began to feel the need for some activity that would offer mental as well as physical challenges. So one day I turned up for Fran's Thursday beginners' class and I haven't looked back since.
The two months since then have been something of an eye-opener as my body has been acclimatizing to the techniques and my impatient mind--to the frustration of being a beginner. There is an intense satisfaction in finally starting to understand a technique after many missteps and much fumbling of hands. Often I become so involved that external distractions seem to fade away completely. I sometimes don't realize this until later, when I notice that even the crooning of Lionel Ritchie coming from the other side of the fitness class curtain has failed to penetrate my concentration.
Although I've not yet started wandering around zombie-like, with outstretched arms and glazed, staring eyes, muttering "Aikido, Aikido" (as Ramin is predicting), I already feel quite addicted to this art and welcome the changes it brings about in me.
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