Self-training tonight could best be described as out of rhythm but back in step. I didn’t regain the complete groove with the long staff form until I’d done it about a dozen times, but it was good to be back in the only place I’m able to practice it. The key question of the evening was: would the shot alone provide relief? Unfortunately, the answer was no – and it was clear rather quickly. So out came an over-the-counter pain reliever for the first time in two days. The good news, though, is that the knees held up fantastically without the arthritis meds. So, it would appear the shot to the back works better on the knees.
Okay. I’ll take it!
Now, if only I didn’t have to return to work Friday. And if only I knew whether to take as a sign this persistent, increasingly-overbearing reluctance to get up at dawn every morning, to commute an hour to a job that countless people would love to have, that it’s time to do something different. It could quite simply be a clear indication to come up with a better way of commuting. But I don’t think so.
I don’t know a single adult black sash at our school working a job they don’t want to do. There are many who are still students working part-time gigs that they’ll be happy to dispense with when the time comes, but no one with an established career who wants to be somewhere else. It’s possible that some are concealing their professional unhappiness, but it doesn’t seem likely they’d be able to do so for long with a group of people who’ve known them for years and who see them several times a month, at the very least.
No, I think there’s something in the water, something in the air of a kwoon, guăn, dojo (whatever word one chooses for martial arts training place), some kind of change that takes place in the mind of the martial artist – particularly one that makes it all the way to black – that makes settling for less a particularly difficult thing to do. This, too, is why I love this crazy compulsion.