This Is Why I Train

It changed over the year. At the beginning, it was to stop thinking - for at least two hours during class. I was obsessed with my doomed relationship and self-pity. I was on a verge of depression. I learned to be present and mindful of things around me rather than just stayed in my own head.

And then I got over it.

I opened up and got to know more people at the temple. I realized I did not have to pretend to be accepted and liked. I could have friends I liked and liked me back for who I was in New York City! At the time, I trained because I was lonely. I wanted to make friends. I learned to open up and be comfortable with myself.

And then I started liking myself. I didn't need to be around people to not be lonely anymore.

Then it's because of Kungfu. I kept training because I wanted to be good. I wanted to kiss my toes and do all kinds of cool things other people can do. I liked learning and pushing my body to do things I never imagined doing. I remember the first time I did Ceshoufan. I had a surgery on the left shoulder not more than a year prior. I was mortified. But I did it. I liked the rush I had after the class - the feeling of accomplishing something difficult. I learned to be humble and confident at the same time.

And then that stopped too. I have been training only in Level 1 with the same routines over and over. I hardly do anything new anymore. I learned to find ways to improve what I know. I keep telling myself I can always learn - not a new move or a new form - but about myself. But that sometime wavers.

I still keep training at least 3 times a week. And I ask myself - why? What do I like so much about being there that even crumbling knees cannot stop me?

I think it's the positive energy - the chi. It's infectious. It makes me a positive and happy person. Maybe I do believe that through training I will one day understand myself. Or maybe I'm just addicted to pain.

Why do you train?

Sources of Inpiration

Thanks, Cheng, for your inspired call to action! I've been half-writing this post in my head for a bit now without committing any words on my keyboard, but now your poem compelled me to push it out... :)

Anyway, now that I've been training for a bit over 2.5 years now (and still stuck in L1), I am not learning anything "new" per se, so I strive to improve what I already do know by trying to make things sharper, doing actions faster, and so forth. Something that has been sort of a nemesis to me is trying to avoid taking steps in between kicks. Shifu has called me out on it so many times, and it really hit me hard this past Spring. I think I've made some progress in erasing this terrible habit of mine through a long process of almost having to re-learn by observing others, by changing my sense of balance, and by reminding myself that it's not about doing it fast, but doing it correctly. Constant evolution!

Recently, at the 100 day ceremony for Heng Ju, I saw Niederwelt's 5 year old niece Nina spinning cartwheels like it was nobody's business -- she effortlessly did one after another without any pauses or steps across the green carpet much to the amusement of herself and others. It really was ceshou-fun!

The next week I attended a day class and while we were doing ceshoufans during basics, I heard Xu call to me not to take extra steps. Buoyed by my memory of Nina a few days earlier, I tried it out, and wheeeee! boy, did those ceshoufans come whipping by faster! In fact, I felt like I was moving so much quicker that I almost lost my sense of balance and came tumbling down. I guess like with everything, I'm just gonna have to readjust and recalibrate. Oh, and maybe attempt ceshoufan again from the other side...yeahhhhhhh.......

Speaking of observing others, in recent classes I attended, I have noticed a new young fellow who has yet to learn all the basics, but does the most wonderful tenkong fanyaos. I don't know his name (yet) but I am inspired by how fluidly he leaps into the air and rotates. He is gazelle-like and strikes me as a dancer. I shall have to study his movements more and hopefully something will seep into my own labored tengkong fanyao.

It goes to show that you never know when you'll find something from which to learn.