Remember to learn something every time you sit down at the poker table. It sounds like a simple and elementary maxim to follow, but it’s easier to take for granted than you might expect.

I realized this a few nights ago when I went to a local casino for a no-limit hold’em tournament after a somewhat lengthy layoff from the live game. There is a big tournament coming next month to a casino in Reno, where I live, and I wanted to dust off my live game a bit in anticipation of this event. I have mostly been playing online lately and, given the significant differences between the two games, it was time for a tune-up.

The poker room was slow on this Monday night and we had just two tables of players for the $55 dollar buy-in event and only three would get paid. As small local tournaments go, this one has a pretty decent structure. The blinds are 25-50 to start and increase every 15 minutes. Each player receives 2,000 in chips, the 40 big blinds much more than some small turbo tournaments that only give you 1,000 or so. This allows for some extra play, which is nice when you are trying to get the rust off your game.

Right away, I felt comfortable and focused, even more keenly aware than usual of my opponents' betting patterns and tells. It is funny what a little time away will do; if you are playing every day, it’s easy to assume you have a grip on what’s going on, without realizing that your concentration probably lapses over time.

When I was playing more often, I think little things slipped by. In other words, I knew if I had played well or poorly, or if I had gotten lucky or unlucky, and I replayed certain hands and wondered if I could have done something differently. But I didn’t make it a priority to ensure that I took at least one lesson learned from every session. Consider that revelation in itself one such lesson.

There were a few others that came from this tournament and I will share a couple. The first came early on with blinds at 50-100. There had been a lot of limping going on, and I had been in the tough position of finding decent hands in the cut-off or button seats and wondering how to play, because I generally despise limping and chronic limpers in general.

But you get that a lot at lower-level tournaments and you have to find a way to adjust. The problem with raising with 7-7 or A-J here is that you’ll only get called by a better hand (and many players do limp with 9-9 or A-Q in these tournaments). If you can’t push out limpers, your best bet is to join them and proceed carefully.

Finding the A-9 of diamonds on the button after two limpers, I decide to also limp and hope to flop two diamonds, not necessarily hoping the flop comes ace-high. Both blinds play and we see a five-handed flop of 7-8-A with two clubs (7-8) and it doesn’t really excite me. Straight and flush draws galore, and no way to know if my pair of aces is any good. To my surprise, the small blinds leads out for $100 – a small bet, but a bet nonetheless – and the big blind instantly called. I put the bettor on a small ace like myself and the caller on a draw. Either that, or they both had draws.

The two limpers in front of me both fold and it’s up to me. I could just call here, but doing so gives me no information as to whether my hand is good, and what if the small blind leads out again on the turn? I decide to raise to $400, knowing I would have a hard decision if someone pushed all-in (some of the potential draws might be favored over me) but wanting to define my hand. Both called in a heartbeat. No re-raise, no fold. Just calls. I wince inside and figure them both for draws.

The jack of diamonds comes on the turn and this appears to be a “safe” card for me, as I sure as hell didn’t want to see any clubs, 9s or 4s hit the board, although someone with 9-10 could have a made a straight. Both blinds checked and, while they could have been trapping, their checks told me they both missed on the turn (I didn’t think either was a good enough player to trap here). They both looked longingly at me as if they were begging to me check. Knowing this, I looked at my stack, grabbed some chips and promptly … checked likewise. Regrettably so, it turns out.

Again, I figured these guys probably would call any decent-sized bet and I still wasn’t sure if my aces were good. But once they checked, I knew I had the best hand. The pot was $1,700 and I had about $1,900 left. The only way to get bad players off their draws on the turn is to go all-in, and even that might not work. So I had the right read, but made the wrong play, which became evident when the dealer pitched the 9 of hearts on the felt for the river.

Both blinds checked again and, this time, I wisely checked behind them even though I had made two pair. The small blind turned over 5-6 off-suit for a straight and the big blind turned over the Q-10 of clubs. Each had flopped a pretty big draw and, truth be told, probably could have gotten me to fold by re-raising all-in on the flop. But these weak, passive players choosing to just call a big raise on the flop gave away their hands. However, I don’t know what’s worse; that, or me checking behind them on the turn. If there ever was a time to overbet the pot, that was it.

“I knew I should have hammered the turn,” I uttered under my breath from seat 1 and the dealer, hearing my comments, nodded in agreement. “But at least one of those guys probably would have called anyway.” He nodded again.

Guess you could make the case that I saved money there, but you could not say the same for my last poor decision of the night. Down to three-handed, we were in the money and the payouts were $400 for first, $150 for second and $50 for third. I had the chip lead with 15,000, followed by another man with 9,000 and a third player with 6,000.

As “chip-chops” go, this one was as straightforward as they come. I had 50 percent of the chips in play, so I was entitled to 50 percent of the money, or $300. It should have been $200 for the second player and $100 for the third, although they could have chosen to go $150 each for all I cared.

The short stack, an obese older man with a droopy face and sour demeanor, pointed out that with the blinds increasing to 500-1,000, luck would be a significant factor and that, accordingly, my chip lead didn’t mean as much. It sounded reasonable enough, so I proposed $250 for me and $175 each for them. Of course, Mr. Obese Short Stack refused (isn’t it always the short stack who ruins a good chop?). He insisted on $200 each; I flat refused, and we returned to play.

However, Mr. OSS kept whining as if I had stolen his wallet in broad daylight and I got tired of hearing it. I also started wondering if the poker universe would punish me for refusing the deal and stick me with a third-place finish. So after hearing enough of his harassment, and after the second-place guy got a few more chips by moving in on me, I said I would take the deal and we each left with $200.

This move was infinitely more spineless than my check on the turn in the other hand and, the more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for it on the drive home.

But that’s poker; you’ll make your share of bad decisions. The key is to make sure you learn from them.