Karate longings

Now that Fiona has passed her double black stripe test, the schedule has changed yet again:

Monday:
both girls

Tuesday:
Fiona
clean dojo

Wednesday:
Delia

Thursday:
clean dojo

Friday:
both girls (sparring)

Saturday:
both girls

Sunday:
clean dojo

You will note that I am at the dojo seven days a week, unless Rob picks up the Thursday or Sunday cleaning. (He says, however, he will take over most of the cleaning when his job stops, after next week).

As I took pictures of the belt tests last Saturday, I felt the longing welling up again. Being there every day is like rubbing my nose in it: I wish, oh I wish I could be taking it, too. Besides the fact that we can't afford to have me take it, what with the layoff, interweaving my classes with the girls' classes is a scheduling nightmare. (See here and here.)

I try to tell myself it's okay. It's only temporary. Maybe I'll be able to take it when the girls get to black belt class, or when they go away to college. I try to tell myself that I didn't really like the sparring part of karate anyway. I try to tell myself, don't you remember the way it made your hips hurt? Don't you remember how frustrated you used to get because your hamstrings were so tight and you couldn't kick high enough?

But the karate student in me still craves to study. I still bow whenever I enter or leave the dojo. I still can feel the urge to pick up and rotate for a side kick. I still do slow front kicks at the coffee maker at work when nobody else is around. I walk down the corridor at work, and I can feel my muscles wanting to do turn-step-step-offensive side kick, or practice classical marching basics (sudo block, low block, lift, front kick punch, front kick punch, front kick punch . . .)

Yesterday, I went outside for my midmorning break as usual. Instead of going for my walk over the Stone Arch Bridge, I wandered over to a concrete area in front of the bridge that had a railing around it. I could practice slow kicks here, holding onto the railing, I thought. It's the perfect height. I took off my shoes, until I saw a piece of glass, and then I put them on again. I did some slow kicks, and I did some classical marching basics, and then I did as much of one of my forms as I could remember. The muscle memory is still there, but it is beginning to fade.

I was fighting tears as I left to go back inside.

Edited to add: I'm not asking anyone to solve this for me, nor asking for advice. I'm just venting.