EATING BITTER AND TRADITIONAL TRAINING

 by Phillip Starr

In the practice of contemporary martial arts there is a tendency for instructors and students to shy away from any training routine that involves the possibility of much discomfort or injury. This is only natural; as human beings we usually don't usually flock to engage in activities that are inherently painful or risky and we tend to take a hard look at those "weirdos" who do.

I recall watching a group of students practice one-step fighting in a particular martial arts school some years ago. The attacker would step back into the usual pre-attack position, executing a snappy low block as he did so. When the receiver was ready to perform his defensive maneuver he would utter a strong qi-he (kiai) and the attacker would execute a powerful lunging thrust. The receiver would step back, block the attack, and deliver a crisp counter-attack.

Sound familiar? Sure, it does. It's the usual one-step fighting drill. Except for one thing...

The participants were standing at least eight feet apart. When the receiver executed his blocking technique he never touched the aggressor's arm! And when he counter-punched his fist was at least four feet away from the attacker's body!

Naturally, I asked the instructor why the students didn't touch each other at all during this common training exercise. He told me that he didn't want them to bruise their arms or risk striking each other if their blows weren't adequately controlled.

Good Lord.

Well, these folks will be in great shape if they're ever attacked by a strong gust of wind.

Now, don't get me wrong. I certainly don't advocate uncontrolled violence as a training tool. I remember visiting another martial arts school whose members engaged in full-contact sparring within two weeks of enrollment! The neophytes, who had no real knowledge of martial arts technique, were thrown to the lions (the more experienced students) like so much raw meat. To say they got the stuffing pounded out of them would be a serious understatement. The instructor reasoned that if one wanted to become skilled at fighting one had to know what it is like to get hit. Students were told that they had to learn to keep going even if they'd been struck very forcefully because this is what "real combat is like."

Good thing they didn't teach swordsmanship.

Certainly, I believe that students need to develop strong technique and a strong spirit through rigorous training. The key word in that sentence is rigorous. I believe that real martial arts technique and spirit cannot be understood or developed except through the application of controlled violence.

Beginning students are unable to understand this concept and it has to be presented to them very gradually. But as they grow and develop their skills, they must learn to accept this fact and train accordingly. Violence is, after all, why the martial arts were originally developed. They were not cultivated to help their followers discover their "inner child", as a panacea for various ailments, or for thrilling audiences.

I recently told my students that they would learn much more from pain and discomfort than they ever would from sheltered contentment. In traditional Japanese martial arts there is a term describing this type of practice. It is nangyo (in Chinese, nanhang). It refers to hardship (nan) and a road which is traveled by many people, perhaps a crossroads. This is an accepted part of the traditional martial ways; a necessary ingredient for the development of true skill and understanding. The Chinese usually refer to this particular aspect of training as qi-ku (literally, "eat bitter").

In contrast to the aforementioned karate school wherein participants never touched each other, the former head of the Japan Karate Association, Master Masatoshi Nakayama (dec.), recalled that when he was training under Master Gichin Funakoshi during his college years his arms would be so sore and bruised from blocking his partner's attacks that he could hardly lift them. Another kendo master spoke of being struck so hard on the front of his helmet (men) that it knocked him to his knees and splintered his partner's shinai.

Students of the legendary Morihei Uyeshiba (founder of aikido) recalled how his vise-like grip would leave bruises on their wrists and Americans who trained in judo under the revered Kyuzo Mifune spoke of being thrown so hard that they were rendered unconscious. My own teacher, Master W. C. Chen, remembered seeing exhausted classmates bow, run out of the drill line, and vomit.

Some of these things would be considered a tad excessive by today's standards but it gives you an idea of what traditional training was like "back in the day." It was not done because the instructor was a sadistic brute who wanted to puff out his machismo for all the world to see (although such instructors, if that term can be applied to them, have always existed). The instructor's first and only concern was for the students, to help them develop real skill as opposed to something that only looks good but has no real internal substance.

In time, students develop a strong sense of self-confidence. They don't fear being attacked because that happens every night that they attend class. Some years ago one of my students was forced to defend himself against what I call an "Americanus Vomitus" (otherwise known as a common "puke"). When he told me about it he smiled and said, "I wasn't really afraid of the guy at all. Heck, I get punched at by professionals at least three times a week in the training hall!"

For the teachers of the traditional budo ("martial ways"; in Chinese, wu-dao) it's a delicate balance; how far to push the students and keep the violence inherent within the martial arts under control. Naturally, no competent teacher wants to see a student get hurt but some minor injuries are unavoidable and to be expected. Anyone who's spent much time in the martial arts has had his or her fair share of split lips, strawberries, bruises, and the like. Some have even broken a small bone or two. It happens; it's simply the nature of the beast and a necessary part of the developmental processes of the budo. But it is the responsibility of the instructor and senior students to do their best to ensure that the violence never escalates beyond a certain level.

As a student's skill increases the attacks he faces in the training hall must be more realistic until, at an advanced level, they are real. That is, if he fails to perform his defensive maneuver correctly he may well be knocked on his tail.

At the same time, students must (gradually) learn that a bloody lip isn't the end of the world and it's still possible to continue training even after getting smacked in the ribs. Qi-ku.

DRESS FOR SUCCESS

 by Phillip Starr

Many years ago there was a book named "Dress For Success", which enjoyed considerable popularity. The author (whose name I can't recall) noted, among other things, how one's attitude was affected by the manner in which one was dressed. It sounded a little weird but over the years, I found many of his assertions to be true and it's one of the reasons I insist on students wearing a proper training uniform.

In general, it can be said that the condition of one's practice uniform reflects one's attitude towards training. If it looks like a used Kleenex; if it's torn and in need of repair, or if the salt stains (from yesterday's sweat) haven't been washed out, it is a fairly accurate indication of how one regards oneself and one's training.

A student who pays a lot of attention to detail; who is a stickler for sharp technique and who aims at perfection will usually wear a uniform which is clean and pressed. You could almost cut your finger on the creases in their trousers.

At the other end of the spectrum is the student whose uniform has been wadded up and shoved into a practice bag for a couple of days. It has more wrinkles in it than an elephant's butt and his attitude towards training will tend to be lackadaisical. His technique and form often leans towards the sloppy...like his uniform.

And then, of course, there are a lot of in-betweens.

Training in street clothes is common in many internal Chinese schools and I think this actually has an impact on their (the student's) approach towards training. Casual. That's how they often regard it, but training time should be anything but casual. One must concentrate and give a full 100% of one's attention to it.

In the old days (and even in modern China) most training was conducted outdoors. People gathered in parks to practice and so they naturally wore their everyday street-clothes. That's why most kung-fu stylists wear shoes.

But I think this kind of thing has had a negative impact on (Chinese) martial arts. For one thing, street-clothes don't hold up very well to the rigors of strenuous practice. So, the teacher has a choice; he can water down the training so that the students don't damage their clothes (and maybe themselves), or he can go ahead and conduct a vigorous class and end up with a bunch of half-naked students.

Due to the heat and humidity (especially in southern China), many kung-fu stylists prefer to wear training trousers and tee-shirts. Such clothing won't hold up in our training. Tee-shirts don't stand up to grappling practice. There are some who will argue that "in a real fight your opponent won't be wearing a heavy practice jacket", and that's why they prefer tee-shirts. Okay. So let's do the techniques and grab the tee-shirts. Watch what happens. Or we can just grab meat and execute the throw. But then, a lot of students wouldn't be returning to class.

The reason the heavy jacket is worn is NOT to accommodate the thrower in the execution of his technique; it's to PROTECT the receiver - so the thrower doesn't have to grab a fistful of meat in order to perform the throw.

If the receiver insists on wearing a tee shirt or regular street-clothes, it leaves the thrower in a quandary. Does he rip his partner's clothes to shreds? Does he dig into his partner's flesh to perform the throw? Or does he water down the technique? This is why I require all students to wear a full uniform in class.

However, the main thing is that the overall condition of the practice uniform is an indicator of the regard a person has for training and even for himself.

CHANGING WITH THE TIMES?

 By Phillip Starr

I once read a statement made by a popular martial arts teacher that said he hoped that his art would continue to grow and change with the times. That made me sit back and wonder if he really understood the implications of his words. And what, exactly, is meant by “changing with the times?”

As citizens of the 21^st century, we like to think of ourselves as being fairly contemporary and “forward thinking.” Certainly, as our world becomes more modernized, many industries have found it essential to “change with the times.” We need only glance at modern medicine, the car industry, and state-of-the-art computer technology to understand the need and subsequent demand for what is “new and improved.”

Of course, we all know that just because something is labeled as being “new and improved” doesn't necessarily mean that it's good for you or for the environment. Oftentimes, what seemed like a good idea at the time sows the seeds of a disastrous future. This is certainly true of the martial disciplines that we practice.

On the sporting side of these arts, we've seen many changes over the years. I remember when the first hand and foot pads were introduced and I warned everyone that using these “new and improved” devices would ultimately result in a deterioration of our arts. No one listened. The results are now painfully obvious; real technique has, for the most part, been tossed by the wayside and a tap on the head is now scored as an effective “point.” Competitors have no real notion of what “control” means and the (combative) concept of distance has been all but completely obfuscated.

On the more practical side, we've seen some fairly dramatic changes. There are those who insist on training in military-style camouflage attire, complete with combat boots. They regard the traditional training uniform as old-fashioned and unrealistic. There are many who, being unable to “read the books” (understand the forms) that are used in the art(s) in which they have trained, throw them out the window and refer to them as being little more than “dances” or forms of exercise.

“Times change”, they tell us. “So, the martial arts must change with them.” I agree that times change. The first part of such a statement is silly. OF COURSE times change! So, I would ask just what they mean when they say that “times change.” Are they inferring that people fight differently now than they did several hundred years ago? I doubt the validity of such a statement; none of us can really answer that question because we weren't plodding around this planet back then. Yes, I agree that the advent of the firearm certainly changed the situation to some degree but a number of well-qualified martial arts instructors have developed effective defensive maneuvers that can be employed against these kinds of weapons. Knives and bludgeons haven't changed much, nor have fists and feet.

I believe that the martial ways are just as valid today as they were several millennia ago. Sure, we've made some improvements in training equipment (although some of the older versions are actually superior to their more modernized cousins). We've improved teaching and training routines; back in the old days, students often learned by rote. They simply imitated the movements of their instructors without the benefits of being provided many of the small details and being permitted to ask questions. But is there a need to change the techniques and the traditional forms? I don't think so. Not at all.

They work just as well now as they ever did. They've survived the test of time; just because something is old doesn't means that it needs to be changed.

BABY STEPS

 by Phillip Starr

Although the term, "kung-fu" (also, "gongfu"), serves as a generic term for Chinese martial arts, use of the term in that regard is actually a misnomer. As most of you already know, "kung-fu" refers to a fine, high level of skill that is developed over a period of time through hard work. Thus, "kung-fu" can actually be applied to any martial discipline as well as many other activities that require rigorous and regular practice over a period of time.

Throughout the Orient it is understood by most persons who endeavor to train in any martial form that substantial skill cannot be acquired quickly and any teacher who promises otherwise is nothing more than a charlatan whose main interest (and skill) lies in separating a student's money from his wallet. At the same time, there are those who come from the other end of the spectrum and insist that students must practice this or that training routine (and pay for it every month, of course) for an extraordinarily long period of time if he or she hopes to acquire a high level of skill.

The truth, of course, lies somewhere in the middle and students must be careful about selecting a good teacher.

In the West we are accustomed to things being accomplished fairly quickly. We have microwaveable meals (which aren't really food....), instant entertainment (just turn on the television), quick diets (which don't work), and so on. When we want something, we want it NOW. When martial arts were first introduced to the West, a number of enterprising instructors realized that a great deal of money could be made by short-cutting training routines and providing forms of "instant martial arts." My own teacher envisioned this happening although his young pupil (moi) just couldn't see it coming down the pike. But it arrived like a thunderbolt and it's here to stay.

No doubt, some of the old, traditional training routines were extremely tedious but they were necessary for the development of genuine martial skill (as opposed to what is presented nowadays as being martial skill). Westerners, being the way they are, sought to find short-cuts through much of what they regarded as "unnecessary, old-fashioned, unrealistic" training. Many honestly believed that they had found ways to shorten the training process but the truth is much different.

My teacher likened the process to making tea. To make tea the old way takes time and any attempt at hurrying the process will only ruin the drink. To be sure, we now have "instant tea" but my teacher couldn't stand the taste of it. There's tea and then there's tea.

Even so, most of those who have undertaken the study of a traditional martial discipline with the understanding that it's going to take time to develop real skill will still often catch themselves "shaving corners" and trying to take "big steps." Such attempts at hurrying the training process and the evolution of genuine skill almost always result in frustration and/or injury.

I knew one young man who wanted to develop large callouses of his punching knuckles. He beat the living bejeezus out of his striking post (which was incorrectly made and was akin to hitting a tree) and mangled his hands...he didn't realize that hardening the hands is NOT the primary objective of training with this particular device, and he finally had to give it up. Of course, he then argued that training with the post was "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

Another fellow dreamed of being able to execute his form with the same precision, grace, and power as his teacher. He trained his form for 2-3 hours every day, suffering pulled muscles as well as numerous other minor injuries. He ultimately gave up, insisting that forms were "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

And yet another student envied the uncanny fighting skill of his seniors. He dreamed of becoming an invincible warrior and practiced shadow-boxing and sparring incessantly. When he engaged in sparring practice he often went at it with a bit too much power and the wrong mind-set (he was determined to "win"), so, of course, he often went home with bruises, cracked ribs, black eyes, and many other booboos. He finally gave up, saying that traditional training was "old-fashioned", unnecessary, and unrealistic.

Progress in real martial arts comes in what I call "baby steps"; little steps that are sometimes too small to even measure or notice right away. Regular practice is essential. After all, a toddler will never learn to walk if he or she only tries to do it once in a while. So, if you train (at home) just every now and then, you can be assured that you're getting nowhere. On the other hand, if you're training at home 3 days a week or more and you're taking your time (taking "baby steps"), you can be confident that you're developing genuine skill - and if you keep at it long enough you'll develop real "kung-fu."

YIN AND YANG?

By Phillip Starr 

*Partially excerpted from the author's book, “Martial Maneuvers.”

The double-fish diagram known as “taiji” (Grand Ultimate) is familiar to anyone who is even vaguely familiar with Chinese culture. The dark side is referred to as Yin and the light side is known as Yang.

In observing and analyzing the physical world, the ancients used these twin concepts. Yin and Yang do not refer to actual physical phenomena as some people mistakenly believe; they simply represent two opposing but complementary and interdependent forces or principles that can be observed throughout the tangible universe. This seemingly incongruent supposition forms the cornerstone of most branches of Chinese philosophy.

The character for Yin is an ideogram of the shaded side of a hill. It is used to represent darkness, cold, the negative aspect, stillness, and so on. The ideogram for Yang is indicative of the sunny side of a hill and represents light, warmth, the positive aspect, movement and so on.

You'll notice that the Yin side of the diagram includes an element of Yang, which is indicated by the small white circle. Yang also contains an element of Yin, as shown by the small black circle. This is meant to show that each of these aspects contains a trace of the other and that there is no absolute Yin or Yang, and both of these twin principles can be infinitely subdivided into Yin and Yang qualities.

Additionally, the diagram should be seen as being static. Rather, it is constantly moving and changing. When one aspect increases, the other decreases. And when one aspect is carried to its extreme, it gives way to its opposite. Night (Yin) is ultimately transformed into day (Yang) and too much sweet (Yang) eventually becomes bitter (Yin).

Many neijia enthusiasts get lost in this concept; it's as if they regard Yin and Yang as actual “things/entities”, which, of course, they are not. They are simply mental constructs that the ancients used to help them better understand the world in which we all live.

In the practice of the neijia these twin concepts are generally applied from two viewpoints, the first of which is the execution of individual techniques. For instance, the hand or foot that is executing the technique is considered Yang while the unused hand or foot is Yin. The leg bearing the majority of the body's weight becomes Yang and the other is Yin, and so on.

The second view has to do with practical application against an aggressor and this is where some people get pretty confused. Some people believe that when the opponent attacks, he becomes Yang and this requires that the receiver should become Yin. Not. When the attacker strikes with, for instance, his right hand, his right hand becomes Yang and his left is regarded as Yin. The instant after he has discharged his force, his right hand becomes empty (Yin). So, the opponent is not entirely Yang simply because he is attacking.

You should not totally yield to his aggression because you will then become too Yin and become unbalanced, as it were. My teacher, W. C. Chen, explained that one must become “insubstantial” (which is, I think, a more accurate way of thinking of the condition known as Yin) AT THE POINT where the aggressor directs his attack. For instance, if the aggressor seizes your wrist, you should not apply your strength in an attempt to release it. Rather, you should become Yin AT THE POINT he has seized; you receive his force without becoming “empty.” This is an important point to remember.

Moreover, whenever an assailant attacks he must necessarily expose certain vital areas and weaknesses in his posture, both of which can be readily exploited by a skilled fighter.

My teacher explained these two ideas very simply; he likened it to punching water. “If you punch water, what will happen?”, he asked. I figured this was a no-brainer, so I answered simply, “You'll get wet!” He nodded and asked another question. “Can you break the water?”

I knew this had to be an intellectual trap but there was only one answer that I could think of. “No...”

“Yes!”, he replied. “It becomes Yin when you hit it! But does ALL of the water become Yin?” I shook my head, “No...”

“Exactly!”, he smiled. It becomes Yin only at the spot where you hit it, right?” I nodded as he continued with his questions. “What does the rest of the water do?”

I wasn't altogether sure what he wanted me to say and my answer was too slow in coming. He answered for me. “It reacts by enveloping your hand and wrist and splashing you!”

Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?

“So that part of the water becomes Yang! Where you punch it, it becomes Yin. The rest becomes Yang!”, he said. “So it's very simple. Not hard to understand.”