As I mentioned the other day, this autumn I ended up spending a great deal of time simply watching practice, thanks to my lower back pain.
Today, I’d like to write about a shocking major discovery that I made during these past two months of mitori keiko and why I’m so excited about it.
To jump straight to the conclusion, that big discovery was this:
“A perfect ippon is one of a kind—there is only one.”
In other words:
“Anything other than a perfect ippon is not perfect.”
Once written down, you might say, “What are you talking about? That’s obvious!” and brush it off immediately.
But for me, this realization was enormous—and at the same time, terrifying enough to make my mind go completely blank for a moment.
Terrifying discovery?
Hmm, this sounds interesting today
During these two months of mitori keiko, I usually watched not from straight on, but from the practitioners’ left side.
From that angle, I could clearly see how each person used their body and how that movement connected to their strike.
As I continued observing, one thing struck me again and again:
Kendo really is physics.
More specifically, unless you understand kinematics, you can’t truly do kendo.
Kinematics”?
Uh… today I have no idea what Haru senpai is talking about…
Of course, using a term like “kinematics” makes it sound very difficult, but essentially it comes down to this:
How can I use my own body in the most efficient way possible to generate the maximum amount of power?
That’s all I need to think about.
Since I’m a cat, my body is much smaller than a human’s, so this is something I have to think about even more seriously. Though maybe I can beat humans when it comes to agility?
Most of my practice partners
are bigger than me
and much stronger
“Don’t lean backward or forward when you take kamae.”
“Don’t bend the left knee too much.”
“Don’t try to move forward with the right foot—use the left foot properly.”
“Don’t strike with right hand dominant.”
“Keep your center of gravity low; strike as if using your hips.”
While observing practice, I truly felt this deep in my bones:
Every one of these teachings is based on kinematics.
At the same time, I realized something else.
From the moment I take kamae, execute a waza, show zanshin, and then return to kamae again—within that single continuous sequence—
there are countless teachings about how the body should be used.
Even in just a split second,
there’s so much I have to do
Here’s one more thing I think I need to confirm.
As mentioned earlier, if kendo movements are based on kinematics, then for each of these ways of using the body, there is only one correct way.
Which means that unless I do every single element of body usage correctly,
I cannot arrive at a correct ippon—that is, a perfect ippon.
Doesn’t that mean that from the moment I take kamae, I must practice while constantly sensing the state of my entire body—from the top of my head to the tips of my toes—and checking whether I am truly using my body correctly?
Oh… oh…
I’ve realized something terrifying
In a previous blog post, I wrote that unless I strictly discipline myself, kendo is full of pitfalls and temptations—and that it’s quite easy to feel as if I am improving, even when I am actually not doing things properly at all. I feel that this realization is closely related to that idea as well. (Reference blog↓
At every practice, I must carefully keep in mind each “this is how it should be” way of using my body.
At the same time, I have to feel—moment by moment—whether the smallest details of my body is actually moving toward that correctness.
And perhaps, one day, when all of these correct ways of using the body become completely natural,
I might finally be able to approach a perfect ippon…
So that’s what it is…
It’s dizzying to even think about…
Is that why kendo is so difficult—and yet impossible to quit?
There are “almost perfect” ippon, “kind-of perfect” ippon, and “sort-of perfect” ippon—
I think imperfect versions of perfection exist everywhere in this world.
Therefore, I can also practice while failing to discipline myself, deceiving myself into feeling like I am improving.
But what lies at the end of that kind of practice?
If I’m going to continue kendo, I want to practice with the desire to get even a little closer to what I should truly be aiming for, don’t I?
If that’s the case, then there’s really only one thing left to do.
Each practice, one by one—
In other words:
each kamae,
each footwork,
each strike,
each moment of zanshin—
carefully, carefully, carefully…
steadily and patiently…
Even if it’s a goal I’ll never be able to achieve within my lifetime as a cat,
I’ll still do my best to get even a little closer to it.
There’s no doubt this will be a very long, long journey.
So without rushing—
but hoping that this year is just a little better than last year—
all I can do is continue improving each thing, one step at a time.
It was a terrifying major discovery, but I’m glad I realized it now.
With that thought in mind, I’m going to keep doing my best.
So, off to practice again tomorrow! ♪
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