wrists

1) Went to shiatsu today. I’ve been dealing with occasional extreme back pain in recent years, can’t bend / stand up, the usual complaints. The shiatsu sensei is the demon roller guy, dealing out exquisite pain on the way to glorious recovery.

I am not quick to go to the doctor but barely being able to stand is when things get a bit out of hand. A chance meeting and chance recommendation, he is a local guy and very flexible in scheduling, both big pluses for me.

He does the usual shiatsu therapy, pressing various points to stimulate qi flow, re-align the body, and so on. But he also uses rollers to get into the deep tissue. These torture devices are arranged on a small rack near the treatment table. They look like paint rollers but there is nothing smooth about their application. He begins by rolling them over the surface tissue, then works his way into the deep muscles and tissue, grinding and drilling all the way, muttering about my tight muscles at each point.

It is hard to describe, an unknown sensation somewhere between pain and being tickled. And yes, I pay to undergo this treatment.

One simple point: it works. The short-term relief is of course wonderful. But the long-term treatment is also quite good. That’s why I keep going back.

I know what pain is and I know fairly well how to deal with it. I could take all the pain dished out by this doctor and his demon rollers (strangely laughing at times), except for one thing – the wrist bend.

The back, waist, arms and legs were all finished. He nonchalantly began working on one of my wrists, observing how various parts of the body are all connected. Using two hands, he bent my wrist and brought my fingers back near the inner forearm. It was the only time I couldn’t take the pain and asked him to stop.

He is an aikido guy with super-bendy wrists. He knows I am a martial arts guy and probably expected me to also have super-bendy wrists. I don’t. No problem – he eased off, continued the treatment, and all was well.

2) One other wrist-related memory, some years back in Japan. A friend and martial arts senior asked me to join in a group practice and outdoor demonstration. People from several different training backgrounds had gathered and many of us were meeting for the first time.

During the practice time, we all took turns introducing key points from our various disciplines. All went well until I got paired with Mr. Pain. He was fairly deep in an Okinawan art which includes joint locks as part of the curriculum. He began demonstrating on me and all was going well, though I began to sense that he liked putting on a show.

Then came the wrists. Same position as above, bending my fingers back toward the inner forearm. I felt extreme pain (as opposed to the “normal” amount of pain one expects at such times).

In a close teacher-student relationship, there are times when the student is made to question how much pain they can take, how much is appropriate for the learning situation. The pain tolerance threshold can indeed be changed through exposure and repetition. But that is in a certain social situation, with a clear relationship built on trust.

This guy was putting on way too much pain. He may not have realized it. I asked him to ease up. He smiled and increased the pressure. And maintained it for some time. And looked around to make sure others were watching.

Maybe I should have just shut up and taken the pain? No. I know how and when to do that. This was not the time. His techniques were clearly effective. But as for his way of demonstrating them….

3) Last night’s tai ji jian (sword) class took an unusual and rewarding departure…to the wrists. Five of us nine students that night had also just been to a weekend seminar in Sun Style tai ji quan, or 孙式太极拳. During a break in the sword work, two of the students were talking about one of the characteristic Sun Style motions (开合), in which the palms are held vertically with the wrists bent back as much as possible. The palms are then spread apart and brought back together in front of the chest.

Our teacher (who had not been at the Sun Style seminar) suddenly took us on a lengthy tour of wrist flexibility and strengthening exercises. One of them is commonly seen in chang quan: with the arms extended in front, sharply flick the wrists up with the fingers pointing upward. Then flick the wrists down (finishing with the fingers down or in a hook hand / 勾手 position. Repeat this for a while with maximum wrist motion and you’ll get the idea.

In the middle of a seemingly endless introduction to such exercises, he began talking about a famous sword encounter involving, of all people, Sun Lu Tang 孙路堂, founder of the Sun Style. Someone had insisted on a match. Ritual denial and insistence followed, and then came the inevitable match. Apparently Sun Lu Tang simply and quickly did a beng jian 崩剑 technique, snapping his wrist down and popping the sword tip up under the opponent’s wrist. The opponent’s sword flew out of his grasp and that was pretty much that.

xing yi quan form of the month: tuo

I think I missed another month somewhere in there – so it goes.

The mysterious and mythical tuo – some kind of water-dwelling creature. No picture for this one, since it is after all an imaginary creature.

I have seen it referred to as being similar to any number of creatures in the past. My earlier conception was the alligator or crocodile, and the powerful swipe of its tail back and forth. Thus the zig-zag stepping of the basic form, and the hands grabbing and pulling across from side to side.

We are working on it this month in class and all references are to a water strider / whirligig or similar animal – gliding smoothly and effortlessly across the water surface. And we are edging our way into the longer, more complex version with a weird body-shaking motion – which makes more sense when stepping back to the side and slipping out of the grip of someone who has grabbed you in a bear hug from the rear.

This form has bugged and eluded me for many years, and I am glad to get a deeper look at last. It is one of the remaining animal forms Liu Jing Ru Laoshi has not taught us on his Tokyo visits. Nor will he be doing it this year, so I hope we make good progress in the form in the remaining month. Then we’ll have to wait until next year’s visit…

Dealing with fear

1. The other day, I took my daughter to her weekly swimming lesson. It is usually one of the highpoints of her week and she is always excited to go. But that day, there was an unusual heaviness in her step as we walked to the pool. Outside the building, she paused, then called me over to the side, tears in her eyes.

She has recently moved up into a higher-level class and is scared of one of the teachers, who is much stricter than her usual teachers. After several minutes I finally got her into the building – but then we had to sit down on a bench for a while.

I got lucky – she was stalling until she could see which teacher had her group that day. It was one of the less-strict teachers, so I got her down the stairs and toward the pool without much more trouble. But I also wish that she had had to deal with her fear more directly.

2. Back in my university days, I drove down to Arkansas with a friend and we sampled one of the heights of local small-town culture: jumping off a cliff into the lake below.

It didn’t look like that much of a jump as we looked up from below. But as we climbed closer to the top, the distance seemed to increase. Once at the top, I risked a life-threatening glance over the edge and it seemed we were impossibly high instead of the actual 50-or-so meters. Were I a less stalwart man I might have worried about oxygen depletion at such an altitude.

Like my daughter, I stalled a while but there was no one to comfort and encourage me – only the locals and their derisive stares. Somehow I got over the edge and was not splattered all over the rocks below. I landed safely in the water but made one fatal mistake: I had my arms extended out to the sides instead of raised overhead like those in the know.

Though it hurt like hell, my arms were not ripped out of their sockets and I climbed up for another jump. I was still struggling with my fear but I got over the edge with much less stalling the second time around.

3. I recall another incident, one from childhood, in which I did not overcome my fear. I was probably 8 years old or so. We lived in an apartment complex with a pool and a diving board. With a really huge bounce, you might catch one or two meters in the air. Nothing spectacular, in fact, but pretty good for an 8-year-old.

Once, we went with some friends to a public pool which had a high diving board. After some hours, I mustered the courage to climb the ladder. It must have been a mile high, up and up with no end in sight.

I couldn’t even get out to the end of the diving board. I might have eased about one step past the hand rails, but that was it. I had to climb all the way down. That meant that all the kids who had climbed up just behind me had to climb all the way down, too, to get out of my way. I caught some pretty mean stares as stole away from the foot of the ladder. The other fearless souls scampered right back up and launched themselves off the board without hesitation.

4. I was part of the university karate club for 7 years and sparring was a part of most practices. Some of the people I climbed up the ranks with really enjoyed sparring. Not me. It was an exercise in dealing with my fear every time, and it was very good for someone who had spent his entire childhood with his face buried in books.

Did I really deal with my fear at that time? Once inside the dojo / training hall, there was no time to think or worry. Every workout was full-on with no time wasted. By entering the dojo, I put myself into a routine that carried me through the practice, not giving me the luxury of thinking about it at all. But even so, there was no turning away, no climbing back down the ladder, and certainly no stalling.

5. These days, I am focused strongly on Chinese martial arts. In my particular case, none of my classes have any sparring activity or exercises with uncooperative partners. We practice applications, but only in an isolated manner. It is good for seeing how to apply the technique under the best of circumstances, but things never work out so nicely in reality, I think.

In the long term, once back in the US, I will have to graft sparring exercises onto all the things I have learned here in Japan. And I might need to hit the open tournament a time or two before heading back…

twins?

which one is the evil doppleganger?

Are Competition Forms Useless (1)

This may begin a series of posts on an important topic. Below is part of the text of a comment I received a couple months back. I have been sitting on it awhile (apologies to the writer) but am now ready to wrestle with it.

From the comment: “I just finished learning the 42 sword form, and I must say it is nothing compared to my trad. Yang style sword. Mostly useless performance moves, with lagging principles and uncertain applications. Do you have better experiences?”

I have been working on the tai ji 42 sword form for a few years now but I have to admit it has not been a priority, as it is one of the few forms I have learned outside the classes of my regular teacher (though with his blessing – all teachers in the same group).

It was created in 1991, not even 20 years ago (shorter than my martial arts career!) and draws motions from 4 of the main tai ji styles. Like other competition forms, it was created with the purpose of an international standard in mind. That way, people from many different styles can get together and compete on the same level with each other. Otherwise, how could we compare two people doing completely different tai ji forms? (This begs the question of whether we really need to do so, but hey….)

Those who practice only the traditional forms, improved and passed down over the generations, may well find the competition forms bland. Those who practice only the competition forms may indeed may be missing out on a lot, since the competition forms are hybrids, drawing motions and inspiration from many sources. Perhaps too much has been lost in the blending. But let’s look at the commenter’s points one by one.

“useless performance moves” – there are one or two movements I would eliminate if I could, but I feel most of the motions are useful and have a grounding in reality. (I write this as someone who has practiced kendo – an art in which people wear armor and actually strike each other with their swords – more than 15 years. Then again, those who practice kenjutsu – no actual physical contact but always done with a partner, much less experience in that area myself – often belittle kendo as being “useless” and so on).

“lagging principles” – hard for me to respond to this one, as I need more specifics from the commenter. But on the whole it feels consistent with the principles I hold to be important in tai ji. What principles are being referred to? Strength in softness? Sinking the qi? These are all over the 42 sword form.

“uncertain applications” – Here again, with the exception of a small number of motions, I would have to disagree. The applications seem clear and generally solid to me (though I doubt you would find me using any of the one-knee-raised, balanced-on-one-foot techniques (poses??) the next time I am fighting on the streets with a Chinese sword).

It may not be the perfect vehicle for teaching tai ji jian, but the 42 form does give us a way to distinguish between dian and pi techniques, dai jian and jie jian, and so on. It teaches the shifting of weight, use of force in opposing directions, and so on. And it introduces beginners to the basics stances, grips, etc.

I don’t know the traditional Yang jian form, though I do know a Yang dao (broadsword) form and quite like it. In terms of traditional sword forms, I am getting more familiar with the Sha family sword forms and I like them quite a bit. Are they better vehicles for transmitting excellence in tai ji? Too early for me to answer, but I sense it is a case of two different roads leading to the same destination- and that these two roads share much in common.

In my case, I prefer the closer, more personal form of transmission of the traditional forms of the Sha family. But I wouldn’t want to do those forms only. My experience in the Japanese martial arts has shown me too many groups lost in small, insular worlds. Too many people who, in the pursuit of purity of transmission of Traditional Forms, do nothing but criticize and belittle other martial artists, especially those doing less traditional arts.

As for me, I continue going to a 32-sword class 1-2 times a week. The 32-sword form was an earlier (and still more common) version of a competition form for international contests. Its history stretches back ot 1957 – much longer than the 42-form but still rather short in the history of martial arts.

While it may be a competition form, I am learning it for myself and am taught finer principles and unrealized applications each week. Many of the motions overlap with those of the 42-form. And many of the motions, principles and applications overlap with those of the Sha family sword forms and other traditional forms.

But I would have to say, I prefer doing the Sha family forms. Going back to the commenter’s question -- “Have I had better experiences?” I can only say that I have been and continue to learn from and be challenged by my teacher. He uses the 32 form (and occasionally the 42 form) as tools to teach. Both forms are quite suitable for large groups of people and are often taught to beginners. Generally, people move into the traditional forms after gaining experience with the competition forms. I followed that pattern and I feel it has served me well.

I am most interested to hear comments from readers on this topic (including the original commenter). Also, look for future installments in this series. I will certainly have to write about Long Fist and Southern Fist in this regard.

(photo of myself and a practice partner doing the 32-sword form about 16 years ago)

two

Was I just complaining about only moving forward one move at a time in my forms lately, instead of the usual mind- and body-stretching sequences of who knows how many motions?

Silly me. Typing notes and consulting Liu Laoshi’s text on Six Harmonies Praying Mantis Fist yesterday, I discovered that I had, in fact, learned two new motions. That’s right, not one but two. The psychological difference is, in my case, profound.

No longer inching along at a snail’s pace, I am suddenly surging forward and straining my capacity to absorb new material. Double what I thought!

But it still feels like one connected sequence, just a difference in how you count the motions. There are four hand motions, a foot adjustment, and a step forward. Is that one motion? Two? Four?

Enough. Time to get outside and practice. One motion, two motions. Who cares, just finish the fight. And get ready for the next mantis fist seminar, two weeks away, and sure this time to blast forward.

snail's pace

In recent practices, the theme seems to be slow advancement.

Tonight’s class in Sha Family sword (沙式太极剑), I was hoping for a surge forward in the (first) two-person paired form. Instead, we got a (good and needed) review of the (second) 36-motion tai ji jian form, including four repetitions in all directions, which really messed with the mind if you let it, or didn’t mess with the mind if you didn’t let it. Do you know what I mean?

After basics, 36-form practice, and breaks, there was precious little time left for the two-person form we are learning. We reviewed the first several motions several times and learned a grand total of one new motion in the last three minutes of class. No complaints, mind you – every minute of class is valuable, and I appreciate the review.

Last Sunday, we had a special 5-hour class focusing on mantis fist or tang lang quan. It’s a small and experienced group and my only real chance to review the forms of Six Harmonies Mantis Fist (六合螳螂拳) as taught by Liu Jing Ru Laoshi.

My daughter was not satisfied with four hours of Daddy Time all morning, so I took her to the afternoon Mantis class. She was pretty good (as much as can be expected of a 7-year-old) and ran through the Long Fist Staff form (长拳棍术) with me a few times, but wouldn’t run through any of the empty-hand routines in front of others with me.

Between intervals of playing and practicing with my daughter, I reviewed Duan Chui 短捶 pretty well and reviewed the first 1/3 or so of shuang feng 双封 from last month. We drilled that many times and then learned a grand total of one new motion.

I suppose this theme applies to last week (or has it been two weeks ago already??) when Akamine Sensei came to Tokyo from Okinawa for a weekend seminar in Ryukyu Kobudo. Actually there was no advancement into new techniques for me, only pushing deeper into the already-practiced forms. It was enough, and yet I still felt a hunger, watching as others reviewed forms which I have been through but don’t know well.

So these are days of slow advancement and much consolidation for me, both satisfying and slightly frustrating at the same time. Anyway, I will strengthen my foundations and get ready for there will certainly be great blasts of advancement in the future.

(photo of a snail found by my daughter at the tang lang quan practice space)