Blinders

I wanted to share a story that relates a little bit to the last Chuanshou class, and how students and instructors communicate.

I had an interesting, and kinda cool, experience with one of my students.

I would describe him as someone who likes to joke around, often not taking things too seriously. Sometimes being a bit confrontational or challenging if he thinks what we're doing is "pointless". The other day, we were working on a certain part in Lao Gar, and he commented, "I don't get this. Why would I ever do this if someone was attacking me?". His tone was somewhat snarky.

And I think for the first time, I looked past the tone, and was actually excited by his question.  My group ended up veering off a bit and digging into this. 

Form versus application...What other things, besides specific strikes, blocks, kicks....are we learning and getting from our forms?

It was quite exciting.  But it was also an eye-opener for me.

I think sometimes, not just as students, but also as instructors, we can put our blinders on. If someone is consistently disruptive, it becomes harder and harder to really "hear" them. Or maybe I should say, it can be hard to look past how something is being said, and recognize that there might actually be something worth exploring....even if the comment was intended to get a laugh or be a little challenging.

I could see by the end that his attitude had shifted. He seemed even proud that his comment had influenced the lesson like it did.

And that got me thinking.

His question wasn't necessarily any different from questions he's asked before. But my response to it was. I think I had become so accustomed to expecting a certain attitude from him that I was sometimes responding to the attitude before I was even considering what he was saying.

This time, I didn't.

And because of that, we ended up having a really valuable discussion. One that might never have happened if I'd simply dismissed his comment as another attempt to be disruptive.

I don't know if this experience will change how he approaches future classes. But I do know that it has changed something in how I see him. And maybe that's just as important.

White Rabbit

I had a really great training day not long ago.

I was working through my forms, in full, and everything just felt right.

All the way through, I felt completely in control...of my breathing, my pace, and how I was phrasing the form. I was consciously choosing certain spots to slow down or speed up, but without sacrificing my flow. I was aware of everything, but not at all distracted. My intent felt clear, and I was completing every movement.

At the end, I didn't find myself completely gassed and out of breath. I was definitely fatigued, but not in the way I normally feel when I go 100%.

And I really felt like I gave 100%...but it was a completely different result than I'm accustomed to.

I carried on to Lao Gar and felt the same thing.

Like I was in complete control, without having to try so hard.

I'm sure I'm going to end up chasing that feeling now, because I know it's possible. At the same time, I realize it could become a bit of a white rabbit...the harder I try to recreate it, the more elusive it may become.

Maybe some of the things I've been working on are finally starting to stick. Maybe I'd gotten a great sleep and had been eating well. Maybe the stars were aligned.

Regardless, it was a really cool experience, and one I hope to have again

Stances

I've been working a lot on my stances recently. Not just in a static sense, but also in how I transition into them to best support my strikes, blocks, kicks, and other techniques.

Horse stance. Cat stance. Open X. Narrow kneel.

They all seem to be slightly off, both in alignment and stability.

As I've been trying to correct them, I've found myself wondering why they suddenly all seem out of whack at the same time.

Perhaps I've advanced enough that I'm only now beginning to recognize these little idiosyncrasies. Maybe my stances were adequate for where I was before, but I've reached a point where they need further refinement to keep pace with the rest of my development.

Or perhaps my knee injury is affecting me more than I realized. Maybe I've been making small, subconscious adjustments to avoid pain, discomfort, or further injury. Over time, those adjustments may have become my new normal, even if they aren't quite right.

Either way, they need work.

If it's time to refine my technique, great. If it's time to recognize the compensations I've developed and start making deliberate decisions about what works best with my injury, that's fine too.

My goal will be the same...to develop stances that are stable and capable of supporting whatever technique I'm applying.

And an update.  I finally have a followup appointment to go see the Sports Medicine Dr about my MRI results.

The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth

I've got a lot going on at the moment. All good things. But still, sometimes it can be a lot to sift through. And sometimes it feels like even though I'm "sifting," I'm somehow just sifting everything straight back onto the same pile.

The advice I got was to stop focusing so hard on the specific "thing" and instead figure out the underlying core lesson...the "universal truth" it belongs to.

If I can take a piece of feedback and categorize it into one of those truths (or maybe discover that it needs a whole new category I haven't found yet!), it suddenly seems much more manageable. More importantly, the lesson becomes something I can apply elsewhere.  Instead of fixing one single piece of feedback, maybe I can fix a whole collection of things across the board.

I've been using this strategy with some feedback I got in Tai Chi.

In our last class, I was having trouble with a particular transition, and Sifu reminded me about "tucking in" or "sitting on my highchair."  I had to apologize in that moment because I know she's told me this before...and I promised she'd only have to tell me about 4 billion more times.

Using that as my focus, I definitely felt smoother through my transitions and more grounded.  I also felt some pressure alleviated in my knee.  So something was definitely working and I wanted to take it further.

I started asking myself, how does this translate to my Lu Ping An?  I tried to "tuck in" during my bow stance and cat stance. And to a degree, I could play with it, but it didn't really translate.  Then I started questioning everything.

Why does it work there and not here?

Should I be doing it this way? Or that way?

Which way was right?

And there really was no answer, because I was asking the wrong questions.  I was being too literal and too specific.

Once I challenged myself, with some prompting, to ask why Sifu had given me that advice in the first place, things started to make more sense.

What core lesson was she trying to emphasize?

What was she trying to get me to see?

Those questions actually had some real answers.

It's not a matter of taking one piece of feedback and translating it directly and exactly into every other area of my Kung Fu.

It's about finding the lesson inside the feedback.  Figuring out which "truth" it belongs to, and then applying that truth appropriately to whatever I'm doing.

Btw...the lesson I landed on was to stay grounded and maintain my skeletal alignment throughout.  In 10 years I'll probably realize there was even more to it. But for now, this is where I've landed.  And that's a much easier lesson to apply across my Kung Fu than trying to literally "tuck in" everywhere. lol

And a big thank you to Sihing Ward for giving me a poke. You were right — I hadn't posted last week. I had written another entry but kept it private, so it felt like I had blogged...when I actually hadn't.  So thank you again! I already had this one started, so thankfully I was able to get it up quickly.

Now I Know

Just a brief update. 

I had my MRI yesterday.  Results are already back in MyChart.

ACL has a complete tear.

The expectation was that we were dealing with a partial, so somewhat worse than expected.

I don't know what this means yet, since I haven't met with the doc yet.

In the interim I will keep doing what I'm doing.  

Camping

Out on my annual camping trip with a group of friends.  We spent the day hiking and playing games.  I always enjoy being out in nature. For whatever reason, things just slow down and I’m able to really be present.  The hiccups that will often upset a day just don’t seem to be as significant out here.

On another note, I hope everyone had a great day at the parade today!!

Stop Playing Around

I have a confession.  I still don't feel all that connected to my stick form.  

For one, I think alot of my focus and excitement has been surrounding our fight choreography.

And for two, I have kept myself in "development" this whole time.  There are a few parts where I just keep playing, looking for different/better ways.  I haven't been successful, mind you....but by not fully committing, I haven't really given these spots the attention they need to evolve and get better.

This is leaving me feeling disconnected from my form, while also lacking trust.  Not only do I feel this way...but it's also pretty obvious from an outside visual perspective as well.

Moving forward I've decided I'm just going to embrace what I have and go for it.  Fully commit.

We'll see what kind of shift I can make over the next bit.

Nothing To See Here!!!

I had a bit of an "enlightening" moment a few weeks back in Tai Chi.

It dawned on me while moving through the form that I don't consciously look before I move toward or strike the next target.  This is something we always try to do in our Traditional Kung Fu, so I asked if that same intent should still be there in Tai Chi.

The short and simple answer is yes, we still need to acquire our target.

The difference is that, because everything is moving so much slower, our eyes naturally move with the rest of the body.  There's no obvious "turn your head and look" moment.

BUUUUUUT...

That question took us down a little rabbit hole, and over and above the original question, something Sifu said has really stuck with me.

"I'm looking at nothing, but I'm seeing everything."

That one sentence has inspired me to look much deeper into what I'm actually doing with my eyes during forms.

As I'm moving through Tai Chi, I'm experimenting with not focusing my eyes on any one thing.  Instead, I'm trying to expand my field of vision as much as possible.  I'm seeing how much I can actually perceive if I don't lock onto a single target.

It's been quite eye-opening.  😉😜

I can definitely see a lot more around me when I remove that specific focus.

Out of curiosity, I tried the same thing while looking downward.  I think I now understand one reason (not the reason, but a reason) we're always told to keep our eyes up.  The moment I try to expand my vision while looking down, it's instantly limited by the ground.  My awareness just isn't the same.

Anyways, I'm continuing to play with this.

It's been much harder to apply in our traditional forms because of the increase in speed. It's surprisingly difficult not to focus on something.  And when I say that, I don't mean I was finding something tangible in the room to focus on.  I mean I was focusing on an imaginary opponent.

What I'm trying to do now is a little different.

I'm trying to acquire that target while it's still on the edge of my field of vision before I move.  Then, as I transition, the target naturally comes into the centre of my vision, but without collapsing everything else.  I still want to see the target clearly while keeping my awareness expanded enough to pick up any other possible threats around it.

This is really difficult to put into words, and I'm not even sure I'm explaining it properly.

But it feels different.

I'll keep playing with it, but it honestly feels like I'm onto something that could be very advantageous.

Numbers - Aug 1

Just some numbers this week.  I lost track of time and found myself and the end of the wire.  I'm not super proud of my numbers at the moment.  But I will keep at it.

Avery

Over the years, I've found myself sharing parts of my life publicly that many people would choose to keep private.  I'm not entirely sure why, and I don't think one way is more "right" than the other.  It's never about sympathy or wanting others to fix anything.  I have simply come to believe there's value in being open and honest and raw about the journey, especially the most difficult parts.  This is where I am right now.

I've written about Avery in the past. She's been a big part of my life... even with my Kung Fu and chi work.  This is not a blog I want to write, but I also feel I need to. 

She came to me 15 years ago during a really difficult time.  I had a miscarriage, and although I didn't realize it at the time, I was pretty depressed afterward.  Avery was the one who pulled me back.

We had fostered for SCARS for a couple of years by that point and had several dogs pass through our home, as well as met many, many more at various events.  We always said we wouldn't adopt because that meant we wouldn't be able to foster anymore.  But then, when I was at an adoption event for our current foster, I saw Avery and, without hesitation, she came home with me.

I've always described her as my soul mate.  We knew each other from the beginning.  We had a connection... which is so hard to explain... but so simple and obvious to me.

Her physical health started to fail a few years ago.  We've done anything and everything we could, and she always seemed to pull through.  But over the last couple of weeks, it became apparent that things were getting worse.  She was having a much harder time getting up and lying down.  She was pacing and panting, I believe because she was becoming so uncomfortable she didn't know what else to do.  She came to me often, obviously anxious, reaching out for help and comfort.  And there was nothing I could do for her.

We had gone to the vet and had increased her pain medication as much as we could.  In the back of my mind, I was worried and scared.  But I hoped it would pass.

She eventually started to stumble and lose most of her control, and just the way she walked and stood had changed.  And I knew this wasn't going to pass.

Thursday night, without even really speaking about it, Dan and I both knew it was her time.  And after two weeks of her pacing, restlessness, and being unable to settle down or be comfortable, once the decision had been made, she lay down and slept.  The whole house suddenly seemed peaceful and calm.  It was as if she had finally gotten the message across and was able to rest.

I stayed up with her that whole night.  She slept, and I lay beside her, knowing we didn't have much more time together.

I called in the morning to make arrangements for that afternoon.  We spent most of the day just sitting quietly or going for some last walks together.  And, of course, sitting under her favourite tree where she'd always get so sappy that I thought for sure the vet would think she was neglected.

It really was a perfect day.

When it neared the time to go, and I was getting a few things ready, she stood up, tail wagging, and went to the van.  She even tried to get in when I was closing the door, looking at me, confused.  Dan told me later that she stood there beside the van waiting for me to come back and even nudged the door a couple of times.  It was like she knew.  And she was ready, eager even, to get going.

The entire ride there, and leading right up to the final goodbye, she had her smiling face on... one we knew well, but hadn't seen in some time.  She was ready to go.

I really believe she was telling us something as she worsened.  And I really believe that once we listened and made the decision, she was finally able to relax.  And I really do believe she was ready to go.

And although this gives me some comfort in knowing that this was the right decision, and I'm so glad that she seemed ready... I was not.  I am not.

I'm trying to remember gratitude for the 15 years I got with her.  I really am.  That's a lot of years for a dog, and I know we were extremely lucky to have that time with her.

But honestly, right now, I'm just lost and broken and sad.

And I just miss her.

Push-ups

So this topic probably fits into both a secret shame and self-sabotage: push-ups.

Now, my numbers themselves aren’t all that bad. I fell behind quite a bit when I hurt my back, but all in all they’re decent. So why am I choosing push-ups for this blog?

Well… if I’m really honest with myself, I think I take the easy way out when it comes to them.

Now, having said that, my shoulders and I have been through our share of ups and downs over the years. I know that if I really start pushing toward 20 consecutive full push-ups, it never seems to fail—I end up hurting my shoulders. Then I have to back off, let them recover, and slowly build myself back up again.

But… if I’m really honest, I also tend to avoid full push-ups more than I probably need to.

I’m absolutely capable of doing at least a few before switching to modified. They’re just slower. I struggle with them. And maybe I don’t really want anyone else to see that. Or know that. I don’t know.

So yeah… push-ups are probably one of my secret shames.

I don’t really want to admit to anyone how hard they are for me. But even more than that, I don’t want people to know how often I try to avoid them. And that’s really where the self-sabotage comes in.

Every time I choose the easier version before I’ve actually challenged myself, I’m making it easier to stay exactly where I am. I’m protecting myself from struggling in front of other people, but I’m also getting in the way of my own progress.

Maybe that’s the real lesson here. It’s not really about push-ups. It’s about being willing to struggle, even when other people might see it.

Accountability

It was back to "normal" this week.

Classes, teaching, daily responsibilities, and everything else that had been set aside for a while are now back at the forefront.

One thing that was a little different this week was bringing Sihing Ward into our fight choreography training. We've asked him to coach us, and we had our first session yesterday. We covered a lot of ground, and both Laura and I came away with things to practice before we meet again.

I'm sure you're all aware that Laura and I didn't develop our fight choreography just for the Tiger Challenge. It also serves as one of our personal requirements. The intention is to continue working on it throughout the year and, hopefully, have it polished and performance-ready for the New Year's Banquet.

This requirement isn't just about creating something cool. It's also a way to keep me engaged and accountable. It's really hard to fall off the wagon when you know someone is counting on you in a very specific and tangible way. This one single requirement has become a huge part of my motivation and, ultimately, my success. 

Family

I've had the last 1 1/2 weeks "off" to visit with a whole bunch of family that gathered at our place.  It was filled with lots of fun and re-connection.  The last of my guests left today, and the house is very quiet.  

I managed to fit in a few reps of this and that, but not even close to the daily requirements.  

But honestly, I wouldn't change a thing.  I didn't watch a single second of tv, nor did I do any doom scrolling.  Every moment was spent with family.

On another note, I have my MRI booked for August 28.  I was surprised, and grateful, that I was able to get in so quickly.