My Aikido journey started on 28 February 1994. Had anyone told me then that I’d still be doing it more than 30 years later, I’d have laughed. Six months seemed more realistic.
I was back in Bristol after 5 years of studying and working in London and looking to take up a martial art. My appetite had been whetted by studying Yang-style tai chi in Holland Park under Master Chu King Hung. But in those days, Bristol wasn’t the buzzing place it is now, so my expectations weren’t high.
I was living in Southville – an area that has since become a byword for gentrification – and one day, I saw a poster advertising Aikido classes at a nearby church hall. I’d only vaguely heard of Aikido and had little idea what it involved. As this was the very early days of the internet, short of buying a book, the only way I was going to find out more was to turn up.
And so I went along one weekday evening dressed in tracksuit trousers and a t-shirt to be greeted by Sensei Ian Walters. At the time, he was a 4th Dan. In those days, 4th Dans wore a dark gi, symbolising the dirt accumulated from years of training.
It was a long time ago, so I can’t remember the exact conversation, but I recall Sensei explaining the concept of ki to me. I knew it as chi but, whatever you call it, the idea of an all-pervading universal energy can seem far-fetched. However, once you’ve experienced it, you know life will never be the same again.
I went to a couple more classes, and before I knew it, I’d paid for my membership and ordered my first gi. I still wear the same one – although it was looser-fitting in those days! It must be the best-value item of clothing I’ve ever bought. Its durability is extraordinary. Unaccustomed as I was to wearing one, it felt stiff and heavy, making it hard to move in. I was also completely flummoxed when tying the white belt around my waist and would often end a practice with it barely still on.
The etiquette of Aikido seemed alien at first. I wasn’t used to bowing to people or calling anyone ‘Sensei’. Being implacably anti-authoritarian – and young – I bristled against it. But after a while, it became second nature. I understood that it was a question of respect. Respect for my fellow students, respect for the teacher, respect for Sensei Williams, and respect for the teachings and values of Aikido passed down by O-Sensei.
As I got to grips with 1st, 2nd and 3rd forms, I discovered muscles I didn’t know existed. The day after a practice I’d barely be able to move. But the sense of wellbeing I got from Aikido was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Regardless of how stressed I was before a class – whatever worries I took with me – I’d finish the evening with my equilibrium restored. Everything was back in perspective.
My first time rolling took a huge leap of faith. I’d never done anything like it before and was terrified of injuring myself. But with Sensei Walters’ excellent instruction, not only did I master it – I never came to any harm! Kneeling was a problem for me at the start and remains so. We’re not used to it in the West! Overcoming ‘Fighting Mind’ was something I also struggled with. I still experience it now. The other kyu grades and I would spend an evening dragging each other around the mat, refusing to ‘admit defeat’. Respecting grades and other people’s ki was something I’d learn later.
When I got my brown belt and started weapons practice, I really felt like I’d stepped up a gear. Preparing for and taking my 1st Dan grading was one of the most daunting things I’ve ever done. I remember lying on the sofa the evening before and thinking: ‘Why am I doing this to myself?’. But fortunately, I passed and was proud to receive my certificate.
Getting to 1st Dan meant acquiring the coveted black belt and buying my first hakama. Working out how to get into one and then fold it afterwards was nearly as challenging as the grading. And more often than not, it would be halfway down my legs by the end of a lesson.
After Sensei Walters left Bristol, I had several other teachers before moving clubs and becoming a student of Sensei Bob Isles in Clifton. There were dozens of us on the mat, and every session felt like a masterclass. Practices invariably overran, despite Sensei Bob being a long-distance lorry driver who had to be up for work at 3 a.m. His enthusiasm was infectious, my Aikido evolved, and I took my 2nd and 3rd Dan gradings. During the eight-Dan grade attack at the end of my 3rd Dan grading, I was going at it with such gusto that Sensei Margaret told me to stop. “It’s not a battle, you know?” she said before telling me to continue. I’ve remembered that advice and tried to apply it to my Aikido and daily life.
Shortly after getting my 3rd Dan, Sensei Bob had to give up Aikido for personal reasons, and I moved to my present club in Filton, Bristol. My current teacher is the ever-patient Sensei Roy Youdale. Under his instruction, I’ve been awarded my 4th and 5th Dans, respectively. From him, I’ve learnt that you must be sincere in your practice. I’m quite a big chap – and don’t want to hurt anyone – but if you hold back when acting as nage or uke, you and your partner aren’t getting the full benefit.
Sensei also wisely said that once you reach a certain point in Aikido, you need a reason to keep turning up other than being promoted to the next grade. The number of years between receiving each one increases as you progress, so your commitment has to be to polishing your technique rather than getting the next coloured belt or piece of ribbon on your hakama.
Honing your Aikido is a lifetime’s work – a daunting prospect for anyone at the start of their journey. And practising the same techniques over and over – quite literally thousands of times – is all part of the process. As is the inner change you undergo. I can quite confidently say that I wouldn’t be the person I am now were it not for Aikido. After being awarded my 3rd Dan, I realised that Aikido is almost unfathomable. A dozen lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to reach its limits.
Has practising Aikido always been easy? No. Sometimes, life has just gotten in the way. There have been periods when the logistics of getting to classes were really hard. And when I was young, I had a lot of other distractions. As I got older, I had more responsibilities, like a demanding job. And I also got married and had kids. I often struggled to keep my eyes open during class because I was so tired. There were times when I wanted to quit because keeping going seemed too hard. But I’m so glad I didn’t.
Has it been worth the thirty-plus years of hard graft? An emphatic yes! My life would have been much poorer without Aikido. On occasion, it’s been the only thing that kept me sane. Yes, I still find it difficult to motivate myself on a cold, dark winter evening. But Aikido is incredibly enriching, and the more you put into it, the more you get back. It teaches you compassion, confidence, cooperation, empathy, humility, kindness, and patience. On a physical level, it conditions your body, and you develop an awareness of your surroundings, coordination, economy of effort, lightness of movement, relaxation…the list goes on.
There’s also the camaraderie and friendship that comes with Aikido. I’ve known some of the people in the Federation for more than half my lifetime. When I attend courses at the headquarters in Mark, it’s wonderful catching up with friends I may only see once or twice a year, as well as meeting new people.
Studying Aikido has been one of the defining aspects of my life. It’s a thing of extraordinary beauty – balletic and graceful – but is also shrouded in mystery. Just as you think you’ve got a handle on it, it slips from your grasp. It can be frustrating at times because although the katas and movements can be learned and practised, so have a tangibility, the essence of Aikido has an indefinable quality that remains maddeningly out of reach. You can try to put it into words, but they never do it justice. And that’s part of the fascination of Aikido – its vastness means there’s always more to learn.
Next February will mark the 31st anniversary of my starting Aikido. The road’s been long, and it’s been hard, but I don’t regret a minute of it.
Grant Chappell
Bristol Filton Ki Aikido Club