The Saber Two-Step and Poison Ivy

I went out for my daily saber workout today, and at the beckoning call of my wonderful wife at the perfect moment of "I'm not sure I can hold onto this thing anymore right now," I turned my attention after a while to "Number 2," my trusty little saber-toothed saw. We have an area of brushy crap in our back yard that's trying to climb and wreck our majestic holly tree and is choking a couple of azalea bushes (not that I really care, but apparently the neighbors have beseeched us strongly to not destroy the lovely pink azaleas -- I'd bushhog the whole area if I had one). Some of it is wild grape vines that have gotten out of control and some of it is very aggressive, ugly, domineering honeysuckle, those being the main targets of my saw. Unbeknownst to me until I grabbed onto a furry vine and yanked, there was also one or more poison ivy vines so big that I mistook them for limbs of an unidentified tree. I got quite a bit of it out of there in five minutes or so, and then I ran for the shower. Hopefully, I'm not going to come out all covered in poison ivy. I'm already itching all over psychosomatically (I hope). It might even be on my face and all over my hands. Ugh. Just as I got out of the shower and dressed, I went out for my saber, which I left figuring I didn't want urushiol (poison ivy's poison oil) all over my pommel (I left it until that point because I figured I'd only "rest" with the saw and then go back to the saber). Then I brought it in, and just as the door closed behind me, it started to rain. I had left the saber in a slightly sheltered area, but I'm really glad I got it in all the same. After wiping it down and cleaning it a little, I came in to talk about what I learned with it today.

First, I suffered through the form, as much of it as I know, without stopping. I'm still seriously impressed by people that can do a full saber workout and then get through the whole form in one go. Starting fresh, I can get through as much of it as I know, but I'm usually struggling by the end of that, which isn't even the end of the form. I've still got a long way to go, but as they say, "it's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll." I am distinctly better this week than last, though, which is encouraging.

What I think has brought about this change for me is drilling again. After going through a section of the form, usually a few or several times, I've been taking a handful of techniques out of it and doing them repetitively as a means to get better at them. It's helping a lot, particularly on some of the more challenging techniques and series. More interestingly, I like it, but I think that's because I don't have to do the ridiculous numbers that might be expected out of me at a seminar or intensive. If eight of them kicks my butt, then I do eight. If I can handle thirty, then I might do that many. It depends on the drill (e.g. sparrowhawk penetrates the forest hasn't gone double-digits for me yet). These drills are one side of what I'm calling (for the purposes of this post only) the "saber two-step." Some of them are a one-two kind of thing. Most are more steps than that.

So what did I learn? With the saber, as heavy as it is, it seems there are two major facets that are both very important to training it, though this could be my inexperience talking. First, there's gross strength and endurance, which it seems are to be gained by working through the full extent of the form, turning through all of the postures as many times as can be, and doing drills, in some sense for numbers. On the other hand, there is a strong need to develop skills-based practice with it. Thinking about what I'm trying to achieve with the thing, paying attention to the finer points, and really trying to do the techniques right, even very slowly (though only to make sure I'm doing them right) is very important as well (actually, much more important). I know a lot of guys that train in a lot of things in a lot of different ways, and one thing I've noticed is that guys tend to like to get strong and then define themselves by that, paying very little attention to finer details. The finer details, though, seem to make the techniques more efficient, not to mention effective, and tend to make the overall practice simultaneously easier and more fulfilling. I think the weight of the thing drove that aspect from the front of my mind.

I also called myself "sloppy" at several points, which I think is important to recognize and admit when it happens. We all get tired, we all have learning curves to deal with, and we all should be struggling to get better. Verbalizing to ourselves when we're doing things in a sloppy manner is a keen reminder of the big picture: the goal is to get good at what we're doing. If anyone out there takes tips from me, that's my theme of the week (or for however long I train, really): remember with redoubled focus to train to get better and to get better at specific things, not just to train.