When I'm not there.

A few stats on last week's training:

--Classes attended: 11
--With practice after class: more than 22 hours of training
--It wasn't aspirin, after all: more than 36 ibuprofen tablets taken
--Each ibuprofen: 200mg
--Dogi worn: 4
--Loads of dojo-specific laundry: 3
--Miles driven to and from the dojo: 96 (estimated)

The bright spot is that last one. In college, my commute to the dojo was ninety miles each way. So, relative to my younger days, at least I'm saving money. I'm probably spending all the money saved on gas on ibuprofen; back then, I needed only a distraction (homework; girls; Law&Order reruns) and a beer to heal. Aging, apparently, involves pecuniary as well as existential costs. I'm at least a little thankful each day, though, that I now spend more time inside the dojo than driving to and from it. Even when the traffic getting there is holiday-season-dumb.

The pain today is having to make that qualification: (estimated). Today, my girlfriend came back into town after a week away, and, by Murphy's Law, her flight got in during class time. There were two classes today, and the girlfriend is a far better one than I deserve, so she agreed to wait in the dojo during the second class, because it's halfway between home and the airport, and the timing just barely worked out.

Now, of course I was gratified when Sensei seemed actually glad to see make the second class, but as I recall the smile he greeted me with, I reflexively think about the class he'd finished teaching only minutes earlier, which I had missed.

No, I don't remember who did it, or where, but there was a poll taken of centenarians at the turn of the milennium, which asked, among other things, about their biggest regrets. Their consensus: missed opportunities. I'm not likening missing one hour of aikido to a marriage proposal, participation in a war, or international travel. I'm just shedding a little light on the dark corners of what some might call an aikido addiciton. Aikido is a living art. Every practice, practitioner, and execution of a technique is a unique intersection of effort and time. O-Sensei wrote of this repeatedly, in terms more eloquent than mine. I'll recommend his writings rather than elucidate further. At any rate, each moment of training I miss is one I can't ever get back. In this way, the love for aikido is just like that for a girlfirend, or a good drive, or anything else.

Admittedly, sometimes, with the bruises and the fat lips and the limping, the love of aikido does look very different from those other ones.