Late Bloomers Welcome

I got an email from a possible student the other day, asking if we offered adult classes, or if we would be willing to accommodate a 45 year old. I get messages like this all the time – parents and grandparents who want to either join their kid on the mat, or find something to do now that the children have all grown up and gone. Sometimes, it’s picking up where they left off thirty years ago, always plagued by the regret of quitting. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me they wish they hadn’t quit as a kid, I’d be able to buy a shiny, fancy new gi.

Always that question: is it too late for me to start?

I always say, never. 

If you want your child to become national champion, then yes, they have to live it from when they are four or five. You also have to hope that they are freakishly gifted in strength, agility and speed. (But that’s a blogpost for another time.) Otherwise? It doesn’t matter when we start – what matters is that we stay. 

While the majority of my students are under 16, we are fortunate enough to have a thriving adult class of 30, when everyone is on the mat. The oldest student is 67. There is a grandmother aged 62, who trains consistently and with great humility and a smile. She’s properly awesome, and rightfully inspiring.

But this is the hard part for us – keeping adult students interested. The sheer demands on our time – work, family, health – make finding a couple of hours a week a challenge sometimes. In Joburg, there are literally hundreds of dojos, but anyone in a small town will struggle to find one close enough. Even then, proximity isn’t enough, because a dojo should be good. A dojo should be accommodating without sacrificing the integrity of the syllabus.

Adults have different fears; they’re afraid of falling, of not knowing everything, the risk of injury, of not being up to standard. Adults don’t like to work in close proximity with each other, and many feel exceptionally limited by their bodies. And as I’ve written before, the more classes a student misses, the harder it is to come back.

But the important thing is the trying – the participation. Joining in and doing your best is all that ever really matters. Only instructors and professional martial artists have to care about a hundred possible bunkai. Only instructors have to immerse themselves in history, in hardcore training regimes, in endless weekends given up to seminars, gradings and tournaments.

But you, the adult student? All we ask is that you try to attend class whenever possible, and that when you are on the mat, you learn to trust the process. If you’re free and willing to help out, then great! We would love that. But if not? Well, life isn’t all burritos and naps.

I myself started ‘late’ – while I did do judo in primary school for four years, I took a long sabbatical during high school and my gap year. I started up again when I was 19, and only started taking my training seriously in my second year. I never really planned to be an instructor – that only occurred to me about four years ago. But the advantage of starting as an adult was that I already had the necessary focus and experience to fully enjoy my martial arts. Some start too early, hit a plateau while waiting for black belt, and quit. Some kids burn out. Some teens, incandescent with talent, quit because their friends make fun of them, or because their parents want them to focus on their studies.

But you, the adult student? You may have commitments, but you also have more control over your time. You probably don’t have to spend your evenings doing homework. Your Saturday mornings are yours, no longer tyrannised by school commitments. You have the patience to train slowly and steadily. You are less likely to need the external motivation of the next belt.

So why not start? Why not try something new? Meet new people, discover new things. Get stronger, enjoy more focus. The internet is full of wonderful stories of people finding just the right dojo. My life is on a very special path because of one little dojo hidden in a university. Try a bunch of styles. Go to a few free classes. If your gut warns you, then try another dojo. (And if they ask for six months’ fees in advance, then best you run screaming. That dojo is failing.)

May you find the dojo and style that gels with you – remember, there is no perfect or best style. There is only the style that you enjoy, and that you stick with. The rest is decoration.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s