Parks in the cold

Bright sun with bitter cold and wind in Tokyo today – perfect chance to bundle up in layers and start moving outside.

I make a few circuits through tai ji 48 outside my home but the sunlight is blocked, so I venture off a few hundred meters to Kami 3 Hiroba, a small park-like area where I used to practice near-nightly a few years back.

The sunlight is good but the exposure throws me off a bit. There had been a good border of overgrown trees and shrubs which provided a feeling of sanctuary. I could hear the people and cars passing by on the street, but they would have to be really looking to see me.

Earlier this autumn the city came in and cleaned it all up, leaving only the large trees standing and a perfect view into the park from the road.

No reason not to perform in front of people, so I got down to work, continuing the 48 form and almost instantly forgot the gawking passersby anyway. I stopped now and then for a sip of hot water from the thermos and sat at a make-shift table on wobbly benches. Rather uncharacteristic of Japan, where everything is new and bright and shiny. This table and benches have been out in the rain and wind for several years now and they show it. They have also hosted their share of late night drinking sessions and are thus much appreciated. I hope they will remain for many years to come, broken down and rough.

Sitting in the wind in the park took me back to Tao Ran Ting, the park in Beijing where Liu Jingru Laoshi sips tea and teaches each day. My first trip over there was in late October and it was chilly and windy, though the harshness of Beijing winter had yet to descend. No, it was still reasonable outside, though we warmed ourselves with regular sips of tea.

I learned a form using the yuan yang yue there, a pair of curved, pointy, multi-bladed weapons written about elsewhere in this blog. The motions of the form took me up high and down low, and weaving back and forth across the practice area, occasionally halting suddenly to avoid a hapless, totally unconcerned passerby ( If I were walking through a park and saw a crazy foreigner running around with bladed weapons, I might take it upon myself to take a few steps to the side, rather than stop, stare, and then continue walking directly into the practice area….). I changed clothes midway through each practice to avoid catching cold from sweat-soaked shirts.

Liu Laoshi was quite worried about me catching cold. Beijingers, of course, had nothing to worry about because they had grown up in this climate. One day, a long-time student of Liu Laoshi’s dropped by. It was colder and windier that day. He started walking ba gua circles. A growl from Liu Laoshi and his stance got lower. Another growl and he paused to remove his coat and shirts. Liu Laoshi kept him circling several more minutes, until sweat was dripping and steam was rising – and still he circled. Maybe the lesson was for me after all. Once it was my turn again, I got down lower, swung out wider – and didn’t feel the cold.

I now recall another park, this one in Lincoln. Out by Holmes Lake, on the opposite side of town from all the usual university environs.

One night three of us went out for a dip. It had been a long night of practice – the kendo was exhausting on its own. Then there was about three minutes to change and get a swallow of water before the really exhausting workout began, karate. But those were the good old days when my energy was inexhaustible. Tell me what to do, and I did it.

So when, after karate one teacher asked me and a fellow brown belt friend to go out for a swim, neither of us hesitated. The dojo follows a pretty strict, traditional hierarchy and there is little interaction between those with and without dan ranks. The teachers were not elevated to cult status by any means, but this was clearly a special event, a chance to see something of the teacher outside the dojo, in the real world.

We drove across town quickly on the late night streets. In the car, everything was nice and toasty, though a small pit was growing in my stomach, wondering what was in store for us.

We arrived at the lake, got out of the car…and into the cold. Did I mention it was winter? And there was not exactly a lack of wind, if you know what I mean. Damn, it was xxxxing cold. A thin coating of ice ran around the edge of the lake – it hadn’t yet frozen over, but our first few steps into the water would have to break that thin layer.

I moved toward the water, trying to psyche myself up a bit, then hesitated. Of course we had all left our coats in the car – this was to be some special winter training, after all. I figured we might wade in up to our knees, or maybe really go after it and go waist-deep. But our teacher had just started – off came the top of his karate gi or uniform, then the trousers. Friend and I looked at each other, shrugged, and shucked. There was no way to back out in front of the teacher. Off came the last shred of protection from the wind. Now it was cold.

Our teacher shared none of my hesitation – he was already plowing through the water. Nothing to do but steel oneself. There was an instant of cold as my first foot entered the water. Another step, and another, as the cold rose up my legs. Then it was like the cold had turned to heat. NOW it was fucking cold.

Once in, why not go all the way? Leap up in the air, submerge totally, bounce off the sandy bottom and leap up again and feel the wind. A brief moment of exhileration, maybe even a second submerging and leaping. OK, wet in the wind, this is beyond cold. As expected, we ran through a few kata in the water, maybe chest deep, trying to appear oblivious to the cold. Whew, enough of that, plow through the water and out into the cold – which in the wind, seemed colder than it had been in the water.

And then NOT as expected, our teacher went back into the water. My friend and I looked at each other, shrugged again, and moved back into the water, trying not to betray any lack of enthusiasm. Was it colder the second time around? I don’t know. It was just damn cold, beyond comparison.

Another kata or two, then it was time to finish up, dry off, and shiver in front of the heaters going full blast. Hell yes we ran the heater on the way back – we weren’t, after all, masochists.

Beijing leftovers (6): more Liu Laoshi sightings

should be cleaning my room or studying languages or SOMEthing but here I am, buzzing around the internet and I find back-to-back Liu Laoshi references. Once at www.plumflower.com where there is a Joseph Crandall translation of a book co-authored by Liu (and I thought I had everything of his in English and Chinese...), once again at www.dojorat.blogspot.com where there is a new post with some (probably commercially available) video footage of Liu Laoshi running through 八大掌 or the 8 big/main palms (and I thought I had most of his readily available video...). The rest of the night is clear: close the laptop, put on some shoes and start walking the circle outside.

beijing leftovers (5): more Liu Laoshi pix

The bagua jian or straight sword is an extremely long weapon and people don't carry them around much. In August 2008, Liu Laoshi was teaching the jian form to his Greek student. Some days I saw him using the somewhat shorter taiji jian, and occasionally he improvised with a folding fan. I didn't get to see him using a bagua jian until September in Tokyo, and it was worth waiting for.
I was struck by a comment of his that the bagua jian is not used like other swords, in which the arms do most of the cutting work. Instead, the turning motions of the entire body move (drag?) the sword along the opponent's body. The idea is to maneuver the sword into the proper location, then letting my body motions - those characteristic twists and turns of ba gua zhang - do the work. There are very few hacking or slicing motions, though there are numerous thrusts and blocks.
Curiously, there are many parallel motions between this form and the yuan yang yue form he taught me last year. Yue are a pair of much smaller, multi-bladed and curved weapons completely different from the jian in appearance, yet they can be used with very similar motions, another lesson in the inter-connectedness of the empty-handed and weapons forms of ba gua zhang.

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).

Beijing leftovers (2)

From Beijing, just some pictures, Liu Laoshi teaching a Greek man in Tao Ran Ting Park, Beijing. From Tokyo, just a few words. Liu Laoshi is safely back in Beijing, I am safely back in Tokyo after 3 days with the young kids (see previous post). That gasshuku was an excellent chance to intensively review 六四手, a bagua zhang form freshly learned during Liu Laoshi's Tokyo visit. The 64 hands form is significant because it was created by Liu Laoshi, based on the more widely known 六四掌 or 64 palms. The 64 hands form is made up entirely of motions connected in a straight line, though filled with characteristic circular motions of bagua zhang.
On the final day of his seminar, he challenged us to do more than memorize a sequence of motions - of course we should already be thinking of how to apply these motions in response to high, middle, and low level attacks. We practiced several sequences in pair drills and of course things made much more sense. I need more of that kind of practice. This is one thing I really miss from karate, where everything was put to the test in kumite, or free fighting. We do some pair work in bagua, but nothing like free fighting. This is something I will be working on in the future - trying to adapt the pre-arranged and free fighting drills of karate to the motions of the Chinese arts on which I am now focused.
On a similar note, regarding the bagua jian or straight sword (beginning of the seminar), I have heard there is a partner routine for this weapon. Of course I want to learn it in the future. But another long-term project I envision is working out some way to practice armored fighting with swords of Chinese origin, drawing upon my ongoing study of kendo, in which we put on the armor and bang away with bamboo swords in every practice.

Beijing leftovers (1)

Wow, day one of Liu Laoshi seminar in Tokyo was great - rapid progress in the motions of ba gua jian, the very long, double-edged sword favored by ba gua zhang practitioners. Liu L in top form as he works his way among three groups (ba gua jian, new and harder versions of the 12 animals in xing yi quan, and a new form in liuhe tang lang quan (six harmonies praying mantis). I would like to study them all, but choices must be made...time is short, so just a few leftover pictures from Beijing, featuring Liu L teaching bagua jian to Greek friend Euthymios.

hungry, thirsty, and gotta piss 4

fang song
Aug. 20, 22

Practice #10, last of the night practices for me. I am keeping Liu Laoshi up too late at night, and he needs to rest before his upcoming trip to Tokyo to teach us over there. Mr. T arrives from Tokyo tomorrow (coach for the Japan team at a major tournament); he returns to Tokyo on 25 August. I go back on the 26th, and Liu Laoshi on the 27th.
Of course I will try to sneak in a daytime practice or two with him, work schedule permitting. He teaches a few people in the morning, his grandson in the afternoons. But he is 72, after all, and teaching three classes a day can be both tiring and time-consuming before leaving for ten days in a foreign country.
So it all adds up to an end to the night-time practices in Tao Ran Ting park, to the post-practice scramble through buses and subway transfers, to all of it. Or most of it – I will be spending much more time with my friends who practice on the sidewalk near my hotel late at night (see posts elsewhere).
The last night practice was a good one. I arrived in the usual state – unfed, thirsty, needing to piss. We relaxed over tea for a while before starting. He unexpectedly ran me through all the xingyi offerings one more time – silly me, I had spent the prior night doing solo review of bagua to prepare for this night. But we got to the bagua at last. And for as much praise as he had just given for my xingyi, he doled out an equal helping of concern for the state my bagua has fallen into recently.
We skipped over the 8 basic palms and went directly into the more complicated 8 palm changes. Aiya, never thought we would get through the first one…we stayed later than intended but my first three palm changes were given a thorough re-working.
Throughout our xingyi work over the prior several days, his single most-uttered word was “aiya”, the quintessential Chinese expression of mild consternation bordering on irritation. The shortened “ai” was a close second and seems to signal a shift from mild to severe irritation. When the aiya’s and ai’s finally gave way to the occasional good news of “haode” and “bucuo”, I could relax a bit.
Relax. Fang song. That was the word of our final night practice. Again and again. Relax and lower the shoulders. Relax and round the chest. Relax and extend the arms. Further. (but I can’t extend them and relax at the same time!). Ah, fang song, fang song.
I remember that word very keenly from my stay at PingYang WuXiao, a martial arts school in the countryside where I lived for more than a month almost ten years ago. At that time I had almost no Chinese language ability, but I did know fang song.
One of the younger students – a short kid for his age so he looked extra young and was thus a crowd pleaser at our demonstrations – watched me working on the taiji quan 42 form. He smiled and offered a single comment: fang song.
Aiya. This little kid is telling me….yes, and he was right. And still is.

hungry, thirsty, and gotta piss 2

August 6, 2008

Three days much the same – start my nebulous Olympics work in the morning, explore Beijing sites in the humid heat of the day (Olympic venue research), try to prepare for a job which still lacks any description. Afternoon crawls into evening, hope and hope for an early release from work, move toward the exit once the OK is given.

I carry a second backpack each day with a complete set of clothes and shoes for practice – just in case my work schedule allows it. Liu Laoshi is exceedingly kind and understanding and is basically on standby, waiting for my call each day…Yes, I can go….No, I cannot make it tonight…

First three days were all go. Race through the madness of Beijing transportation during the Olympics (a taxi – subway with three transfers – bus combination works the best, about 90 minutes one way) and then hustle through the park once I arrive. And there he is, waiting in his usual place, sipping tea in the evening breeze.

Yes, by the time I get there it is evening, past evening in fact and on into night. Each day I arrive in the same condition: have not eaten dinner, am quite thirsty, and need to use the restroom. Pissing is taken care of easily enough, and we start each lesson by sitting, chatting, and sipping hot water. The hunger is soon forgotten once in motion.

Each lesson feels too short. It is full and fulfilling in every way, but I want more. It is early in my one-month stay in Beijing, but already I fear it will pass too quickly and I will leave wishing I had found more time, even one more lesson, with Liu Laoshi.

It is dark by the time we finish and the breeze is wonderful each time we sit down for a short break. He is pushing me hard, but not into total exhaustion. I am covered in sweat within the first few minutes. The breaks are welcome, but I don’t want to waste a minute. But this is part of it – learning to relax, to slow down and not be driven to fill every minute. The tea-shop man waits for us to finish as usual, then helps us clear up the chairs and table.

Liu Laoshi guides me through the park to the back exit (open later than the others) and we separate near my bus stop. He says to call him the next day, anytime is OK. And off he fades into to the darkness. I dodge all manner of vehicles while crossing the street and let out a huge sigh once on the bus. Finishing this late at night has one more good point: a guaranteed seat on the bus.

I scribble post-practice notes as we wind through the Beijing night, grateful for the breeze coming in the windows as we move. At Hepingmen, I get out and re-fuel with beer and cheap-and-delicious Sichuan-lite fast food (nowhere nearly as spicy as the real stuff, but just right for me). Three subways later I arrive at Haidian Huangzhuang for a long walk back to the hotel.

Along the way, I stop and watch my newfound wushu friends. They practice on the sidewalk quite late every night. We exchanged nods the first night, words the second, and demos thereafter. Much more to come on this group…

The final stop before the hotel: a second refueling, with beer and chuar (various foods boiled on skewers). That provides enough energy to get me home, showered, internetted and into bed for the most needed recharging: sleep.

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. 

re-emerging

Re-emerging
April 15, 2008

Practice early this morning, practice late tonight. The same yesterday. Tomorrow is Wednesday, Mr. T day – classes with him in the morning, in the afternoon, and again at night. These are the best days.

I am coming back to life, waking up again, something. Not waking up, but reawakening, rediscovering. In recent months I have been extremely focused on training related to the Sha family (tai ji quan, tai ji jian, xing yi jian….), culminating in my second visit to train with Sha Laoshi and Li Laoshi in Kunming, China in late March / early April. Had really been avoiding this, but since I am getting ever more deep into Sha family tai ji, I took the plunge and learned the first tong bei quan form (24) since the family also specializes in TBQ. I was also introduced to the xing yi lian huan tui form, my first deep exposure to foot techniques in xingyi quan…

Now I am back in Tokyo, reviewing all the new things daily.
And getting back to much-neglected Liu Laoshi training. I have kept the bagua zhang up pretty well (learned the fine yuan yang yue (crescent moon knives/ deer horn antlers/ various other names) form from Liu Laoshi in Beijing several months back. But the xingyi quan has been suffering.

This week it is coming back to life. The fire is burning and it feels good. We have a class in Tokyo each week (on that busy Wednesday) but it is too short and has been swamped with new members since Liu Laoshi’s second Tokyo visit last summer, meaning we have done endless review of the five fists, lianhuan, and bashi. I am all for review and deepening one’s basics, but at some point, the hunger for broadening also calls to be satisfied.

As of today, I am back on track with the twelve animals, drilling jixing (chicken) and yao xing (sparrow hawk???). In recent months all my outdoor practice has been in the single parking space outside our house – the one-meter wide strip of land surrounding our house just doesn’t afford the space, especially as some of my attempts at gardening are actually yielding results. Spring and rebirth and all that…

The five fists, the linked form, bashi, I have kept these up fairly well. But the animals, I am embarrassed to say, have been neglected – until now.

Tonight after my daughter fell asleep I went out to the small public space a few hundred meters away – not a park, but close enough and with a few trees to almost hide my movements from passersby on the road.

A half-moon visible overhead, fine spring breeze, no mosquitoes yet. Another run through the new material, then a return to the old.

While my wife was pregnant, I did a lot of late night training in that public space (with mobile phone at hand, just in case). I still recall some of those nights from five, six years ago. Drilling the five fists (wu xing quan) up and down the space, running through a few of the twelve animal forms each night. The zigzag of the snake, the wonderful arm motions of the mysterious tai-bird as they spread and come back together before striking, thigh muscles burning from the leaps and dives of the dragon form…

I had started xingyi quan not long before, so I was alive with the excitement of entering a new world, learning something completely different. I was phasing down my karate training. Xingyi quan was different enough to avoid interference (except for this style of XYQ’s habit of pulling the reverse fist to the center of the body in front of the dantian, rather than all the way back to the hip as in Shotokan karate). But at the same time, I appreciated its directness, a great contrast to the taiji quan which was my first area of study with Mr. T.

After my daughter was born, I learned how to make use of late night milk time by catching up on martial arts videos, standing in horse stance, and the like. My late night, outdoor training time diminished. I got by with compressed forms in the living room but the fire did not burn quite as brightly. The once-a-week XYQ class became the focus of my practice – an excellent class by itself, but not enough without regular supplement.

So these days I can feel myself returning to a very good place in my XYQ training, with near-daily review. Coming back to life…

I did things a bit backwards tonight. I ran through several reps of a couple animal forms, reviewed the five fists, then did some standing practice. I had worked up a good sweat and once motionless, my glasses fogged over completely. I waited it out – relaxed, sank more fully into the santishi stance, relaxed again. All without being able to see anything.

A quick wipe with the thumbs – suddenly all became clear again, and I returned to motion. My hands snapped exactly into place, returning to familiar motions. It is going to be a good spring.