The snow was falling, the wind was blowing and I was freezing my arse off. It wasn't so much that the cold wind against my skin was stinging me, as it was the fact that I was waist deep in a river with no shirt on at 3 am in the morning; the New Year was only days away. Times like these you ask yourself, "What the heck is this training all about?"
Shugyo. Austere training...
I was standing there not to learn to "take it" nor to learn to adapt to my cold enviroment. Rather I was there to learn character. Shugyo tempers not so much the body as the mind and the spirit. I could leave at any time. Wade out of the water, call it a night and go back to my warm bed. Or I could say "screw it all," pack my stuff up and leave. I thought about it a few times. But in the end I'd stuck through it all. Best of times and worst of times.
Shugyo isn't for everyone. A training hall has its dedicated students, weekly attendees, and its drop-ins. Now, I'm sure there is nothing wrong with being a weekly attendee or a drop-in, but I've never been either so I couldn't speak for them. But I can't understand why some of these people train.
I guess my point here is that when you stand across from someone holding a sword aimed at your heart all the physical dojo training may not be enough to help you get home alive.
Shugyo is about perserverence. It's about trying and failing and trying again. It's about pressing on beyond your personal limits. And mostly, it's about expecting more of yourself then you expect from others.
...As I looked over to the edge of the cold river at my shirt and coat I realized that I wasn't shivering, wasn't breathing hard, and wasn't in a rush. Yes, my bed called to me, as did the warmth of my clothes. But they were moments away and training was now. I breathed in deeply focused and raised one leg up into a fighting posture that was centuries (if not millenia) old. And breathed out. The cycle continued.
