The Terrier

Posted by Lori Basiewicz for Sangamon Aikikai.

My friend Barb has long told me I have a terrier personality. By this she means, just like the terrier breeds of dog, once I engage, I’m not going to back down, but I’ll continue hanging on and moving forward even if what I’m combating is three times my size and capable of crushing me. She doesn’t mean it as an insult or a compliment. It’s just one of those things she’s observed.

I never fully comprehended what she meant until we were preparing the late Lt. Colonel for his 1^st kyu exam. We were doing a dry run and I was one of his designated attackers for the freestyle portion. Now, for those of you who never had the privilege of meeting the Lt. Colonel, he wasn’t a small man. He stood around six feet, maybe a little taller, and had a bit of girth to him. In comparison, I’m all of five feet two inches. I don’t think I even came up to his chest, plus he could wrap one hand around both of my wrists. So, naturally, I rushed up to him, intent on attacking tsuki. I punched him.

Now, a smart person would have backed off, done something different, altered their attack. A smart person would not have stayed directly in front of their much larger, better trained, more skilled opponent, throwing punch after punch. I’m very intelligent. Smart – not so much.

I’m raining punch after punch on the Lt. Colonel’s gut when I looked up. He’s just standing there, looking down at me, waiting. It was one of those light bulb moments, an instant of personal clarity, where I thought, “Oh. This is what Barb means by a terrier personality.” I had engaged. I was not backing down. Of course, the next instant, the Colonel grinned, kotegaeshi was applied, and I hit the mat. The Colonel loved to do kotegaeshi on me. He swore it was my favorite technique.

Flash forward to yesterday. It was the first practice I was able to attend after the holiday. When I arrived, I let Sensei know I’d been ill over Christmas and didn’t quite have my stamina back, that if I stepped aside and sat seiza along the wall, I wasn’t injured – just not up to par yet. She thanked me for letting her know.

Practice progressed and Michael and I were doing yokomenuchi shihonagi. We were going slow – for us – but even so, there’s a certain energy that goes along with throwing someone you’ve trained with for years. I felt my stamina giving way. I told myself, I’ll just finish throwing Michael this round, then I’ll take a break. Of course, having taken my turn throwing, it was only fair that I let Michael take his turn, too, then I’d sit out for a bit.

I know me. I would have continued like that – promising myself that I just needed to get through one obstacle more before I could rest – until the end of practice or until I was seeing people’s gold-tinged auras. One or the other. Fortunately, Sensei intervened.

As I stood up after being thrown, she caught my eye and flashed the time-out signal. I immediately assumed a neutral stance. Michael saw my posture, glanced over his shoulder, and straightened as well.

“I only wanted to check on Lori,” Sensei said, then addressed me directly. “You’re looking a little pale.”

I smiled and started for the sidelines. Sensei stepped closer. “Your lips,” she said, “are blue.”

Her tone implied this was not a good thing. Who knew your lips weren’t supposed to match the mat?

Needless to say I spent the rest of the evening learning through observation, even though my color returned rather quickly. A couple of times I thought about actively participating again, but what do you know? Maybe if the mirror is held up often enough, even a terrier can learn to disengage once in a while