Physical Wellness: What I Wish They Would Have Told Me

I'm 24 years-old and around 184 pounds at the time of this writing. I am also an athlete and that still boggles my mind.

When I was in school I never imagined I'd be as active as I am now. I played soccer as a child for a bit and while I did enjoy it, I absolutely hated being center and usually ended up in the wings or in front of the goal. I hated anything to do with running- how fast everyone was compared to me, the sporadic, panting breathing (and how much my throat would hurt if it was cold outside), the stitch in my side, how fast my heart raced and how long it took for it to go away afterward. The bottom line was that it was uncomfortable and painful for me. So I avoided it like the plague.

Since coming to Japan and observing how sports and physical wellness are treated here, I've learned a lot about my own physical health and I think to myself, "Why didn't I learn this earlier?!". I've realized that due to the way our health and physical education classes are structured in the US, children aren't learning enough about how their bodies work and why exercise is so important. The ones that don't conform to the accepted standard of "physically fit" are ignored and end up feeling like they have no options open to them in high school. I've come to believe that there is something active for everyone to do no matter who they are and children could benefit greatly by being exposed to more options early on in life.

Physical "Education"

Gym class is taught as something that must be done as opposed to something that anyone should do on a regular basis. Gym teachers tell you to play badminton so you play badminton. Today we're playing basketball and tomorrow we're swimming because we say so and for no other reason. At no point was any of this physical activity connected to any actual physical "education". Why is this kind of exercise good for you and what are the physical and mental benefits? What's the difference between "aerobic" and "isometric" exercise? Why are nutrition labels based on 2,000 calories a day? How do you even read a nutrition label?

At no point do I remember learning anything about our actual bodies. All we pick up is that taller and/or more muscular bodies are good at sports. Naturally this leads to the attitude that if you don't have this type of body, you just aren't ever going to be good at or enjoy sports at all. It doesn't help that football and basketball are the standard by which all athletes are measured in the United States. The result is that many adolescents feel they just aren't "built" to do sports and aren't encouraged to look for any other options outside high school.

Our laughably terrible health classes tell us about our petuitaries and how they make our bodies go bananas, but we're taught to be ashamed of them. How are we supposed to talk about the best way to develop good physical habits if we're not even comfortable talking about our own bodies? We need to educate kids about how to incorporate more movement in our daily routines and emphasize that they still have a big impact on their health even if they are not extreme changes.

The Importance of Role Models

I met three people in high school that started to change this attitude for me:

1. The first was during my strength and conditioning class when my gym teacher was discussing my progress and remarked, "You have a naturally strong body." This simple remark kinda blew me away. Whenever I looked in the mirror, I never saw "muscle" or "strength". This got me thinking that maybe there's more potential in the human body than what can be seen.

2. When I was fourteen, my dad took me to the shooting range. Soon after, the Stoughton Archery Club was formed and I began what is probably my favorite sport. Here was something I could not only do, but not feel intimidated or discouraged from doing. People of all backgrounds and body types gather at the range. Moreover, this became a family sport that my father, brothers, and I could enjoy together.

3. The third is when I was working on a large graph for math class on the hallway floor with a friend since it was too big to draw out on the desks. Eventually, we started play-fighting with the yard-sticks as dumb kids do when tasked with mundane things. As our shenanigans ensued, a teacher walked by and casually asked, "Would you like to learn how to do that properly?"

After staring like a deer in headlights for a few seconds, we giggled nervously, shook our heads and said, "Nah." This man eventually became my fencing instructor and one of the most important mentors in my life. He emphasized invaluable concepts like true discipline and critical thinking.

I stumbled into these sports by happy accident, but too many children don't have healthy role models in their daily lives outside their gym teachers. Nobody steps up to help them find a sport or form of exercise that is right for them and they can make into a life-long activity.

The majority of my students belong to sports clubs and practice every day after school for 2-3 hours. Then they have practice on weekends. Then they have tournaments. These clubs become a major part of their lives and are viewed as almost as important as academic class. In university, these clubs and social circles become an essential part of their resumes for prospective jobs.

Then there are the multitude of physical events throughout the warm seasons. There's the annual "sports day" where the whole school participates (teachers included) to split into teams and compete in various physical activities like relay races, 100m dashes, and tugs-of-war. There's a prefecture-wide track-and-field day.

Why We Do Sports

Throughout high school I hardly ever missed archery practice. Here's the thing though: I didn't understand why. For whatever reason, I just wasn't very good at it. Both my brothers and my dad were always leaps and bounds ahead of me and I found it very discouraging. But time and again, I found myself going back and I didn't know why. If I ended up disappointed at every competition, why did I keep going?

Kyudo is the complete opposite of Western archery in many ways. One of these is that the emphasis isn't on hitting on the target so much as the shooting process and proper form. Without the pressures of racking up points and "winning", I finally realized: enjoyment doesn't have anything to do with how good you are. When it came to archery, I wanted to be better than my brothers and I wanted to win and those expectations marred my experience. When it comes to kyudo, I just enjoy doing it.

Again, this has a lot to do with role models. Part of the reason I stayed in archery was because my instructors and family were very supportive and encouraging, but they also shared my goals and mindset. My kyudo instructor told me from the get-go that hitting the target isn't important and that even the highest-ranking archers can't always do it perfectly. Every time I retrieve my arrows from around the target, I'm reminded of a Japanese saying, 猿でも木から落ちる, or "Even monkeys fall from trees."

Too many children find themselves doing sports they don't like or spending more time on it than they would like. Coaches weed out the "weak links" and leave them on the sidelines. Overzealous parents force there children into sports and then get frustrated when they show no motivation or aptitude. When their team doesn't win, they're made to feel like failures. In this environment, exercise becomes something difficult, frustrating, and not enjoyable.

There are so many things that I know now that shouldn't have taken me so many years to figure out on my own.

What Do We Get Out of Sports?

I never would have started kendo were it not for my husband. I attended his first kendo class purely as a translator, but then the instructor walked out of the storage room with two shinai and handed one to each of us. Since my prevailing philosophy as a foreignor in Japan is "go with the flow", I gave it a try. Then I came to the next lesson. And then the next one.

Whenever I watch kendo practice, I marvel at how fast and fluid they are. They almost fly across the floor and each strike is fast and precise. As I watched, I felt more and more that I wanted to be able to move like that. I wanted to be that graceful, strong, and fast.

I'm not gonna lie: it wasn't all fun and games at first (I read in an article somewhere that said, "If you're enjoying kendo, you're not doing it right"). One thing I didn't notice before was how aerobic the sport is and I could barely get through the warm-up at first. I hated how hard my heart pounded and how my calf muscles hurt. But I knew that it would get better and I now had a better reason to fight through the beginning excrutiating struggle. Every time I saw my fellow kendoshi fly across the dojo I saw my reason for continuing.

Before, I could barely walk up the stairs at school without my heart pounding. Now it takes an hour at practice to do that. Before, I looked in the mirror and saw room for improvement, now I see power and muscle hiding under all that cellulose. Although I can't really say I see huge physical changes, I still somehow feel and look "better". People have tried to tell me what self-esteem is and that I should have more of it, but it took more than words for me to fully understand.

You will be surprised how much momentum you can build once you start exercising regularly. A body at rest wants to stay at rest and a body in motion wants to stay in motion. If I'm at my desk with nothing to do all day, I'll start to feel terrible unless I get up and move. Before, I couldn't get myself to exercise. Now, I can't seem to get enough. Instead of going home and collapsing into my bed after practice, I want to hit the gym instead.

Something for Everyone

People who look down on "gamers" really bug me. Everyone plays games. The only difference is what kinds of games and how much we play them. When I was little, my family used to play all sorts of board games. I loved them. I grew up playing Halo with my twin brother. The growing popularity of murder mystery games amuses me to no end since it's basically Dungeons and Dragons with a different setting and no dice. With so many different ways to play out there, I sincerely think that we are all gamers at heart and there is a game for everyone to enjoy. If you don't believe me, watch Will Wheaton's show Tabletop and tell me there isn't something in there you want to try.

In the end, games are all about make-believe no matter what medium you do it through and sports are no different. For a period of time, like-minded individuals come together to pretend that how we throw a ball around a field to reach a certain goal matters. In the end, it really doesn't. The value we put in sports besides the physical is like the value we put in money- socially constructed and meaningless in reality. A dollar bill isn't worth anything unless enough people agree that it's worth one dollar and throwing a ball around doesn't really have any value until enough people think it's interesting enough to charge money for and invest in.

With so many different options available, there has to be a sport for everyone out there.

"Sports" vs. "Martial Arts"

As I mentioned above, the problem with sports in high school and college is that the barrier to entry is pretty high. Even if you make the team, there's a chance you'll be warming the bench almost every game. This makes overweight people lacking the ideal "athletic" body extremely discouraged from joining a mainstream sport at all.

This is why I'm an archer and martial artist. These haven't fallen victim to the institutionalization and commercialization of mainstream sports (even if movies still tend to perpetuate the image that fencing is a sport for uppity rich people. Believe me, it's not!). Anyone can join, your skill level doesn't matter, and the emphasis is on your own self-improvement instead of whether you can "make the team". There can be financial hurdles, but most martial arts clubs allow students to borrow equipment until they can afford their own. Students progress at their own pace and often have more personal attention from trainers since clubs tend to be smaller.

And the rest of world's beginning to notice. The Stoughton Archery club went nuts when The Hunger Games came out and now Arrow is causing huge waves.

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

Since coming to Japan, I feel like I've found my niche in the physical activity world. I'm starting to drop pounds and I respect my body so much more than before. I've found ways to be active that are both enjoyable and continually motivating with instructors that are patient and welcoming. I feel so lucky to have found this great environment to start my wellness journey and I sincerely think we should fight to make something similar available to everyone.

A Different Kind of Test

*Before we start here, I propose a challenge to readers. Read this entire blog entry sitting on your knees. Don't move, get up or change positions.*

I look out over a 28-meter expanse of green. The target looks so small and far away compared to the bound bail of straw I use for warm-up. It seems maybe even a bit farther than at my sensei's dojo. But it doesn't matter. Like every time before, the environment around me is so silent and empty that the one inside me seems to turn up the volume. Nothing else matters, I tell myself, now is now and everything that came before is meaningless. I focus on what is before me, on the bow in my hands and the important way in which I form my hands around it. I concentrate on each movement and make it as perfect as I am able. In between, I use slow breathing to control them.

I inhale for 6 seconds as I raise the bow high above my head and then exhale to relax my shoulders. I inhale for another 6 seconds as I draw the bow halfway and exhale again. Now for the hard part. As I go for the full draw, I push the bow and pull the string as evenly as possible to keep the arrow parallel to the ground. I pull my shoulders apart and stretch everything as horizontally and vertically as possible. I set my aim and hold it there as the clock ticks out the seconds: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ZIP! My arm flies back at the release so that now both arms are now outstretched parallel to the ground. I anticipate the satisfying POP! of the arrow piercing the target, but it doesn't come. Instead it burys itself into the packed dirt just off to the side. But that doesn't matter, I tell myself. I hold that pose for 3 seconds and then finally lower the bow, return my gaze from the target, and bring my separated feet back together. I take 5 steps back starting with the right leg, and then turn to the right and curve left to the dojo entrance. About a bow's-length away from the doorway, I turn to the left and bow slightly to the small Shinto shrine mounted to the wall above the judges, and then finally make my exit.

And so ends the judging for those seeking their kyu levels at the Spring kyudo test in Honjo city. Next would be those seeking dan levels (more advanced than kyu). There were only 4 kyu candidates including myself- most kyudo-ka start in the spring and test for kyu in the fall since school starts in the spring in Japan. That also means most students are ready to test for dan in the spring since they've been practicing since around that time the previous year. Two kyudo-ka were testing for their third dan. Tests higher than third dan are held in Akita city.
*kyu and dan in kyudo are proficiency levels (kind of like belts in karate). kyu start at the lowest level of 5 and count down to 1. After reaching first kyu, you can shoot for first dan which then counts up to 10. My sensei is sixth-dan. This system is used in many Japanese martial arts.*

My day started almost as any other weekend when I'd head to the usual dojo in Kisakata. Today, however, I was up a bit earlier since I had to wear the formal and complicated-to-put-on kyudo uniform to the test. As the Sunday before the arrival of Spring, it was finally above freezing, but still quite cold out. From Spring onward, I will start wearing the uniform to every practice. Rain fell lightly outside as Brad and I loaded my equipment into the car and set out for Honjo just north of where we live in Nikaho City. I regret not waiting to change after I get there as the tightly-sinched obi around my waist fights with my ribcage for room.

We're greeted politely by other candidates and teachers when we arrive , and I panic a little on the inside not knowing where to put my things and what to do next. I find an empty spot in the bow-stands to put my equipment. I set up my bow and take out my arrows and huddle around the large gas burners with everyone else to wait for the opening ceremonies. Most of the others are high school students who belong to actual kyudo clubs at their schools and I admire their encouraging attitudes and matching club jackets. Most kyudo-ka start in high school and some schools even have their own dojos. I notice some of them are hastily reviewing handwritten notes since those testing for dan have to take a written examination. I'm glad that's far away for me.

Finally, we're called into the dojo for opening remarks and greetings. Some of the students push open the sliding walls separating the dojo from the range. The rain has excalated to a storm and the wind whips through the surrounding trees. We line up according to our test levels and what order we would be shooting. An MC officially announces the start the of the Spring kyudo test and calls upon the highest-level kyudo-ka to make remarks. One of the other instructors reminds us of the procedure and the flow of the testing and directs us to sit off to the side to watch the opening shooting ceremony.

And thus begins the truly hardest part of a martial arts test. In almost all formal ceremonies and places like dojos that require a high level of decorum, people are required to sit in a style called seiza (正座). It seems simple enough- just sit on your knees with your legs under you. Everyone's done it before, but when most people sit in seiza, they change positions at some point without really thinking about it. Most people think it's quite easy. Brave challenge-takers, how are you doing? Try that for almost an hour. Kyudo isn't like western archery where you go up to the line, shoot your arrows, and leave. There's even more to ceremonial shooting. To give you an idea of how slow and calculating kyudo is, here's a video I took of one line of candidates testing for dan (or cheat and just look at how long the video is).

*You'll notice that when shooting, we sit in a different style called kiza (跪座). Instead of sitting flat on your legs, you flex your ankles up and turn the toes up so that the floor is in contact with the pads of your toes instead of the tops of your feet. MUCH easier on the legs and feet, but killer on your toes!*

As you can see, each line is about ten minutes. For the ceremony, the highest-ranking kyudo master comes out on his own to shoot first. There are a couple other things in the procedure that he must do, like pausing at the sitting line to remove the left sleeve of his kimono and other ceremonial bows and things. The pain in my legs started around the first ten minutes. After he's finally done, we have to wait for him put his sleeve back on, have his arrows returned to him and watch him leave. Then they prepare for the 4 other intructors to come out and do it all in line (instead of un-sleeving, the one lady instructor ties a special white strip of cloth around her shoulders).

After the first kyudo master went, a couple of the dan candidates got up from the line to exit the dojo for some reason and we were instructed to scoot over to fill the gaps. When I put my hands on the floor to hoist myself over, I realize with amusement that my palms are sweaty and that my legs are completely numb. I lean forward on my hands to take some of the pressure off them, and awkwardly push myself over. You know that pins and needles feeling when your arm or leg falls asleep? Multiply that times a hundred and you'll get what I felt when I allowed myself that small relief as I moved over. As the rest of the instructors shoot their arrows, I realize it's actually better to sit through the pain instead of trying to relieve the pressure every once in a while because every time I do, I get another wave of needles.

After they leave and we're finally excused, I lean forward on my hands to start allowing the feeling to return to my legs. Every nerve starts to yell with pain and I try moving my legs. Still hard to feel, but I can sense the movement so I assume it's okay to stand up. Almost at once the pain multiplies and I realize my feet are useless. They literally feel like dead lumps of meat stuck to my legs. The other candidates ask over and over whether I'm okay and as I start to wobble they race forward to take my hands. They insist I sit down in kiza, but I don't think I can without toppling forward into a face-plant. The pain continues to worsen and I start to panic as I wonder whether something is seriously wrong.

At this point, the students must have thought I couldn't understand them and start simply telling me gently in English, "Sit down." Nobody seems angry, but instead look concerned and a bit amused (let's face it, I looked rather silly). Finally, the pain starts to ebb and I muster the control to sit clumsily down on my toes. I sit there a while feeling completely embarassed. When I finally feel okay enough to stand, I carefully get up and hobble out of the dojo. The needles attack my feet with each step, but they go away rather quickly.
Pro tip: if one of your limbs falls asleep, move it as much as you can or walk on it. It'll hurt, but it'll also go away faster.

For all my Google-fu and poking around the internet, I can't find anything documenting any solid evidence as to whether sitting in seiza for long periods can cause any permanent damage. The only examples of seiza-related injuries are stories of judo and aikido accidents where practitioners broke ankles from starting matches or practice too soon after seiza before they have full control of their legs and feet. Kyudo doesn't involve any fast or sudden movements, but I urge other martial artists out there to practice caution.

So finally, after the practice runs and kyu testing, I huddle around the heaters with the other students and try not to think about the results. By now, the weather has cleared and the sunlight makes me feel more at ease. We chat a little and much to my surprise they start talking about ET and touching their fingers together and I impress them with my ET voice. There's a little girl there testing for kyu and she has no idea what they're talking about. They can't believe she hasn't seen it before and they say in English, "generation gap".

Some time after everyone finishes, they gather everyone together in the dojo again for closing remarks. To my dismay, the kyudo master says how poor our technique is and how we need to consult the kyudo teaching manual and practice more. Worried now more than ever, we exit the dojo and wait for the instructors to roll out the board where our results are posted. Everyone gathers round looking for their names and the results marked next to them. Many of the dan testers have the 'pass' mark stamped next to their names.

Beside the names of the four kyu testers are numbers written in red. Unlike the dan testers who pass/fail whichever level they applied for, kyu testers receive the highest rank the judges deem appropriate for your performance. Next to the little girl's name is a '5'- fifth level. Next to mine is a '1'- first level.

Elated, I show Brad the good news and then start to pack up my things. I'm surprised that the girl got only fifth rank since she actually managed to hit the target with her first arrow. However, I remind myself that hitting the target is very low on the list of things that are important in kyudo. Once we're ready, I thank the instructors and leave feeling very happy and very hungry.

Here is a link I recommend for those wishing to read extensively about kyudo as both a sport and artform. This is the website for the International Kyudo Federation (English):
http://www.ikyf.org/index.html