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I’ve been dubbed “The Ninja” by more than a few girlfriends. I’ve never asked for the moniker, but I understand where it comes from. It’s because martial arts are central to my life, because I train intensely, because Ninjitsu/Ninjutsu still carries and aura of mystique, and it is, compared to other things, relatively rarely studied.

I imagine anyone who’s enthralled by some “sexy” activity or job, be it formula car racing, rock climbing, firefighting, or something else, will experience some involuntary reduction of name to nickname – all you have to do is check various blogs on the ‘net: you’ll see more than a few entries that start with “So last night I went out with The Cowboy / Climber / Ninja / Whatever….” There’s also the physical aspect – all the above also generally imply an association with some moderately good physique (mine is decent, but I’m certainly no model), but I believe the biggest pull is is that the concept of “ninja” is ensconced in supernatural mythos, and one of the few that is so intimately associated with life or death scenarios.

Of course, I study Taoist internal arts as well, but that doesn’t have near the same effect. I’ve never had the nickname “Lo Han” (thank god) or “Jet Li.”

I don’t typically get into conversation about the arts I study unless you ask me and seem genuinely interested. (Even then I can be hesitant – the question you ask are so much larger than you think, and I may not even be qualified to answer them yet.) However, the subject invariable comes up when she asks why you’re so frequently unavailable at the same day and time, week after week. After the disclosure, “The Ninja” usually pops up sometime early in the relationship, and she’s usually doesn’t even use it in my presence. I’ll typically hear, upon meeting one of her friends, “So you’re The Ninja.” And the cat being out of the bag and all, “The Ninja” spreads as a nickname amongst her friends, in my presence and out of. It’s always accompanied with a sly smile and youthful exuberance.

Being early in the relationship, everything is new and exciting: the sex is novel, the old old stories are new again, and you discover whole new worlds of passions and cute idiosyncrasies. “The Ninja” is just another one of the latter, for her.

But after the novelty fades, martial arts are still there. I never studied them to pique anyone’s curiosity, they’re a part of me, or at least have been since I was 16 or so. This is when being “The Ninja” loses it’s attractiveness. She’ll begin to realize that if I’m ever to reach the heights of mastery, or perhaps even just competence, it’ll take even more training than what I do now. The dedication she once admired from afar now translates into years filled with me arriving home late, exhausted and hungry, after training for hours directly after work. She’ll notice we don’t get to cuddle every morning, as I’ve got to get up and do my morning Taiji and Chi Gong. She’ll wonder why she’s not invited when I just “sit” in the park and meditate.

She’ll get annoyed that I always take the seat in a restaurant facing the doors and windows, and that I’ll shuffle the condiments, flower vases, and silverware to the inside of the table. When she asks for a glass of water at night, she’ll appreciate that I don’t turn on the light but she’ll be annoyed that it takes so long since I’ve take an extra lap around the apartment testing my night walking. She’ll wonder about my commitment to her when I’m forced to choose between going on a martial arts retreat in the woods going to her mother’s place for brunch. She’ll be doubting my commitment to the art when I back down from the loudmouth at the bar, because she doesn’t understand the Life-Giving Sword. She’ll find it childish and silly that half the time you walk on her right, where it’s more comfortable for her, and half the time on the left, when you tell her it’s so you’re on the street-side of the sidewalk.

Suddenly dating The Ninja doesn’t seem so neat anymore. There’s all these … things … I do, and they don’t seem to make that much sense, or seem overly paranoid or without purpose, and, all in all, are organized in order to minimize the chance that I’ll actually have to get into a physical confrontation. You know, so I won’t have to “use” my martial arts, or at least in the sense most people conceive of martial arts being used.

I don’t mind the nickname – I actually find it kind of ironic, as some city-slicker kid studying martial arts part-time is about as far from true Ninjutsu as you can get – so I have no issue with it. And there’s a ton of benefits she’ll realize from as a result of her training – among other things, I’ll usually know exactly where she’s misplaced her keys or purse, I keep in pretty good shape, I have a reasonably good handle on reading her non-verbal communication, she knows she can trust my word and my discipline to act on it, I don’t lose my head when we fight, she feels safer around town, and a good sense of awareness and certain breathing exercises translate directly into better … other activities.

But she never has any idea what she’s getting into.

Just like me, when I started training in martial arts fourteen years ago.