Why You Must Train Alone

Tatsu Dojo Training Area

It is finally spring here in Ohio and the season brings with it many things, including relief from the winter blues and much needed time in the grass, as well as pollen, winds, etc.  Like all seasons, you take the good with the bad.  And over the past 20 years, spring also occasionally means a sparse or empty dojo once in a while.  I admit, there were times when I took it personally, but older and wiser me realizes that people have lives, families and opportunities to sit somewhere with a favored libation and a loved one, enjoying the day.  Those times are fleeting and should be enjoyed.  And when the dojo is empty as it was last night, and the cool air still has a wisp of the rain from earlier in the day and the sun is beginning its descent, that’s one of my favorite moments in this place.   

“Tired of empty mats?  Fill your academy with students in less than a month!”  That’s one of the slick taglines martial arts marketing agencies use to get you to buy into their program.  Regrettably, I drank the Kool Aide more than once.  What I have come to realize is that it is nothing but a scare tactic, part of the cheesy, glitzy advertising schemes that I have come to completely despise.  The main reason is that it reduces a dojo to nothing more than a business.  And while we are a business and this is partially how I put food on the table, I refuse to buy into it.  Owning and running a martial arts school or any business for that matter is kind of like having money in the stock market; you have to stay the course despite the lean times and while risk is important, so is tenacity.  And while my passion is teaching one or a dozen people at time, so are the moments that I have to train alone, because those are the most important.  

One of the unique aspects of traditional martial arts is the importance of training alone.  It is relatively easy to get in your car and drive to a dojo, dojang, kwoon or gym and spend an hour or more training with other people.  Indeed, one of the reasons we join such places is for the community and motivation.  Training with other people, no matter what that training is, pushes us further than we normally go on our own.  We don’t like to look foolish or wimpy, so we tend to try harder.  Ego is good for that sort of thing.  And of course, having someone there to spot you on the bench, hold the mitts or even take some swings at you are all vital to whatever progress you’re attempting to make.  But training or exercising by yourself with nothing other than a mirror (perhaps) is equally important.  

Last night, I had the rare opportunity to have a class for one and it was great.  I ran through all 21 of our kata, practiced kihon (basics…you know, punching the air and all that), hit hard things like the makiwara and our old heavy bag, etc.  Did knuckle and fingertip pushups on a hard wood surface, a little bone conditioning…and spent a good amount of time trying to get my kicks back to where they were long before arthritis all but ensured a total hip replacement nine months ago. I finished up with bo (6-foot staff) practice and finally a few minutes of meditation using a special bench I made for just that purpose.  Before I knew it, my uniform was soaking wet and cold against my skin. I stepped off the mat around the same time I would have anyway, appreciating the time I had to continue to perfect my own skills.

An empty dojo can be one of the most spiritual places you’ll ever find.  It was in an empty dojo that I pushed through incapacitating grief, frustrations at work, longing for a military life long passed, and the stress of starting a business on the other side of fifty.  It is where I often go to work out my feelings in the rare times Kim and I have a disagreement, the quiet and the sweat providing the council needed to reach the conclusion that I am probably wrong.  An empty dojo is where I have wrestled with God and His decisions, the walls and thickness of the air providing the perfect atmosphere to forcefully grunt, yell, plead and eventually give into exhaustion.  And when I become too tired to throw another punch or kick, too sore to practice another set of rolls (ukemi), too mentally fatigued to swing the nunchuku lest I run the risk of self-inflected injury, I know I’ve completed my mission for that session.  That’s the moment when I take my special bench, the one that allows me to sit in a slightly raised kneeling position, and I talk to God, pray to God, cry to God and eventually, find peace with God.  

You can’t really train in martial arts without other people.  I mean, you can, but your ability to actually apply anything is going to be assumed at best.  It’s easy to knock a punching bag around for twenty minutes and conclude that your are a badass.  It’s an entirely different thing when somebody takes a real swing at your face.  Game changer.  That said, if you are a martial artist, you really should set aside time to train on your own.  No one to impress, no one to compete against other than yourself.  An empty dojo can be anywhere; your hotel room, your living room, a spot in your basement, your garage, the patio…any place you take the time to practice and perfect what you have learned.  But you need to go there, often.  An empty dojo is where mastery begins.  

Dave Magliano

Tatsu Dojo

Jissenkan Budo

Dojo Cho