Can you believe it? I went to kendo on Saturday morning! It had been many months since I last dragged myself there. It was fine, because we had the use of the big gym. The thing is, the U of T club is really big now; it's become such a zoo. Usually the dojo is so packed, you end up hitting three other people every time you take a swing at your actual opponent. And the practice times are not the best: Thursday late night practices are out for me because they leave me too exhausted for work on Fridays (it was just fine when I was a student, but things have changed). That leaves only Saturday morning kendo. On Saturday mornings in the summer, I feel like going for a stroll, reading the paper at a coffee shop, doing yoga, buying groceries at the local market, taking a day trip or, yes, sleeping in. I don't really want to dress in heavy fabrics and armour, to run around screaming and collecting bruises, all the while being burdened with Japanese shame for not being a better warrior. Yeah, I guess I'm a weak kendoka now. I accomplished what I wanted (2-dan) and pretty much lost my fire for kendo. Of course, I'm not about to quit after 7 years, but kendo just doesn't mean as much to me as it used to.