small victories

I have written a few posts about my daughter’s interest – or lack of – in the martial arts. We continue going to a gong fu class together on Friday nights. These days I have been very pleased to see her interest growing and her motions and concentration improving.

We started quite young, about age four, mostly just playing rather than truly practicing. My goals were to expose her to the training environment and to do something together regularly.

Her initial excitement wore off after a few sessions, but her attachment to the teacher and some gentle nudging from us parents have kept her going for a couple years now. And it seems it is finally paying off.

During the week, I can actually get her to practice several days, if only a couple runs through the shortest of gong fu routines. But she would never practice at home before, so this is a big step for her and a great source of pride for me.

She seldom wants to practice during the week. But on Friday nights, she is (almost) always eager to go, and is always happy once inside the gymnasium. And these days, she does the entire workout (arriving early, staying until the end with all the Big Kids and assorted adults) without her customary breaks for drawing and reading.

Part of this may be because, while still the youngest in the group by a couple years, a new woman has joined and looks to my daughter for help and instruction. Fun to watch, and a boost for my daughter’s confidence.

Another part of it may be because our teacher co-hosted a couple free introductory demos with about 30 kids each and my daughter got to be a model a few times. And we have our first parent-child demo coming up later this month as part of a larger exhibition in Tokyo.

But despite my happiness with all these changes, there has been one small disappointment. My daughter informed me and the teacher that she does not want to do the demo together with me as planned, but wants to appear separately.

Fair enough. A small price to pay in the face of so many other small victories recently. My daughter may never share my passion for practicing martial arts, and her dream is to become an Olympic swimmer, but each practice we share together is a great victory for me.

Olympic wushu tournament

武术比赛 or Wushu Tournament Beijing 2008 was simply named and well-run. It was designed to showcase the best talents among wushu competitors from around the world and is part of the motion toward having wushu designated as an Olympic sport. It would have been quite fitting if China could have hosted wushu as an Olympic event in this time of many lucky 8s, but at least the wheels are in motion.
Running from August 21-24, it risked being overlooked among all the prominent and well-known sports events being run at various venues around Beijing. But fans who gathered at the Olympic Sports Center Gymnasium proved that wushu had not been forgotten among all the Olympic excitement.
The competition is split into taolu (套路, forms) and sanshou (散手, fighting) divisions, with men and women competing separately in each. Taolu entrants compete in Chang Quan (长拳 , long fist), Nan Quan (南拳, Southern fist), and taijiquan (太极拳) for open hands routines. Weapons routines included: dao or broadsword(刀), Southern broadsword (南刀), the double-edged jian (剑), taiji sword (太极剑), staff (棍), Southern staff (南棍), and spear (枪).
It featured 128 athletes from 43 countries competing in a total of 15 events. There were also a few dances and somewhat vaguely wushu-like group performances which, frankly, seemed quite out of place. And controversy, oh yes. At least in the Japanese press.
Basically this event was held to legitimize the presence of wushu as an Olympic-sport-to-be (that it WILL become an Olympic sport has already been decided by the Chinese). Winners in the wushu competition were given gold, silver, and bronze medals almost identical in every way to those awarded to the Olympians in recognized sports. Also, wushu competitors dined and slept in the Olympic Village, putting them on an equal basis (gasp, shock) with the “real” Olympic athletes. For some reason, these two points got a lot of mention in the Japanese mainstream press, though the competitions themselves seemed to lack coverage. The competitors also had their own Olympic logo with the same design as those of other sports (see photo), but this did not draw the scrutiny of the Japanese press.
Due to work obligations, I could only watch one day of the competition, but it was a treat and provided me with many good memories. The level of some of the Sanshou competition was lower than I expected, but most of it was exciting and stimulating.
The best moment came at the conclusion of the Tunisia-Iran Womens’ Sanshou fight. It was well-fought though too many blows fell a bit too short (too wary of excessive contact calls?). The judges’ decision was visible a moment before the ref approached to raise the winner’s hand. She felt that the other competitor had beaten her, and kept her hands solidly behind her back, drawing a look of surprise from the French referee. After a few uneasy moments, he took her hand from behind her back and raised it, at which the crowd laughed and roared with approval (for both competitors).

Photos include (1) members of the American team and a supporter (2) Olympic logo for the wushu competition

Olympic leftovers (3)

August 10-15, 2008 and Sept. 2008

Two nights without a Liu Laoshi class, 13-plus hour days, a little taiji snuck inside 2f of the cabin – at least I have nice chunks of on-call time upstairs when everyone else is hunched over monitors and wires downstairs. It is way too hot and humid to practice outdoors while still at work, so the cabin is the perfect haven.

A day with practice, just Liu Laoshi and I in the park…he fans himself with a folding fan in the humid night. He has brought an extra fan for me and chastises me for not being able to open and close it with snappy flair. My gongfu is not yet developed, he says, and I must practice more.

Two more without a class, getting by with solo practice in the parking lot. It turns out to be much better than I had expected. A bright and full moon shining down from an uncommonly clear Beijing sky. The crowd filtering out from the last day of judo matches. The Chinese jubilant since Tong Wen won the gold in the womens’ division. But I remain hidden away in the shadows on the side, unseen.

There are people practicing taiji outside the hotel in the mornings, but their level does not seem especially high to me and I would rather review what I have learned most recently from Liu Laoshi. So I move a bed and other furniture in my room to clear a path and start down and back, working through the 12 animals of xing yi. There is a knock at the door – room service – and a suspicious eye is cast over my sweaty body and the room in disarray, but nothing is said. Sticks, staves, drying laundry and empty beer bottles strewn about the room do little to raise her estimation of me, but the cleaners should be used to it by now.

Her work is soon finished and her demeanor improves considerably when I venture some Chinese, commenting on the hotel’s measures for environmental protection and such. She is gone before long and I return to practice, unseen (though perhaps heard by those below).

Olympic leftovers (2)

8/26/08 And all the sudden, it’s over. I join a busload of Japanese for the ride to Beijing Airport. I am a double foreigner – an American traveling together with Japanese in China – and it already feels like I am in Japan. For a month, I was in a completely different world from my usual: no wife and daughter, language practice and use all day long, surrounded by all things athletic and Olympian, navigating a new city full of surprises (and pains in the ass) rather than moving seamlessly through my home of 13 years, Tokyo...

All the familiar sights of the past month are drifting past – the small open space where we practiced staff fighting late at night, the subway station I got to know so well, the entrance to Renmin Daxue University, where I wondered what it might be like to be a teacher again in China. I spoke to three helmeted cyclists at a nearby corner – they had arrived just four days earlier for their first stint as English teachers and were already full of advice for me.

9/22/08 A rainy afternoon at home with no work, just what I needed. Almost a month back in Tokyo now and it has flown past and the entire crazy world of the Olympics seems so far away. And even now I remain hovering on the edges of my Tokyo life. Martial arts practice has been stellar. Work has been occasional. That had been my ideal life for about 12 years over here, until recently. Real life has caught up with me, if it has not sucked me in all the way. Well, I have some extra time this week. For now, more leftover Olympic pictures.
One from the marathon - I had to get up at 3 AM (once for the mens', once for the womens') to help the TV crews set up. That was the toughest venue - no room in the cabin to sit/work, lots of mosquitos outside, and horrendous toilets (and the ONE time I had stomach trouble all month in Beijing happened to be that morning...).
Another, just a ticket for those who never saw one.
Finally, a decoration outside the wrestling venue, which was one of the easiest to work at and which certainly had the best staff to work with.

Olympic leftovers (1)

Sorry few posts lately - I foolishly agreed to add some updates to my computer and no longer have internet access, grrrrr. Was watching the opening ceremony for the Paralympics tonight and decided to upload a few leftover pix from what I saw of the Olympics.
No training news just now - every day is with Liu Laoshi, my head is swimming just trying to keep up. More on all that later...

olympics3:practice, bowing, judo

Olympics3: practice, bowing
August 13-16, 2008

(1) I grew up with little interest in sports, and had virtually no interaction with the athletes in high school. Volleyball could be fun, as could baseball when played for fun with friends. But otherwise, it was me and my books. The closest I got to sports was the competition of chess.

No sweaty locker rooms for me – much better the exhileration and excitement of academic challenge. My greatest moment of athletic glory may have been instigating a lunchtime snowball fight on a rare day of Texas snowfall – then leading the pack in running away when a wayward snowball hit the school library window. After all, I worked as a librarian assistant in the afternoon. Thanks to that glorious sprint, I escaped unseen and slipped in to work safely a few minutes later. But that was it, my greatest athletic exertion for an entire school year.

Yet here I am for a month at the Beijing Olympics, having plunged headlong into the world’s largest and most important sports event, surrounded by athletes and those watching, recording, and cheering their performances.

I have just finished a several-day stint with a Japanese tech crew at the swimming venue. Most of my time has been spent ensconced in our makeshift cabin, tapping away at the computer, doing venue research, or cramming Chinese language. Once in a while trouble arises and then I get called in. Trouble arose only once today – 5 minutes before I was to finish work. It looked like a quick ten-minute job.

Two hours later, the problem remained unsolved but the contests were finished, so we returned to the cabin. No complaints, mind – it was my first chance for an extended look at the actual competition. And it turned out to be more interesting than I had expected.

The best part was the underwater turns where the swimmers kick off the wall and roll their bodies over underwater, captured perfectly with an underwater camera. The beginning also caught my eye – the preparation and readiness. The splash of a handful of water on the face, a final stretch, the crouching position, and the initial dive, followed by that underwater wiggle which precedes the first strokes.

The crowd, however, is looking for something different – all eyes are glued on the finish. They want the fastest, the strongest, and they use this as a measure for the best. My eyes are also drawn to the finish, but I cannot share the roar of the crowd, no matter which country’s athlete is drawing attention. Of course a huge cheer goes up whenever a Chinese athlete takes the floor – and a bigger cheer erupts whenever China nabs another medal.

Each country’s athletes have ardent supporters. Yet I don’t feel any special connection to the athletes from the States (or from Japan, for that matter). I have never felt any particular allegiance to athletes from a particular school, region, or what have you. Maybe that is part of the reason for my ongoing interest in the martial arts – all the practice, all the training, are for oneself, to challenge and improve oneself.

So what about judo, wrestling, tae kwan do, even boxing or fencing? Yes, I would have more interest in watching any of those (and not just the preparation and practice). But what I really want is not to watch it but to do it myself, to work on my own forms and motions….

(2) At the moment I am with a TV crew covering the final day of judo competition. My background is in karate and weapons-based Japanese martial arts – I lack experience in any grappling arts, Japanese or otherwise. So the world of judo is at once foreign and familiar to me.

Inside the arena, I watch a few bouts and am not terribly impressed, apart from the brilliance of a French judoka who is clearly a crowd favorite. Back in the cabin with all the equipment and wires, I glance up at the monitors occasionally and see one thing which greatly impresses me.

Tsukada Maki is doing extremely well, moving closer and closer to the finals. Her wins are not what grab me – it is her bowing. Before and after each match, her bows are sincere. I sense that judo is more budo than sport for her. I do not get that sense from many other competitors with their half-assed non-bows, like chickens pecking at something on the ground, thrusting or tipping the head forward an instant because the rules require some semblance of a bow.

Even if she had not been successful in terms of win-loss, I feel she would have been the real winner. And that she maintains her sense of respect and decorum on top of a winning record…well, all the better. I have the feeling she does judo for the practice moreso than for the victory.

Update – later that night, she lost the final round to Tong Wen of China. The crowd was worked up throughout the match, then surged as one to their feet when Tong won the bout.

My eyes were on Tsukada. I can’t imagine her disappointment, having come so close to the gold medal. It was over in an instant but what we saw in a flash must have passed so slowly for her, with the awareness that she had been thrown, that her body was about to crash into the mat below.

The referee gave the signal, both judoka returned to their starting positions, Tong’s arm was raised by the referee. And there was Tsukada – deep and sincere bows to her opponent, the referees…more than a victory or a medal, this sight gave me hope for the future of judo as something more than a sport focused solely on winning or losing.

hungry, thirsty, and gotta piss

First complete day in Beijing and everything is good. Work is not terribly exciting yet, just driving around this vast and sprawling city, checking out various Olympic sites before the games open. 

The real story starts at 6 PM, when work is finished. I called Liu Laoshi and was surprised and happy to learn he would meet me this very night for our first practice. No time to waste, I sprinted toward the subway station.

Three subway transfers and a taxi ride later, I arrived a few minutes late and there he was, waiting for me as scheduled. My Chinese was put to the test but unnecessary - I was so glad to see him again after my solo visit to Beijing last November, few words were necessary. 70-something and still spry, he was just as usual - that growly Beijing version of Mandarin, using his two English words (yes and no) with great frequency, so eager to share his knowledge and experience.

Hearing that voice again is a great comfort. And I need some comfort. The hot water assuages thirst. But lunch was quite a while ago. Once I am in motion, though, I forget about the hunger instantly. That also solves the piss problem. Hot water does not help that but I can deal with it later, after the lesson. Work may interfere with practice at any time, and I need to get the most out of each class. 

730 PM means twilight and respite from the heat and humidity. My work schedule here in Beijing is extremely irregular but most days will be filled completely. He is quite willing to work around that schedule, to my relief. Even if it means going until 9 PM and later. This great flexibility of his (so different from many teachers of Japanese martial arts...) adds further comfort. 

745 PM, sit down and chat over hot water in the evening breeze as pink and orange fill the sky. We grab chairs and a table from the tea place he visits every day and passersby zoom in to check the conversation. We get up to stretch then get down to business and the passersby move along. 

Before coming to Beijing I had reviewed all my ba gua zhang well. But tonight he took me immediately into xing yi quan review. I was rusty but put in a good performance. He nailed me hard on the five basic fists but was relatively pleased with one of the forms (xing yi lian huan). 

We stopped a time or two for more water, a look at the stars, a listen to the leaves overhead. Then back into the motions, up and down the line. I wonder what it is like for those who live here in Beijing and study with him on a regular basis. True, my teacher in Tokyo is his student and maintains a very close relationship. I can move instantly from practicing with one to the other. But living far away, making a visit like this, adds a kind of magic to each meeting, a hunger to make the most of each moment. 

And that hunger is enough to overcome all the bodily needs crying out for attention. 

I recall nights going out to the outskirts of Tokyo  for karate in Hachioji- an almost two-hour commute each way after work. Same story - no time for dinner, no time for the toilet, but that forgotten once I put on the karate gi (uniform) before starting. Then, after practice, too tired to worry about food, only water was enough. But I have to confess, sometimes after practice as we sat kneeling in seiza and listening to various points, the urge to piss became almost overwhelming. While moving it was forgotten, but once still in seiza, my bladder began to scream with urgency, demanding attention and release. 

I also recall the glory days as a university student, spending more time in the dojo then on all my classes. 10 minutes to walk from morning class to the dojo for a daytime practice, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Two of those classes back to back, an hour each. Then ten minutes to shower, change, and walk to an afternoon class (eating peanut butter and jelly sandwich number two on the way). I didn't think anything of it at the time. Nor did I think anything of going on to night class four evenings a week (at least with a full stomach). 

No longer in my 30s, I lead a bit more comfortable and staid life. But nights like tonight remind me of what is important, what needs to be given up, and what can be gained.