TENDON POWER

 by Yang Xuangxing

We often hear about differences between the so-called waijia (external martial arts styles) and the neijia (internal martial arts). Many neijia stylists explains the major difference between the two by simply saying that the neijia rely on the utilization of qi (intrinsic energy) while the waijia don't. This simplistic statement is both true and false at the same time.

“Tendon power” is one of the main secrets of the Chinese internal martial arts but rarely practiced nowadays. To develop it and use it properly requires time and a great deal of practice, but the results are very worthwhile!

Most martial arts rely on the use of the large muscles, although they caution that one must be careful not to tighten them to the point of moving like a wooden soldier. However, the internal martial disciplines of China (taijiquan, baguazhang, and xingyiquan, as well as a small handful of others) don't do this; instead, they rely on utilizing what is known as “tendon power.” And it's considerably different from the power that comes from using the larger muscles.

When a muscle is tensed and then relaxed, it will release about 75-80% of its stored energy. However, if a tendon is stressed (torqued, not tensed) it will release as much as 95%. The muscles needn't be tensed, per se, in order to stress the tendons ( 腱, “jian”), and movements can retain a sort of “flowing” look. Less energy is used by the body to do this, so the muscles don't become fatigued. It is an essential ingredient of chansi jin (silk reeling power).

Many moons ago, internal martial arts made wide use of this principle. However, learning it requires a good deal of patience and daily practice and with the passage of time it was, for the most part, forgotten. It is not possible to generate and emit true “coiling power” without utilizing tendon power. Small wonder why contemporary taiji and bagua enthusiasts possess no real power when they perform their sets, which are only the outer shells of the true art. Such performances are little more than forms of exotic dance. Xingyi stylists often rely on use of the larger muscles, making their art stiff and too karate-like.

To properly use it in the practice of these arts involves more than simply learning how to torque and release certain tendons, but several other equally important principles as well. They must all be performed exactly so, and in the proper sequence. This what my book, “REFINING JIN” discusses and illustrates.

THE STORY OF PASTOR “JOB” LI

 by Phillip Starr

During my first year as National Chairman for the AAU Kung-Fu Division (1990), I had the honor of meeting a man known as Pastor “Job Li.” Much later, I would learn that his name was Li Liangjung. My friend, Bing Chen, attended Pastor Li's church and introduced me to him. Mr. Li (who was in his 80's at the time), he told me, was a well-respected martial artist. I found him to be very humble, courteous, and insightful.

But it would be a short while before I would be told his story. Pastor Li's full name was Li Liangjong. During WWII, he helped rescue downed American fliers, often going behind enemy lines to do so. He'd had to dispatch many enemy soldiers, often with his bare hands. After the war when the communists and soldiers of the “Republic” led by Chiang Kai-shek locked horns, Li sided with the latter and fought against the communists.

When many Chinese fled to Taiwan to escape Mao Zedong's takeover of the nation, Li went with them. By this time, he'd been promoted to the rank of Lt. General. But his days of fighting weren't over.

Between Taiwan and mainland China are several smaller islands. In 1949, the PLA (People's Liberation Army of communist China) determined that if they could take Kinmen Island (aka., Jinmen, meaning “Golden Gate”), they could easily launch a major offensive against the main island of Taiwan itself. And General Li was put in charge of defending this stepping stone. At all costs.

Thus began what became known as Guningtou. The communists shelled Li's positions and then began with their favored tactic, the “human waves.” Li's ROC (Republic of China) forces held their positions, but at a terrible cost. Wave after wave of PLA soldiers charged but they were repeatedly driven back. Pastor Li's eyes gazed off into the distance as he spoke of this horrific fight, seeing a past that only a survivor can see. I cannot imagine that kind of horror and slaughter. But Li and his men held. Taiwan was saved.

Shortly after the battle, Gen. Li attempted to take a small military aircraft to China to rescue his older parents, who were trapped there. It would be a dangerous mission, but he was determined to try. Unfortunately, he was caught trying to fly out to the mainland and subsequently placed under arrest. He'd never see his parents again.

The trial was short. Fortunately, the judge and several other officers who participated in the court martial were his former students and he was sentenced to just two years in prison. Shortly after his release, his wife passed away. His heart was broken and he had no idea which way to turn. A friend offered him a position in his company, which was in the business of making records! This would later become Taiwan's most popular record-making company. But Gen. Li turned him down. He wanted a simpler life...

Sometime during all this personal turmoil, Li became a Christian and determined to leave Taiwan and come to the U.S. He adopted the name “Job” as he felt that his life had been one of terrible sorrow as was his namesake's life in the Bible. He settled in Omaha, Nebraska and opened a church for local Chinese residents.

He expressed sorrow that he had been largely forgotten by his own people. I really felt for him; how could they forget the man who had saved the Republic of China when it was in its infancy? I therefore determined that as long as I was National Chairman of the AAU Kung-Fu Division, we would award a special “Job Li Spirit Award” to the competitor who demonstrated the greatest fighting spirit.

At the First AAU National Kung-Fu Championships, I stood before the crowd and told everyone the story of Pastor Li. When I announced that this incredible hero was present at the event, a huge cry and applause went up and I awarded Pastor Li with a special sword, which I had had specially engraved for him. My heart swelled as I saw the tears in his eyes.

In 1992, Pastor Li received a very formal invitation from the People's Republic of China to attend a week-long celebration of his heroism in his hometown. He was conflicted; he wanted to go and see what few surviving relatives he had, but he feared it was a trap and the communists would arrest him. Bing and I assured him that he'd be fine and with a bit more pursuading, he was flown back to China.

The celebration was a massive party, honoring Pastor Li's great heroism and he was able to reunite with his surviving relatives and meet many newer descendants. He could scarcely believe it! The party lasted all week and he was thrilled.

Some years later, Pastor Li joined his wife. I was very saddened to get the news of his passing but I was glad that I'd been able to provide some measure of recognition for this incredible man. I'll never forget him. I hope you won't, either.

STICKS AND STONES...

 by Phillip Starr

Many years ago, one of my students asked me what I'd do if someone attacked me with a knife while I was enjoying a beer at a local tavern. I fear that I broke his heart.

“I don't drink”, I answered.

He wasn't having any of that. “But what if you were just having a soft drink, then...” he replied. “What then?”

“I'd run away”, I said.

Not to be dissuaded, he pressed on just as I knew he would. “But what if you couldn't run?”

I answered, “I'd probably throw my drink at him and grab the nearest barstool or chair and hit him with it!”

He couldn't hide the surprise from his face as he asked, “You wouldn't use gong-fu?”

I surprised him again. “That IS gong-fu”, I said. “But a lot less risky than engaging him with my hands. Works really well, too.”

He walked off, looking disheartened and confused. The point I was trying to make was that gong-fu is more than a collection of punches and kicks; it is a state of mind...a mindset. It values simplicity and practicality. It is direct. In so far as self-defense is concerned, what matters is that you DON'T LOSE. You survive. Looking good and doing some really nifty-looking techniques is NOT gong-fu.

Of course, the preferred method is to avoid a fight altogether; steer clear of places and situations that may bring violence to you. The next best option is to run away. However, if you cannot or should not run (i.e., defending your loved ones), then you do what is necessary. That doesn't always mean that you jump into the fray with fists and feet. Is talking; diffusing the situation with words, a possibility? If not (and that should be immediately clear), then you must use your physical skills.

I have never thought highly of the “Saturday night – get drunk and get into a fight, and then make up and drink with our bloodied buddies – idea of self-entertainment. If and when I must fight, I have only two modes: Either my opponent will spend some quality time in a hospital, or...I put an end to his life here. I don't believe in fighting for fun. And I have been most fortunate, especially as I worked in law enforcement (largely in undercover drug operations), in never having had to go into my second mode.

Martial arts are to be used in self-defense only as an absolute last resort.

SLOW DOWN!!!

 by Yang Shuangxing

Some martial arts enthusiasts scoff at the practice of taijiquan, which is often practiced mostly in slow motion. Fine. There are reasons for it (by the way, taiji is never APPLIED slowly). Have you ever tried to do a form from your particular discipline in slow motion? I mean REALLY slow. Go ahead; try it. Start off with your most basic form. I'll wait...

You say it's not so tough to do? Well...did you slow down EVERYTHING, including your kicks and steps? Yes, the kicks have to be done very slowly. You mustn't “fling” out your kicks uncontrollably. You'll quickly notice that they don't go as high as usual. It takes great strength in the hips and legs to perform a slow-motion kick any higher than your waist. Try to slowly kick out as high as you can and hold it there for a nice ten-count.

And when you stepped, did you do it quickly? It has to be slow, too. You mustn't “fall” on your foot. Each step must be perfectly controlled. It's a whole lot tougher than it looks! You don't want to “hurl” yourself at the enemy...your movement must be perfectly controlled.

Now, try again and this time, do EVERYTHING in slow motion. And when that becomes comfortable (and that's not going to happen for awhile), pay close attention to exactly how each movement and posture FEELS. Can you feel the punch all the way to your foot? Can you feel what your hips and shoulders are doing? Can you feel how they're connected? How about when you kick...what parts of your body (other than your kicking leg and foot) are involved and exactly what are they doing?

Did you coordinate your breathing with your movements or were you sucking wind at the halfway point? Breath and body have to be coordinated. Were any body parts overly tense when you moved? They shouldn't have been.

There's an old martial arts saying that says, “If you can't do it slow (correctly), you can't do it fast.” True enough.

RUMINATION

 by Phillip Starr

In his last days, the revered father of Japanese karate, Funakoshi Gichin, was largely bedridden. One of his youngest students, Tsutomu Ohshima, helped care for him. Ohshima would carry his teacher on his back down the stairs and into the dojo when he was scheduled to do a demonstration. When Funakoshi's feet touched the dojo, it was as if he was suddenly 20 years younger and he would perform magnificently...but afterwards he was exhausted and Ohshima would carry him back upstairs to his bed.

One morning, Ohshima arrived to find his sensei sitting up on the edge of his bed and practicing the basic seiken-tsuki (forefist thrust). Funakoshi looked over at his student and said, “I think I've finally got it!” This humble man had never spoken of his great skill before. Ohshima wept. Funakoshi passed away a few days later.

Kofujita Kangejuzaemon Toshinao was a master swordsman of feudal Japan who devoted his entire life to mastery of his art. Although he began in the style of the Chujo ryu, he was later accepted into the dojo of Itto Ittosai Kagehisa, who founded the famed Itto (“One Sword”) style of swordsmanship. The primary tactic of this school required a fine sense of timing and total confidence in one's ability to execute a single blow at precisely the right moment. Kofujita took to this concept with great enthusiasm.

He became a recognized master and authority of the art and was titled a “shihan” (“a model for all others”). One day as he was in his garden practicing, an old classmate visited him. His friend stood inside the house and quietly watched so as not to disturb the master. He saw that Kofujita was practicing a basic exercise of using his hips to precede the action of cutting. This was the very first thing that Itto-ryu novices were taught. The aging classmate could see that his old friend was wholly focused on the technique.

After a short time, Kofujita saw his friend and realized the classmate had tears in his eyes. “it is the first thing our master taught us”, Kofujita said. “I don't think it's quite good enough yet, do you?”

Kofujita's introspection and incessant struggle to examine his own progress, reflect on it, and strive for improvement (no matter how long he'd practiced it) is characteristic of a master. In Japanese, this attitude is called “ryomi”...intense, ongoing, self-evaluation.

In contemporary martial arts, the title of “traditionalist” is given to those who practice the ways of the past. You won't find them wearing glitzy uniforms or strutting around at tournaments with their chests puffed out. They're on a journey of self-discovery – which would be frustrated by following current fads. They believe in what they do and can be quite obstinate. Many regard them as people who see themselves as faultless paragons, paladins of the Way of the warrior. Traditionalists rarely challenge this view while they engage in self-citicism only in secrecy and amongst their own kind. It's a fault for which they must be forgiven.

Self-criticism is not pleasant nor easy to do. The main reason is that the arts that they follow far exceed the more modern “eclectic” forms. A second reason is that the criticisms of their art are often offered by those who are quite ignorant; one self-appointed critic may ask “what has all this practice of forms got to do with real fighting?” Such ones might just as well ask an auto mechanic what possible value a drive shaft could have in making a car go...

The overall problem faced by traditionalists is that although their world is filled with excellence, it is usually too small and often extends only to the walls of his dojo. This can foster rather narrow views. But there's nothing at all wrong with spending time in the schools of other accomplished martial artists, asking questions, and getting to know other traditionalists. This is actually following a very old and valuable custom of the martial arts.

Some traditionalists come to see themselves as purists, fine examples of their arts, and faultless. They are wrong. And if a master like Kofujita and Gishin could submit themselves to the self-criticism of ryomi, then today's practitioners could survive and even benefit from a little of the same.

PROPER DISTANCE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

 By Phillip Starr

Over the years that I've assisted as an official in tournaments and taught dozens of seminars, I've noticed a crucial element of martial arts application that is often missing from the training of a great many participants...that of Distance. It is crucial; one of the “Three Elements of Combat” (Distance, Timing, and Rhythm) and without mastery of it, effective application of technique is nigh to impossible...especially in a real confrontation.

Ask most martial artists for a definition of Distance, and you'll hear them parrot something about Kicking Distance (long range), Punching Distance (medium range), and something about short range (wherein elbows, knees, and grappling techniques are to be utilized). This is, for all intents and purposes, a child's definition. The more advanced definition is simpler but more “plastic”, and much more profound. Put simply, it is the distance from which one may deliver an effective blow in a single step... that is, a lunging punch).

The Japanese martial arts are very, very sensitive to this concept. Their culture developed around the sword and maintaining a fine awareness of how far a swordsman could step and deliver an effective cut could be critical to survival.

Most Western martial artists begin at a distance that is much too short. This is due to lack of proper training. Rigorous, regular practice of basic 3-step fight for the first several months of training is absolutely necessary in developing a fine sensitivity to proper distance. Oftentimes, practitioners find themselves much too close at the 2^nd or 3^rd punch. The Receiver must learn the adjust his distance with each punch. If he fails to do this, the Attacker will be too close by the time he executes the 2^nd or 3^rd attack.

I recall one seminar I taught where students all wore the foam-padded mittens for basic two-person exercises. And...they'd never done 3-step. A good number of them wore black belts but try as I might, I was unable to get them to even BEGIN at a proper distance! They started off much too close (close enough that the Attacker could easily punch the Receiver without having to advance a single step) and...that's how they sparred as well! A competent fighter would have easily eaten them for so many snacks! They simply had no concept of distance. At. All.

Distance is divided into 3 categories; First Distance is YOUR Distance. That is, how far can you drive out in a single lunging step and deliver an effective blow? This isn't measured in feet and inches. It's a “feeling” and you instantly know when an opponent has stepped into your effective striking distance.

Second Distance is the OPPONENT'S Distance; you must, through experience (and the earliest stage of experience in acquired through the practice of 3-Step Fighting) know exactly how far your opponent can drive out and deliver a powerful blow. Again, this is a feeling rather than a precise measurement.

The Third Distance is MUTUAL; it is the distance that is between you and your opponent and as the two of you maneuver for position, it changes. It isn't fixed at all. It's plastic and constantly changing...and you must be hypersensitive to it.

Training to increase your Distance (how far you can drive out and deliver a strong blow) can give you a tremendous advantage in both sparring and real self-defense. How this is to be done and how it's used are presented in my book, MARTIAL MANEUVERS.

PRACTICE, COMPETITION, AND COMBAT

 by Phillip Starr

Nowadays, it seems that many martial arts devotees equate practice (with a partner) and/or success in the competition ring with combat skill. I've often heard remarks like, “He's a really strong fighter! He's won two grand championships. Nobody messes with him!”, and variations thereof. But the brutal truth is a very different story.

In class, we must strive to practice “controlled violence” that is neither excessive nor insufficient. This is done for obvious reasons. The same is true for competition, although to a lesser extent. Blows may be thrown with great power, but careful control must be exercised to avoid striking and injuring one's partner. It happens from time to time, but such is the nature of the beast.

Hollywood's celluloid martial arts heroes have given many people (including a great many martial arts practitioners) a totally false impression of just how martial arts are used in actual self-defense. For starters, there's usually very little distance between you and your opponent and there's very rarely time or space to adopt some kind of “fighting stance.” The attack, more often than not, is unexpected.

There are no rounds, no referees, and no rules. It's quick and brutal with no quarter given. The odds are that you'll get fairly scuffed up even if you “win.” You can smell the enemy's breath and sweat, and feel his rage. It's usually over very quickly. But you mustn't dwell on having emerged victorious; he may have friends waiting in the wings. You must remain alert and sensitive to your surroundings (“zanshin”). Fear grips your gut as you realize that this isn't practice (where your partner makes an effort not to injure you) but your determination must wash over your fear and blot it out until the fight has ended.

The whole affair is usually over very quickly...within a few seconds. Long, drawn-out fights such as we enjoy on the silver screen don't exist (for all intents and purposes) in real life.