Caring for my Gi

I've studied and trained in martial arts since I was a kid.  When I stopped to think about it today, I realized that I started training 20 years ago.  I haven't kept it up solidly through that entire time, with logistics of locations and styles and payment plans preventing me from consistently training in any one dojo.  But I find myself drawn back to practicing, studying and training in martial arts, despite a few years away.  I've branched out and learned about other styles and arts, and will continue to train in whatever style is available.  My martial arts experience is a large patchwork quilt, with every new technique, philosophy, experience and pattern adding a color, a patch, a counterpoint, a harmony to the whole.

I've studied mostly Japanese martial arts, but I've also studied a few Brazilian martial arts.  I've talked with others who train in Chinese martial arts, and even did an academic study into Indian martial arts.  Across all of them, there's an underlying philosophy which is much more important than the techniques or defense.  No martial art is developed in a vacuum.  Every style asks "Why is the attacker attacking you?" and "What are you going to about it?"  I find myself gravitating to the styles that teach the Peter Parker mentality of "With great power comes great responsibility."  First comes the sense of restraint and the weight of choice to use your skills, then comes the teaching and training that allows you to become dangerous.  Just because you can hurt someone does not mean that you ever should.  The current art that I study, Kokikai Aikido, teaches that the better you are, the less hurt your attacker ends up.  It's like the Native American tradition of Counting Coup, where the most extreme case of defeating an enemy was hitting them without causing harm.

This ordering of priorities greatly influenced my development, and ends up being a huge draw for me to return to training, despite much time away and many cultures experienced.  It's not religious, and I'm not a religious person, but it does become a baseline for a code of behavior.  I can see where Buddhists are coming from.

One aspect of martial arts, and the reason for these musings, is the respect demanded of the place of training (dojo), one's training partners, and one's equipment.  Foremost in the equipment department is the Gi, or uniform.  One must always practice in uniform, and most dojos are very choosy with their forgiveness for laundry disasters or other mishaps.  You train in your gi.  It's a mark of respect, of safety, and comfort.  It also puts you in the right frame of mind, and helps establish an atmosphere in the dojo.

A gi, therefore, is not something to be tossed around lightly, or another item of clothing.  It's not your sports bra, your yoga pants, your favorite synthetic t-shirt.  People usually have one gi.  Period.  It's your gi.  It's with you during your training, during your journey.  You bleed, sweat, and cry in and with your gi.  Belts may come and go, you may change dojos or styles, but your gi is a history of your practice, of your study.  It deserves respect, and it deserves care.  Gis are not discarded lightly.  Wear and tear happens in martial arts (it's rather physical, if you don't know much about martial arts), and that adds character and weight to a gi.  A worn gi is a mark of long hours of training and effort.  A gi is only retired after much fatigue, or at the end of a student's career.  A gi may go to another owner when sizing or training ability force a change.  They're sturdy and well-made pieces of equipment, so they can last throughout years of training.

I got my gi second-hand, from a dojo that I attended in college.  I lamented my lack of gi (my previous gi was a light-weight, and from before high school, so not going to work for the current situation), and one day one of the instructors brought in a few second gis.  There was one that more or less fit, a little raggedy around the edges, but would suit the situation just fine.

Nine years later, I still have the same gi.  It doesn't fit perfectly and it is much more raggedy.  But it has 9 years of off-and-on training with me, 9 years of sweat steeped into the fabric, 9 years of occasional washes to turn creases into tears, 9 years of painstaking repairs to prolong its life.

Today was a day for more repair and rehabilitation.  I had skinned my elbow during a recent class, apparently, which I had not noticed until I got out my gi to sew a torn sleeve.  Little dots of dried blood showed through on the sleeve, so half the day was spent soaking and scrubbing with every combination of bleach and cleaner that I could find in the apartment.  After thorough cleansing, I moved on to repair the entire left sleeve, that had ripped a few years ago along its crease.  

The previous stitching had pulled out, so I picked it out, and resewed it with dental floss.  It's got a cool, minty cast if you look closely, but that just adds character.