Not that I have the power, but I dub the month-long period from roughly May 15 through June 15 in this part of the world the Month of Thunderstorms.
Every time I get a chance to do some rocking outdoor training, it seems a thunderstorm rolls in. This has been going on for about two weeks now, sometimes more than once per day. The weather reports are, of course, no use for planning because the nature of this part of the world at this time of year is that it generates massive numbers of isolated thunderstorms that seem to come up out of nowhere and that are incredibly dense across the landscape. Right now, in fact, yet another of these exciting little events (weather.com indicates a 10% chance of rain for this afternoon) chased me indoors right as I finished doing some chores and got myself ready to train. Sigh. I'll take it as a sign that I should be focusing more on strengthening postures for the time being. It's not that I particularly mind training in the rain. I don't really get into training in heavy rain, however, and under lightning or in crazy wind is right out. Since my dissertation stole my yi on training standing postures, though, I'll be thankful for what I have (though I was really looking forward to some turning).
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Tenacity
"I'm not the smartest or naturally the best, but I have the best heart. That's how I got to where I am." -He Jinbao
That's what Jinbao said to the group after he wondered aloud if I was smart enough for this art a few years ago in the dawn of my training. Later, he told me that I "have a lot of things messed up, but my heart is good," which, looking back at it now, seems like a decent complement. I'm taking that way regardless.
This art is hard. My learning curve for physical things, in my estimation, is rather steep (in the meaning that it requires quite a bit of investment on my part to get anywhere). This is something I've lived in my years of studying karate and seems to apply even more strongly to baguazhang. Putting those things together makes this art a particular challenge for me to excel at, but I want to live by the words that Jinbao said a few years ago, probably trying to soften the blow that could have been taken as quite rude. I want to make sure that I keep my heart, my drive, my yi, if you will, the best it can be. I'm not the strongest. I'm not the fastest. I'm not the most nimble or flexible. As I was reminded the other day, though, I do have a lot of tenacity, and I intend to keep it that way.
That means getting up and doing drills a lot, and it means focusing on the intended outcome despite the fact that the drill is more difficult that way. That, in fact, has been my biggest challenge over the last few weeks: making sure I'm concentrating on quality output slows me down to the point where I wouldn't be keeping up with the cadence of a group training session. On the other hand, speeding the drill up to executable speed often causes it to become mechanical and empty. Thus, I have to stay at it and not be discouraged. Then, even when I'm sore and tired and ready for something else (like a mojito), I make time to stand and turn. I don't stand for as long as I should, I'm sure, and I rarely turn as often or for as long as I intend, but I'm trying hard to keep up with life and with my intention to train as fully as is possible.
Recently I've started to put more intention into my training, as I indicated, in all aspects. I want my turning to contain the spirit of fighting. I want my standing to contain the actions and goals of the entire system as well as the palms I'm training. I want my drills to be active and alive and vividly effective in my mind's eye. I want my applications to extend from those so that I get a good result from them with a minimum of required effort. I want my saber practice to be realistic as well, not merely going through techniques and holding onto that heavy-ass thing for dear life (at least for the life of the tendons in my wrists and shoulders). I want to get it and to get good at it. There's only one way to achieve those ends: tenacity. I have to be serious enough to put myself through the physical demands and serious enough to keep my mind active and focused despite the temptations to slip into a more mechanical practice. I have to be serious enough to get up again today and train again today even when it's a sheer act of will to get started or continue. Sticking with it and paying serious attention is quite obviously the only way.
Behind all of my training, I want to be able to look back at it when I'm finished for the day and say: "therein was the heart of the Lion."
That's what Jinbao said to the group after he wondered aloud if I was smart enough for this art a few years ago in the dawn of my training. Later, he told me that I "have a lot of things messed up, but my heart is good," which, looking back at it now, seems like a decent complement. I'm taking that way regardless.
This art is hard. My learning curve for physical things, in my estimation, is rather steep (in the meaning that it requires quite a bit of investment on my part to get anywhere). This is something I've lived in my years of studying karate and seems to apply even more strongly to baguazhang. Putting those things together makes this art a particular challenge for me to excel at, but I want to live by the words that Jinbao said a few years ago, probably trying to soften the blow that could have been taken as quite rude. I want to make sure that I keep my heart, my drive, my yi, if you will, the best it can be. I'm not the strongest. I'm not the fastest. I'm not the most nimble or flexible. As I was reminded the other day, though, I do have a lot of tenacity, and I intend to keep it that way.
That means getting up and doing drills a lot, and it means focusing on the intended outcome despite the fact that the drill is more difficult that way. That, in fact, has been my biggest challenge over the last few weeks: making sure I'm concentrating on quality output slows me down to the point where I wouldn't be keeping up with the cadence of a group training session. On the other hand, speeding the drill up to executable speed often causes it to become mechanical and empty. Thus, I have to stay at it and not be discouraged. Then, even when I'm sore and tired and ready for something else (like a mojito), I make time to stand and turn. I don't stand for as long as I should, I'm sure, and I rarely turn as often or for as long as I intend, but I'm trying hard to keep up with life and with my intention to train as fully as is possible.
Recently I've started to put more intention into my training, as I indicated, in all aspects. I want my turning to contain the spirit of fighting. I want my standing to contain the actions and goals of the entire system as well as the palms I'm training. I want my drills to be active and alive and vividly effective in my mind's eye. I want my applications to extend from those so that I get a good result from them with a minimum of required effort. I want my saber practice to be realistic as well, not merely going through techniques and holding onto that heavy-ass thing for dear life (at least for the life of the tendons in my wrists and shoulders). I want to get it and to get good at it. There's only one way to achieve those ends: tenacity. I have to be serious enough to put myself through the physical demands and serious enough to keep my mind active and focused despite the temptations to slip into a more mechanical practice. I have to be serious enough to get up again today and train again today even when it's a sheer act of will to get started or continue. Sticking with it and paying serious attention is quite obviously the only way.
Behind all of my training, I want to be able to look back at it when I'm finished for the day and say: "therein was the heart of the Lion."
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mayhem
Following the clever titling protocol of a friend from high school (note what month it is!), I'm engaging in (continued) Mayhem in my training. I'm also, apparently, cool all of a sudden, my saber having earned me a little notoriety and neighborhood celebrity. The neighborhood kids (actually in my mom's neighborhood, where some of my working out has been going on a -- while my brother was in town, and b -- while they're putting a new roof on our house) are all duly impressed with the guy down the street with the "giant pirate sword." Sigh. I suppose, though, it's better than the guy down the street that keeps banging his giant pirate sword into the ground, because, happily, I'm not doing that!!!
Mayhem, which started a couple of weeks ago, is rocking my socks, though. My hands ache in one way or another constantly. One of the requirements is that I do at least an hour with my saber every day, although I'm reasonable enough to let myself rest at least once a week if I feel like I really need it. I'm also drilling standing and striking, poking my nose at some forms (with recommendations both for them and against them -- hedging my bets a little and trying to learn something at the same time), and learning some of the Phoenix stuff that I heard I should take a look-see at. It turns out that the Phoenix posture hurts.
On the side, after/between my drilling, throw in some calisthenics, yard work, and some serious visualization, contemplation, and meditation, and you pretty much get an idea of what this month is going to be like for me. It's fun and awful at the same time, and I'm totally blessed for the opportunity (and taking it). Hopefully, it's making me better too.
So, mayhem, anyone?
Mayhem, which started a couple of weeks ago, is rocking my socks, though. My hands ache in one way or another constantly. One of the requirements is that I do at least an hour with my saber every day, although I'm reasonable enough to let myself rest at least once a week if I feel like I really need it. I'm also drilling standing and striking, poking my nose at some forms (with recommendations both for them and against them -- hedging my bets a little and trying to learn something at the same time), and learning some of the Phoenix stuff that I heard I should take a look-see at. It turns out that the Phoenix posture hurts.
On the side, after/between my drilling, throw in some calisthenics, yard work, and some serious visualization, contemplation, and meditation, and you pretty much get an idea of what this month is going to be like for me. It's fun and awful at the same time, and I'm totally blessed for the opportunity (and taking it). Hopefully, it's making me better too.
So, mayhem, anyone?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Saber Two-Step and Poison Ivy
I went out for my daily saber workout today, and at the beckoning call of my wonderful wife at the perfect moment of "I'm not sure I can hold onto this thing anymore right now," I turned my attention after a while to "Number 2," my trusty little saber-toothed saw. We have an area of brushy crap in our back yard that's trying to climb and wreck our majestic holly tree and is choking a couple of azalea bushes (not that I really care, but apparently the neighbors have beseeched us strongly to not destroy the lovely pink azaleas -- I'd bushhog the whole area if I had one). Some of it is wild grape vines that have gotten out of control and some of it is very aggressive, ugly, domineering honeysuckle, those being the main targets of my saw. Unbeknownst to me until I grabbed onto a furry vine and yanked, there was also one or more poison ivy vines so big that I mistook them for limbs of an unidentified tree. I got quite a bit of it out of there in five minutes or so, and then I ran for the shower. Hopefully, I'm not going to come out all covered in poison ivy. I'm already itching all over psychosomatically (I hope). It might even be on my face and all over my hands. Ugh. Just as I got out of the shower and dressed, I went out for my saber, which I left figuring I didn't want urushiol (poison ivy's poison oil) all over my pommel (I left it until that point because I figured I'd only "rest" with the saw and then go back to the saber). Then I brought it in, and just as the door closed behind me, it started to rain. I had left the saber in a slightly sheltered area, but I'm really glad I got it in all the same. After wiping it down and cleaning it a little, I came in to talk about what I learned with it today.
First, I suffered through the form, as much of it as I know, without stopping. I'm still seriously impressed by people that can do a full saber workout and then get through the whole form in one go. Starting fresh, I can get through as much of it as I know, but I'm usually struggling by the end of that, which isn't even the end of the form. I've still got a long way to go, but as they say, "it's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll." I am distinctly better this week than last, though, which is encouraging.
What I think has brought about this change for me is drilling again. After going through a section of the form, usually a few or several times, I've been taking a handful of techniques out of it and doing them repetitively as a means to get better at them. It's helping a lot, particularly on some of the more challenging techniques and series. More interestingly, I like it, but I think that's because I don't have to do the ridiculous numbers that might be expected out of me at a seminar or intensive. If eight of them kicks my butt, then I do eight. If I can handle thirty, then I might do that many. It depends on the drill (e.g. sparrowhawk penetrates the forest hasn't gone double-digits for me yet). These drills are one side of what I'm calling (for the purposes of this post only) the "saber two-step." Some of them are a one-two kind of thing. Most are more steps than that.
So what did I learn? With the saber, as heavy as it is, it seems there are two major facets that are both very important to training it, though this could be my inexperience talking. First, there's gross strength and endurance, which it seems are to be gained by working through the full extent of the form, turning through all of the postures as many times as can be, and doing drills, in some sense for numbers. On the other hand, there is a strong need to develop skills-based practice with it. Thinking about what I'm trying to achieve with the thing, paying attention to the finer points, and really trying to do the techniques right, even very slowly (though only to make sure I'm doing them right) is very important as well (actually, much more important). I know a lot of guys that train in a lot of things in a lot of different ways, and one thing I've noticed is that guys tend to like to get strong and then define themselves by that, paying very little attention to finer details. The finer details, though, seem to make the techniques more efficient, not to mention effective, and tend to make the overall practice simultaneously easier and more fulfilling. I think the weight of the thing drove that aspect from the front of my mind.
I also called myself "sloppy" at several points, which I think is important to recognize and admit when it happens. We all get tired, we all have learning curves to deal with, and we all should be struggling to get better. Verbalizing to ourselves when we're doing things in a sloppy manner is a keen reminder of the big picture: the goal is to get good at what we're doing. If anyone out there takes tips from me, that's my theme of the week (or for however long I train, really): remember with redoubled focus to train to get better and to get better at specific things, not just to train.
First, I suffered through the form, as much of it as I know, without stopping. I'm still seriously impressed by people that can do a full saber workout and then get through the whole form in one go. Starting fresh, I can get through as much of it as I know, but I'm usually struggling by the end of that, which isn't even the end of the form. I've still got a long way to go, but as they say, "it's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll." I am distinctly better this week than last, though, which is encouraging.
What I think has brought about this change for me is drilling again. After going through a section of the form, usually a few or several times, I've been taking a handful of techniques out of it and doing them repetitively as a means to get better at them. It's helping a lot, particularly on some of the more challenging techniques and series. More interestingly, I like it, but I think that's because I don't have to do the ridiculous numbers that might be expected out of me at a seminar or intensive. If eight of them kicks my butt, then I do eight. If I can handle thirty, then I might do that many. It depends on the drill (e.g. sparrowhawk penetrates the forest hasn't gone double-digits for me yet). These drills are one side of what I'm calling (for the purposes of this post only) the "saber two-step." Some of them are a one-two kind of thing. Most are more steps than that.
So what did I learn? With the saber, as heavy as it is, it seems there are two major facets that are both very important to training it, though this could be my inexperience talking. First, there's gross strength and endurance, which it seems are to be gained by working through the full extent of the form, turning through all of the postures as many times as can be, and doing drills, in some sense for numbers. On the other hand, there is a strong need to develop skills-based practice with it. Thinking about what I'm trying to achieve with the thing, paying attention to the finer points, and really trying to do the techniques right, even very slowly (though only to make sure I'm doing them right) is very important as well (actually, much more important). I know a lot of guys that train in a lot of things in a lot of different ways, and one thing I've noticed is that guys tend to like to get strong and then define themselves by that, paying very little attention to finer details. The finer details, though, seem to make the techniques more efficient, not to mention effective, and tend to make the overall practice simultaneously easier and more fulfilling. I think the weight of the thing drove that aspect from the front of my mind.
I also called myself "sloppy" at several points, which I think is important to recognize and admit when it happens. We all get tired, we all have learning curves to deal with, and we all should be struggling to get better. Verbalizing to ourselves when we're doing things in a sloppy manner is a keen reminder of the big picture: the goal is to get good at what we're doing. If anyone out there takes tips from me, that's my theme of the week (or for however long I train, really): remember with redoubled focus to train to get better and to get better at specific things, not just to train.
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