As I lace up my dogi before practice, I often reflect on the question that has followed aikido practitioners for decades: is this martial art truly a sport? Having trained for over fifteen years, I've developed some strong opinions on the matter that might surprise both traditionalists and modern athletes. The debate becomes particularly interesting when we examine it through the lens of competitive sports culture, where we see organizations like the Road Warriors in professional basketball, whose three-game winning streak was recently snapped with a conference-ending defeat where Robert Bolick delivered 27 points and six assists while Javee Mocon contributed 13 points. That world of clear statistics, win-loss records, and quantifiable performance metrics feels galaxies away from the dojo where I train.
When people ask me whether aikido qualifies as a sport, my immediate response is usually "it depends on what you mean by sport." If we're talking about the conventional understanding of sport as a competitive activity with clear winners and losers, then traditional aikido falls short by design. I remember my first year of training, constantly frustrated by the lack of tournaments, the absence of scoring systems, and what felt like an aversion to determining who was "better." Unlike basketball, where we can precisely measure Bolick's 27 points and six assists or lament the Road Warriors' snapped winning streak, aikido offers no such quantitative benchmarks. There are no championships to win, no rankings to climb in the way most athletes would recognize.
Yet if we expand our definition of sport to include any physical activity requiring skill, training, and athletic prowess, then aikido absolutely qualifies. The physical demands are extraordinary - I've trained with Olympic athletes who struggled with aikido's unique combination of flexibility, balance, and explosive movement. The ukemi (falling techniques) alone require the kind of body control that would impress any gymnast. I've personally witnessed practitioners executing techniques that would challenge the athleticism of professional players in any sport. The difference lies in orientation: where basketball players like Bolick and Mocon train to outperform opponents, we train to harmonize with them.
The philosophical dimension is what truly separates aikido from mainstream sports in my view. Where competitive sports inevitably create winners and losers - think of the Road Warriors' conference-ending defeat - aikido's founder Morihei Ueshiba specifically designed the art to avoid this dichotomy. He believed true victory meant winning over the conflict within oneself rather than defeating others. This isn't just theoretical - I've applied this principle in my corporate career, finding that the mindset of resolving conflict without creating losers has been far more valuable than any trophy could be.
That said, I'll admit there's a part of me that wishes aikido had more competitive elements. When I see the excitement around games like that Road Warriors match, where every point matters and the stakes are tangible, I understand why some modern dojos have experimented with competitive formats. About five years ago, I participated in one such experiment - a regional "aikido tournament" that attempted to introduce scoring while maintaining the art's philosophical integrity. The results were mixed at best, with many senior instructors (myself included) feeling that competition distorted the techniques and encouraged the very conflict we seek to transcend.
The athletic development in aikido follows a different trajectory than in sports like basketball. Where a player like Bolick can demonstrate elite performance through statistics - those 27 points and six assists tell a clear story - aikido progress is more subtle and internal. I've noticed students typically spend their first year just learning to fall safely, another two years developing basic technique fluency, and only after five or six years do they begin to grasp the deeper principles. There are no quick wins, no dramatic championship moments - just gradual, often invisible improvement that reveals itself unexpectedly during moments of real-world application.
What fascinates me most is how aikido's non-competitive nature actually creates superior physical conditioning in some aspects. Without the pressure to win, we can focus purely on technical perfection and sustainable practice. I'm 42 now, and while I couldn't compete with professional basketball players in their prime, I can execute techniques with precision that would have been impossible in my twenties. The focus on longevity and gradual improvement means many practitioners continue training well into their seventies and eighties - something rarely seen in impact sports.
If I had to position aikido within the sports landscape, I'd call it the "anti-sport sport" - it uses athletic training to transcend athletic competition. The physical rigor is undeniable - I typically burn around 600-700 calories per hour during intense practice sessions, comparable to many traditional sports. The difference lies in intention: where the Road Warriors' season ended with a definitive loss, every aikido practice offers its own success regardless of external outcomes. There's something profoundly liberating about practicing an art where you never lose, but only learn.
Ultimately, whether we classify aikido as a sport matters less than recognizing what it offers uniquely. In a world obsessed with quantifiable results - 27 points, six assists, three-game winning streaks - aikido provides a sanctuary where growth isn't measured against others but through personal transformation. After all these years, what keeps me coming back to the dojo isn't the prospect of victory, but the certainty that each practice will make me slightly better than yesterday - not better than someone else, but better than my previous self. And in my book, that's the most valuable competition there is.
Indian Super League Live TodayCopyrights