Jew-Do (My Miserable Mastery of Martial Arts)

Wu-Shu (Sport)

I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to master any one of the two zillion martial arts for the longest time. Maybe I’m not the fighting type, but I’m not the bleeding type either, and don’t want to find out how that feels, so I keep trying. Miserably, I might add.

In one class, a style I do not remember, we started with proper breathing and screaming techniques. It looked more like a Lamaze class for people with Tourette’s syndrome, and within a short time I could break my own water and shatter glass. I only thing I learned in there was how to hold back my laughter. Never underestimate the value of that skill. It comes in handy at work.

The next attempt was Tai Chi. I know there are benefits to Tai Chi such as improved balance, deep breathing, and meditation, and that’s all fine and good. But if I’m under any kind of threat at this point, I kind of think that running really, really, really fast in the other direction will provide more protection than moving really, really slow within a five or six foot radius. There should be more Tai Chi classes available for those who like to move slowly. Maybe, just maybe, that would get the slowpokes out of the passing lanes, or out from in front of us in the supermarket, and all together in one room where they belong, sequestered from the rest of us who didn’t evolve directly from snails.

Next came Kendo. That’s Japanese fencing for the uninitiated. If you can afford private lessons take them. Otherwise, you will subject to constant humiliation at the hands of 10 year old Japanese kids 1/3 your size, who visit the dojo to see how ‘round eyes’ is managing with their tradition. A match begins and ends with the kid flicking the boken or shinai out of my hands with 0.3 seconds, after which he (or she) calmly and ceremoniously 'air-hacks' me into Sushi. Nothing builds confidence like that experience. It’s no wonder Japanese cars are better. Their kids are building them!

Then there was aikido. Never mind asking. Did you ever see how women used to launder clothing before the washing machine was invented? That’s what the Aikido experience seems like to me. The instructor is the beating and twisting the laundry (me) against the mat, over and over again. Time was way overdue to add some fabric softener. I love the art, and the science of the art is a wonder to behold. Isaac Newton would have loved Aikido. From a distance! The scientific know-how that enables mankind to launch probes deep into the outer reaches of our solar system is the very same technique that the Sensei used to pummel me repeatedly off the canvas, the wall, other students, and the ceiling. I learned two important lessons in Aikido. Don’t pick fights with the instructor, and never underestimate the pull of gravity.

Boxing is really cool and of all the sports that are out there, it’s the only one I follow religiously, but as you probably have already seen, I have always worn eyeglasses. My eyesight is not what you’d call ‘bad’, unless you consider that the average person with 20/20, when wearing my specs, can see the future! So even when training in the gym, which I love to do, and thinking that I’m doing quite well, quickly discover that once any serious sparring ensues, at least half the punches thrown are being delivered from a nearly-invisible hologram at a very, very short distance from my face. Once my health insurance premiums and deductibles went up too high, I figured it was time for a change of hobby. Painful AND expensive sounds too much like marriage to be considered worthwhile endeavor.

Then I tried Philipino Knife fighting. Well. By the time the first two weeks went by, I was so skilled in hurting others (and myself) with a blade that I started to eat my toast dry for fear of losing a digit. The song says there are “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”, but in knife fighting, there seem to be any number of ways to “leave your lover” in little pieces. Sounds messy. Whose going to clean THAT up?

Then came archery. Oh, this was definitely NOT good. A bow and arrow in my hands is like a deaf man playing an out-of-tune one string guitar. Just glad I’m Jewish-American and not Native-American. I’d be chased off the reservation. I suppose if I were to have a real native name it would translate into something like “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you”, “Don’t quit your day job”, or “he was adopted.”

I don’t like guns. I’m happy the Israelis have lots of them, but for myself I’d rather remain defenseless. We are ALL safer that way. I can’t even shoot straight with a camera and I don’t expect my aim to improve much if firing an AR15. I’m safe enough giving off the impression that I might carry a gun around than actually having one. Fear of the unknown is an awesome weapon.

I suppose the best self-defense is still a friendly smile, a laugh, and an apology when necessary. Being prone to the occasional social blunder (say it’s not so!), I have mastered the art of humility and begging forgiveness. Groveling is a martial art taught to Jewish men by their wives. It’s not pretty to watch, but it might help you survive. I wonder what a tournament would look like. I shudder to imagine.

If nothing else, the martial arts gives one a real appreciation for the human body, its frailties, and its immense power. Or, in my case, it let me know just how much punishment I could stand before I quit. Not much. That’s for sure.