I give water to the dead.

When I heard on the radio this morning that Warren Zevon had died, I thought "well, that's the suckiest thing I'm going to hear this week." (As well as "Requiescat in pace, mate, and may you catch up on your sleep now.") That thought met the usual fate of famous last words.

Upon reaching the dojo for class today, I found out that Mark, the black belt who had always been so kind and patient with me, died of a ruptured appendix over the weekend. He was 69 years old, and still a force to reckon with in class, in spite of a bad knee that kept him from rolling most of the time. I also learned that he was a Famous Mystery Writer, but I don't even know his last name so I can't check out his stuff. (Apparently it involved martial arts, though; go figure.)

I will take this moment to write down all the bits of advice I can recall Mark giving me:
- Always take two steps before doing anything else in the maneuver.
- Keep moving.
- If you move quickly enough, you may not even need to do a throw.
- The object in a fight is not to "drop the other guy", but to get out of there.
- [lots of advice and assistance on my rolling technique]
- If you're using more than 15 lbs. of pressure, you're doing it wrong.
- Take your time and do it slowly.

The last one in particular made me realize that part of the reason I imprinted on Mark like a baby duckling is because he reminds me a lot of my grandpa, who was similarly endlessly patient in coaching young over-hasty types. (And who is now in the hospital, Mom mailed late last night to tell me, though she says he is out of danger now. Thanks for keeping me on top of things, Ma.)

Fucking appendicitis. People aren't supposed to die of that anymore, or at least not in first world countries. It's not fair.

What today's update should have been.

Class today went well from a technical standpoint. We were doing stuff from ryotetori (both hands grabbing both hands), mostly various forms of tenchinage ("heaven-and-earth", which is that one hand goes up and the other down and you sort of clothesline uke). It's a little complicated, especially this hinky reverse we were doing which kept breaking my brane cos I thought about it too much. But I was getting the hang of it. I worked with Mike (he who looks oddly like Peter MacNichol; about my level) and then, as we were told to switch partners, with Lou, who is very experienced and good at instructing.

Point of minor self-aggrandizement: after conclaving with Kathryn about wedding stuff, I ran to make the train--I mean, actually ran, for several blocks (and this with a loaded-down tote bag bonking into my side and a heavy chain whacking my chest). Not only did I make the train, but I was able to run much farther than I would have this time a year ago, and moreover I was not huffing like a lunger for a half-hour at the end of it. This is not to say I'll be entering marathons anytime soon, but it's a palpable improvement.