Originally published on Facebook, May 2, 2015....
DRAGON CUP 2015
Another tournament is in the record books, and more lessons learned. Training seemed very up and down this year, and even the day got off to a rocky start when we had to cruise the campus looking for a parking space. After all of that, I was able to get myself settled down and ready to perform, and was fortunate to come out with a silver medal in both of my events.
More lessons and impressions later, but what really crossed my mind at the end of the day was that something good usually only comes to you after one hell of a fight.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
White Fringe
February 14, 2015 - Today I passed my White Fringe test, and achieved the first Tai Chi rank in the White Dragon Martial Arts curriculum.*
The test was an endurance challenge as much as anything else-I performed the entire Yang style 24 Step form twice (left side/right side). Each performance of the form takes approximately 9 minutes.
This is a big milestone, since it means you've passed the "beginner" level.
Next up-the 40 Step form!
*The school has since shifted its curriculum, so in later posts you'll see reference to a different rank (green fringe). Students coming in now start with a white fringed sash, instead of the "No Fringe/stripes" progression we went through previously. Under the new system, I am now a Green Fringe, and will test for my blue fringe once I master the next level of material.
The test was an endurance challenge as much as anything else-I performed the entire Yang style 24 Step form twice (left side/right side). Each performance of the form takes approximately 9 minutes.
This is a big milestone, since it means you've passed the "beginner" level.
Next up-the 40 Step form!
*The school has since shifted its curriculum, so in later posts you'll see reference to a different rank (green fringe). Students coming in now start with a white fringed sash, instead of the "No Fringe/stripes" progression we went through previously. Under the new system, I am now a Green Fringe, and will test for my blue fringe once I master the next level of material.
Trauma 143-Part 2
Continued from Part 1....
Trauma 143 - Part 2
The master in the desert
“My life has been lived in two halves. The first was becoming a world champion driver. The second is teaching the world to become champions.”
Bob Bondurant, founder and CEO-Bob Bondurant School of High Performance Driving
For the final stage of my accident recovery, and to grow beyond it, I began searching for a driving school where I could learn some specific accident avoidance techniques. Specifically, I wanted to learn skid and spin recovery techniques, but more importantly, to actually experience being in a skidding or spinning car in a safe and controlled environment, and to get some concentrated practice in these new skills and techniques. I wanted a lot of what racing drivers call “seat time.” I felt that the combination of these things would help me face and alleviate my fears about driving (and potential accidents), and would restore and build upon the confidence I had lost in my driving ability.
After a lot of research, I decided to enroll in the two-day High Performance Driving course at the Bob Bondurant School of High Performance Driving in Chandler, Arizona. Just as my Grandmaster, Doc-Fai Wong, is a Kung Fu master, Bob Bondurant is a master of speed and car control. He was a successful racer in the 60s, who discovered his talents for teaching driving in 1966 when he was hired as a consultant for a movie called "Grand Prix."
When his own racing career ended due to a severe accident, Bondurant founded his driving school, and has been at it ever since. As I write this, the school is celebrating its 47th anniversary at its 60 acre facility in the desert outside Phoenix. Similar to Grandmaster Wong’s lineage of Sifus and instructors, Bondurant has passed his methods down to a new generation of driving instructors.
Look ahead-Be smooth-Be accurate
The High Performance Driving course is serious, practical knowledge you can use every day on the road. I felt like a little bit of an “outsider” at first-most of the class were serious car enthusiasts, who owned high performance vehicles of their own. But when I stood up in class and explained why I was there, it was clear to everyone how serious I was about improving my skills, and the entire group gave me a warm welcome. After a tour of the school and a brief classroom session, I climbed into the driver's seat of a Camaro which would be my "office" and rolling classroom for the next two days-it was time to go to work.
We began with a simple (or so we thought) slalom between traffic cones, and moved on very quickly from that to other exercises, including Bondurant’s famous “Skid Car” (a specially modified sedan, which the instructor can put into a skid from their spot in the passenger seat while you’re driving). The desert air and sky may have felt wintry, but out on the 8 acre asphalt practice area, engines, brakes, and tires were heating up as we practiced our new skills over and over again under the watchful eye of our instructors.
Occasionally they would hop in the car and ride along with us, to provide comments and corrections as we drove through the different exercises. The pace of the instruction was intense, and I loved it-I wanted to absorb as much as I possibly could.
We ended the day with a 20 minute "Lead and Follow" session around the school's 1.6 mile, 15-turn road race course. The instructors pointed out that this was driving practice, not a race, and we were to stay in line, watch the instructor in the lead car closely, and follow his line through every corner. This was a challenging and demanding exercise, mentally and physically-imagine driving on a mountain road, where you have to steer a car through over 200 turns in 20 minutes.
As the first day ended, I was worn out, but excited and motivated at the same time. The specific instruction and positive coaching was great, but on a deeper level I realized that I’d found exactly what I needed. During the day, I became aware that it wasn’t just the instructors encouraging and challenging me – I was “coaching” myself as well. The methods and culture of the school had created an atmosphere where I felt motivated to challenge and push myself, and that would ultimately do more to restore my confidence than anything else we did in the class.
Tai Chi in the Skid Car
As our classroom instruction and in-car practice went on, I began to see similarities between what I was doing in the car, and my martial arts training. The instructors talked a lot about “vehicle dynamics”- how a car under acceleration will shift more weight to the rear wheels, while a car under braking will shift weight to the front wheels. As we tried different exercises, and practiced cornering and braking techniques, the instructors would quiz us afterward-"Where is the weight?" "What do you want the car to do?" Just as being aware of my stance and staying rooted helps my martial arts forms, this awareness of vehicle dynamics and weight distribution began to help my driving.
After my first session in the Skid Car, it hit me that skid recovery has some similarities to Push Hands practice in Tai Chi. You must sense the energy and direction of the car, then redirect it in the direction you want to go, in order to recover from the skid and regain control of the car. Visualizing this helped me to stay focused during these exercises.
Trauma 143 - Part 2
The master in the desert
“My life has been lived in two halves. The first was becoming a world champion driver. The second is teaching the world to become champions.”
Bob Bondurant, founder and CEO-Bob Bondurant School of High Performance Driving
For the final stage of my accident recovery, and to grow beyond it, I began searching for a driving school where I could learn some specific accident avoidance techniques. Specifically, I wanted to learn skid and spin recovery techniques, but more importantly, to actually experience being in a skidding or spinning car in a safe and controlled environment, and to get some concentrated practice in these new skills and techniques. I wanted a lot of what racing drivers call “seat time.” I felt that the combination of these things would help me face and alleviate my fears about driving (and potential accidents), and would restore and build upon the confidence I had lost in my driving ability.
After a lot of research, I decided to enroll in the two-day High Performance Driving course at the Bob Bondurant School of High Performance Driving in Chandler, Arizona. Just as my Grandmaster, Doc-Fai Wong, is a Kung Fu master, Bob Bondurant is a master of speed and car control. He was a successful racer in the 60s, who discovered his talents for teaching driving in 1966 when he was hired as a consultant for a movie called "Grand Prix."
When his own racing career ended due to a severe accident, Bondurant founded his driving school, and has been at it ever since. As I write this, the school is celebrating its 47th anniversary at its 60 acre facility in the desert outside Phoenix. Similar to Grandmaster Wong’s lineage of Sifus and instructors, Bondurant has passed his methods down to a new generation of driving instructors.
Look ahead-Be smooth-Be accurate
The High Performance Driving course is serious, practical knowledge you can use every day on the road. I felt like a little bit of an “outsider” at first-most of the class were serious car enthusiasts, who owned high performance vehicles of their own. But when I stood up in class and explained why I was there, it was clear to everyone how serious I was about improving my skills, and the entire group gave me a warm welcome. After a tour of the school and a brief classroom session, I climbed into the driver's seat of a Camaro which would be my "office" and rolling classroom for the next two days-it was time to go to work.
We began with a simple (or so we thought) slalom between traffic cones, and moved on very quickly from that to other exercises, including Bondurant’s famous “Skid Car” (a specially modified sedan, which the instructor can put into a skid from their spot in the passenger seat while you’re driving). The desert air and sky may have felt wintry, but out on the 8 acre asphalt practice area, engines, brakes, and tires were heating up as we practiced our new skills over and over again under the watchful eye of our instructors.
Occasionally they would hop in the car and ride along with us, to provide comments and corrections as we drove through the different exercises. The pace of the instruction was intense, and I loved it-I wanted to absorb as much as I possibly could.
We ended the day with a 20 minute "Lead and Follow" session around the school's 1.6 mile, 15-turn road race course. The instructors pointed out that this was driving practice, not a race, and we were to stay in line, watch the instructor in the lead car closely, and follow his line through every corner. This was a challenging and demanding exercise, mentally and physically-imagine driving on a mountain road, where you have to steer a car through over 200 turns in 20 minutes.
As the first day ended, I was worn out, but excited and motivated at the same time. The specific instruction and positive coaching was great, but on a deeper level I realized that I’d found exactly what I needed. During the day, I became aware that it wasn’t just the instructors encouraging and challenging me – I was “coaching” myself as well. The methods and culture of the school had created an atmosphere where I felt motivated to challenge and push myself, and that would ultimately do more to restore my confidence than anything else we did in the class.
Tai Chi in the Skid Car
As our classroom instruction and in-car practice went on, I began to see similarities between what I was doing in the car, and my martial arts training. The instructors talked a lot about “vehicle dynamics”- how a car under acceleration will shift more weight to the rear wheels, while a car under braking will shift weight to the front wheels. As we tried different exercises, and practiced cornering and braking techniques, the instructors would quiz us afterward-"Where is the weight?" "What do you want the car to do?" Just as being aware of my stance and staying rooted helps my martial arts forms, this awareness of vehicle dynamics and weight distribution began to help my driving.
After my first session in the Skid Car, it hit me that skid recovery has some similarities to Push Hands practice in Tai Chi. You must sense the energy and direction of the car, then redirect it in the direction you want to go, in order to recover from the skid and regain control of the car. Visualizing this helped me to stay focused during these exercises.
Final
Laps
The second day included another Skid Car
session, plus some emergency braking exercises, and a lot of work on the track
to refine our shifting and braking techniques. The emergency braking exercise began
with a rather exciting demonstration ride in a Chevy Tahoe with our
instructor-even a vehicle that large can safely come to a stop in a VERY short
distance!
We also did an autocross exercise, which is a
solo timed run on a marked road course. Nature provided some additional
challenges with a midday thunderstorm, so we had to chart a different line
through some of the turns to avoid the puddles. I was pleased to see my times
improve with every run.
Then it was on to our last session on the
track, which was even more enjoyable than the first, thanks to my newly
acquired cornering and braking skills. The track session took on something of a
serene, Zen-like quality, even with the noise and motion of the car. It was one
of those times where you find peace in the midst of a lot of sound and action.
The world narrowed down to the track and the
car-I was aware of other cars on the track, but my senses were all tuned to the
spot on the track the car would be in the next six seconds, and being
consistent in my technique: Scan the corner. Hard brake. Turn in and trail
brake. Steer to the apex of the corner and release. Downshift. Look ahead to
exit point and upshift. Let out the steering and accelerate out. And so it
went, corner after corner.
I was a bit sad as we pulled off the track at
the end of the day, because I knew this great experience was coming to an end.
I would miss the fun of learning, and comparing notes with my classmates about
how we each dealt with the challenges in the car. But I also felt really
uplifted and confident- any trauma remaining from the accident was released,
and my skill and confidence had risen to a new level. I was a different driver,
and a different person, than the one who had walked into the school just the
day before.
Trauma 143-Part 1
This piece was originally published at InformInspireChange (see blogroll)
Note: The title, "Trauma 143," refers to the case number I was assigned when I was taken to the Scripps Mercy Hospital Trauma Center after my accident.
Trauma 143 - Part 1
Just a normal day (or most of it was)......
January 21,2014 was just another day. I headed home after work, looking forward to Tuesday night Kung fu. Driving 65 mph in the left lane on eastbound Highway 94, I saw something moving fast in my peripheral vision. A white compact was cutting across the lanes going approximately 75 mph. The driver was trying to make it to an off ramp which exits off the left side of 94. I braked hard in an attempt to give him enough space to miss me, but it was too late. I knew then that the white car was going to hit me, but had no idea how hard the impact would be.
Things got much worse in a hurry. My car was knocked into the concrete center divider, then rebounded back onto the freeway. I was gripping the wheel and put the clutch in to keep from stalling the engine, but it really didn’t matter- the car was basically out of control. I spun across 4 lanes of traffic, and finally came to a stop when the passenger side of my car slammed into the concrete barrier on the right shoulder.
To make a long story short, I ended up in the trauma center at Scripps Mercy Hospital, where a trauma team went over every inch of me. I was extremely fortunate to escape this accident with a two way whiplash, some strained muscles, and damage to some of my dental work.
PTSD-Who, me?
I recovered quite nicely from my physical injuries. But about 2-1/2 months after the accident, I noticed some emotional things happening which took me by surprise. I had become very forgetful- walking out to the car and absolutely blanking out about where I was going, or actually getting into the car, driving out of my neighborhood, and then forgetting where I was heading. I found myself having difficulty focusing and concentrating on things, and losing stuff around the house, which I rarely do.
I would get emotionally upset about things more easily, becoming more irritable and easily frustrated by little things, like not being able to find what I wanted at the grocery store. I started looking for little things to nit pick about my new car ("I hate this key fob").
I was also noticing a physical manifestation in my driving. I began driving in an overly cautious manner, and my confidence in my ability to drive and handle a car reverted back to the level it was when I first got my license. In middle age, I was once again a tentative teenage driver.
As all this became more and more obvious (not to mention disruptive at work and home), I decided to seek a professional opinion and do some research on my own as well. It turned out that I was experiencing a mild case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
I was really floored by this, and frankly felt a bit guilty, too-PTSD happened to people who experienced "real" trauma, like a former work mate of mine who did three tours in Vietnam. I had "just" been in a car accident. And, I hadn't had any nightmares/dreams about the accident since it happened. But as I thought more about it, something dawned on me:
This was probably the most physically violent episode I've ever experienced.
Typically, we tend to think of violence in the context of another human (or maybe a large animal) trying to harm or kill us. For those of us interested in martial arts and self-defense, I think this is especially true. But as I thought about the accident, I realized it had many of the hallmarks of a violent attack-random, sudden, messy, and relentless.
The "relentless" part was especially frightening. When someone attacks you physically, you can try and escape, or fight back, either hand to hand or with a weapon. And the physical forces are (somewhat, at least) proportionate-it's you against another of your species.
When my car got hit, there was no escape. I was suddenly in an out of control machine, with tremendous physical forces involved-more than my human body might potentially survive. The car was going 65 mph, and was suddenly and radically knocked off its course. I was immediately aware that my vehicle was unstoppable. It was going to keep rolling, skidding, and spinning, until it either dissipated all of its kinetic energy and came to a stop, or until it hit something large and solid which stopped it (which it did).
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, then….”
I also reflected on the experience itself, and how others reacted when I talked about it. Sometimes, when hearing about the accident, people would react with a mixture of relief and dismissiveness- "oh, so it wasn't that bad then; you didn't have any broken bones." I would feel somewhat insulted and diminished by this-how dare they say that? How would they know how bad it was (or wasn’t)? It was hard to not take this personally, even though I knew others didn't mean anything personally negative when they commented on my experience.
To clarify things for myself, and help with the emotional effect of these comments, I refined my own definition and description of the incident:
"Last year, I was in a hit and run accident involving 4 cars, and my car was totaled. I feel extremely fortunate that I wasn’t injured as seriously as I might have been-this was a really hard collision, and it could have been much worse."
That's all I say now-If people want to know more about it that's fine, but I can't concern myself with anyone else's impression of the "seriousness" of my experience.
Coming back
At this point my martial arts training and discipline began to really help me. Thanks to the self-awareness and detachment I've learned, I knew something wasn't right emotionally, and my reactions were abnormal. I also knew it was my responsibility alone to take action and seek help. Others could (and did) support me emotionally, but just like in training, I had to do the work.
First, I sought help and treatment for the emotional issues with a health professional I'd worked with for a number of years. A key issue was my fear about being out of control in a moving vehicle. I want to be the one who decides where and how fast I go, which is why I don’t like roller coasters, and other rides, and I’m not too crazy about flying, although I have gotten used to it. This was a significant part of the fear I felt during the accident, and afterward. I began keeping a journal of my emotional reactions to various situations, especially any reactions I felt were out of the ordinary, so I could monitor what I was feeling.
Second, I made a greater effort than usual to be consistent with my martial arts training. Not only was the exercise helping with physical recovery and regaining strength, it was an outlet from the fear and tension I was feeling. Practicing detachment became more important than ever.
The final phase of my recovery would involve more work, time, and expense, but I knew I had to do something in order to fully face the fears I was feeling, and regain my confidence behind the wheel. For that, you could say I did what some people do when they’re looking for answers, and need to test themselves.
I went into the desert.
Note: The title, "Trauma 143," refers to the case number I was assigned when I was taken to the Scripps Mercy Hospital Trauma Center after my accident.
Trauma 143 - Part 1
Just a normal day (or most of it was)......
January 21,2014 was just another day. I headed home after work, looking forward to Tuesday night Kung fu. Driving 65 mph in the left lane on eastbound Highway 94, I saw something moving fast in my peripheral vision. A white compact was cutting across the lanes going approximately 75 mph. The driver was trying to make it to an off ramp which exits off the left side of 94. I braked hard in an attempt to give him enough space to miss me, but it was too late. I knew then that the white car was going to hit me, but had no idea how hard the impact would be.
Things got much worse in a hurry. My car was knocked into the concrete center divider, then rebounded back onto the freeway. I was gripping the wheel and put the clutch in to keep from stalling the engine, but it really didn’t matter- the car was basically out of control. I spun across 4 lanes of traffic, and finally came to a stop when the passenger side of my car slammed into the concrete barrier on the right shoulder.
To make a long story short, I ended up in the trauma center at Scripps Mercy Hospital, where a trauma team went over every inch of me. I was extremely fortunate to escape this accident with a two way whiplash, some strained muscles, and damage to some of my dental work.
PTSD-Who, me?
I recovered quite nicely from my physical injuries. But about 2-1/2 months after the accident, I noticed some emotional things happening which took me by surprise. I had become very forgetful- walking out to the car and absolutely blanking out about where I was going, or actually getting into the car, driving out of my neighborhood, and then forgetting where I was heading. I found myself having difficulty focusing and concentrating on things, and losing stuff around the house, which I rarely do.
I would get emotionally upset about things more easily, becoming more irritable and easily frustrated by little things, like not being able to find what I wanted at the grocery store. I started looking for little things to nit pick about my new car ("I hate this key fob").
I was also noticing a physical manifestation in my driving. I began driving in an overly cautious manner, and my confidence in my ability to drive and handle a car reverted back to the level it was when I first got my license. In middle age, I was once again a tentative teenage driver.
As all this became more and more obvious (not to mention disruptive at work and home), I decided to seek a professional opinion and do some research on my own as well. It turned out that I was experiencing a mild case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
I was really floored by this, and frankly felt a bit guilty, too-PTSD happened to people who experienced "real" trauma, like a former work mate of mine who did three tours in Vietnam. I had "just" been in a car accident. And, I hadn't had any nightmares/dreams about the accident since it happened. But as I thought more about it, something dawned on me:
This was probably the most physically violent episode I've ever experienced.
Typically, we tend to think of violence in the context of another human (or maybe a large animal) trying to harm or kill us. For those of us interested in martial arts and self-defense, I think this is especially true. But as I thought about the accident, I realized it had many of the hallmarks of a violent attack-random, sudden, messy, and relentless.
The "relentless" part was especially frightening. When someone attacks you physically, you can try and escape, or fight back, either hand to hand or with a weapon. And the physical forces are (somewhat, at least) proportionate-it's you against another of your species.
When my car got hit, there was no escape. I was suddenly in an out of control machine, with tremendous physical forces involved-more than my human body might potentially survive. The car was going 65 mph, and was suddenly and radically knocked off its course. I was immediately aware that my vehicle was unstoppable. It was going to keep rolling, skidding, and spinning, until it either dissipated all of its kinetic energy and came to a stop, or until it hit something large and solid which stopped it (which it did).
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, then….”
I also reflected on the experience itself, and how others reacted when I talked about it. Sometimes, when hearing about the accident, people would react with a mixture of relief and dismissiveness- "oh, so it wasn't that bad then; you didn't have any broken bones." I would feel somewhat insulted and diminished by this-how dare they say that? How would they know how bad it was (or wasn’t)? It was hard to not take this personally, even though I knew others didn't mean anything personally negative when they commented on my experience.
To clarify things for myself, and help with the emotional effect of these comments, I refined my own definition and description of the incident:
"Last year, I was in a hit and run accident involving 4 cars, and my car was totaled. I feel extremely fortunate that I wasn’t injured as seriously as I might have been-this was a really hard collision, and it could have been much worse."
That's all I say now-If people want to know more about it that's fine, but I can't concern myself with anyone else's impression of the "seriousness" of my experience.
Coming back
At this point my martial arts training and discipline began to really help me. Thanks to the self-awareness and detachment I've learned, I knew something wasn't right emotionally, and my reactions were abnormal. I also knew it was my responsibility alone to take action and seek help. Others could (and did) support me emotionally, but just like in training, I had to do the work.
First, I sought help and treatment for the emotional issues with a health professional I'd worked with for a number of years. A key issue was my fear about being out of control in a moving vehicle. I want to be the one who decides where and how fast I go, which is why I don’t like roller coasters, and other rides, and I’m not too crazy about flying, although I have gotten used to it. This was a significant part of the fear I felt during the accident, and afterward. I began keeping a journal of my emotional reactions to various situations, especially any reactions I felt were out of the ordinary, so I could monitor what I was feeling.
Second, I made a greater effort than usual to be consistent with my martial arts training. Not only was the exercise helping with physical recovery and regaining strength, it was an outlet from the fear and tension I was feeling. Practicing detachment became more important than ever.
The final phase of my recovery would involve more work, time, and expense, but I knew I had to do something in order to fully face the fears I was feeling, and regain my confidence behind the wheel. For that, you could say I did what some people do when they’re looking for answers, and need to test themselves.
I went into the desert.
Plum Blossom Time-Part 1
Originally posted on FB September 20, 2014-
PLUM BLOSSOM TIME - PART 1
After attending last year’s Plum Blossom Federation tournament as a spectator, I knew I’d want to return and participate as a competitor. I look forward to the Dragon Cup, and my experiences there have been great, but this tournament is something special. You really get the sense that you’re part of a much larger martial arts community, expanding outward from your own school to the other White Dragon schools and the various other Federation schools, including Grandmaster Wong’s own school in San Francisco.
My goal for this tournament was actually quite simple-I wanted to do the same events/forms I did at the Dragon Cup, only much better. This drove my training plan, and allowed me to train mostly on my own, while continuing my lessons and working toward my fringe. Although I mainly trained on my own, I had a lot of resources to draw on. Instructor comments and corrections from my private lessons and in group classes were applied to my tournament hand form to improve it (you can never work on details too much in Tai Chi). I also found some of the photos we took at the Dragon Cup to be helpful in picking up details on the flute form.
As so often happens when preparing for an event like this, other life events can drain you or pull you away from what you want to do. With the Dragon Cup, it was work stress and minor nagging aches and pains. This time around, I not only had stress and anxiety at work, I faced a family crisis when my mother passed away suddenly in July. I pondered not going to the tournament, but decided to press on and carve out as much personal time as I could to train. The tournament, and preparation for it, became something of a relief valve for me-time just for me, where I could step away from everything else and recharge by focusing on the entire tournament experience. While I still wanted to improve and do well, my main focus shifted to just being there and experiencing it all. (This all influenced my decision to not enter the Push Hands event in this tournament-I was simply running out of training and practice time. I also suspected the level of competition would be higher than what I was capable of; watching the event during the tournament proved me right. Something to work toward for next year.)
In the end, I achieved my goal - my performance in both events was much improved over my Dragon Cup performances. This was validated not only by my numerical scores, but by my own awareness of what I was doing (more on that shortly). I also was fortunate enough to run into a senior instructor who had judged one of my events (weapon form) at the Dragon Cup. He saw my flute form performance and complimented me on my improvement.
Even taking into account variations in consistency, rigor in grading, and simply personal preferences among judges, it was still very gratifying to see my scores in the Plum Blossom tournament. In hand form (24 Step), I got a 6.1, 6.2, and 6.4. In Open Weapon form (flute), I scored 7.2, 7.4, and 7.6. (In this tournament, you get to see your score from each judge and they score you in 10th of a point increments). I was quite excited to tie for third in the weapon form competition-although I did not medal, I was very pleased to do as well as I did in a group of 14 competitors, the great majority of whom were 2 (or more) ranks above me.
Overall, it was a great day, and one I'll remember for a long time.
Scroll down to the next post for Part 2......
PLUM BLOSSOM TIME - PART 1
After attending last year’s Plum Blossom Federation tournament as a spectator, I knew I’d want to return and participate as a competitor. I look forward to the Dragon Cup, and my experiences there have been great, but this tournament is something special. You really get the sense that you’re part of a much larger martial arts community, expanding outward from your own school to the other White Dragon schools and the various other Federation schools, including Grandmaster Wong’s own school in San Francisco.
My goal for this tournament was actually quite simple-I wanted to do the same events/forms I did at the Dragon Cup, only much better. This drove my training plan, and allowed me to train mostly on my own, while continuing my lessons and working toward my fringe. Although I mainly trained on my own, I had a lot of resources to draw on. Instructor comments and corrections from my private lessons and in group classes were applied to my tournament hand form to improve it (you can never work on details too much in Tai Chi). I also found some of the photos we took at the Dragon Cup to be helpful in picking up details on the flute form.
As so often happens when preparing for an event like this, other life events can drain you or pull you away from what you want to do. With the Dragon Cup, it was work stress and minor nagging aches and pains. This time around, I not only had stress and anxiety at work, I faced a family crisis when my mother passed away suddenly in July. I pondered not going to the tournament, but decided to press on and carve out as much personal time as I could to train. The tournament, and preparation for it, became something of a relief valve for me-time just for me, where I could step away from everything else and recharge by focusing on the entire tournament experience. While I still wanted to improve and do well, my main focus shifted to just being there and experiencing it all. (This all influenced my decision to not enter the Push Hands event in this tournament-I was simply running out of training and practice time. I also suspected the level of competition would be higher than what I was capable of; watching the event during the tournament proved me right. Something to work toward for next year.)
In the end, I achieved my goal - my performance in both events was much improved over my Dragon Cup performances. This was validated not only by my numerical scores, but by my own awareness of what I was doing (more on that shortly). I also was fortunate enough to run into a senior instructor who had judged one of my events (weapon form) at the Dragon Cup. He saw my flute form performance and complimented me on my improvement.
Even taking into account variations in consistency, rigor in grading, and simply personal preferences among judges, it was still very gratifying to see my scores in the Plum Blossom tournament. In hand form (24 Step), I got a 6.1, 6.2, and 6.4. In Open Weapon form (flute), I scored 7.2, 7.4, and 7.6. (In this tournament, you get to see your score from each judge and they score you in 10th of a point increments). I was quite excited to tie for third in the weapon form competition-although I did not medal, I was very pleased to do as well as I did in a group of 14 competitors, the great majority of whom were 2 (or more) ranks above me.
Overall, it was a great day, and one I'll remember for a long time.
Scroll down to the next post for Part 2......
Plum Blossom Time-Part 2
Originally posted on FB November 25, 2014-
PLUM BLOSSOM TIME – PART 2
(The long-promised follow up and “Lessons Learned” post about my experiences at the 2014 Plum Blossom Federation tournament in San Francisco)-
As I wrote in Part 1, this tournament was a great experience. Recent events have made me even more grateful for this experience. I became unemployed as of last Friday, so I’m even more grateful that I went while I could afford to make the trip. These tournaments are always great learning experiences, and this one was no exception.
Here are some lessons I took away from this tournament, along with some things I learned about myself:
Mentally, you need to be ready to go the minute you walk through the door. Certainly you want to stretch, warm up, and have some quiet time, but the schedules typically fluctuate at these events, and your event could come up sooner than you think. I was outside stretching and warming up when I heard the first call for my Tai Chi hand form event. I had to dash back in, and stash my backpack under one of the judges’ chairs because there wasn’t time to go back to my seat. This is where visualization comes in-I had already” walked through” my routine mentally shortly after I arrived at the arena earlier that morning.
You need to find a spot to warm up, and you may need to be a little aggressive in “claiming your territory” to do it, especially in a smaller venue. I’m not suggesting anyone act rudely, but once you begin your warmup, you don’t need to give that space up and move just because some people drift into that area and start socializing. They can always find another spot. I will say, though, that this type of practice should be limited to stretching and hand form practice-find a more isolated spot for weapons practice.
Every venue will have its quirks, and you simply have to deal with them-it’s part of being a martial artist and a competitor. For example, the Kezar Pavilion (site of the Plum Blossom tournament) is a very small venue. It doesn’t have a lot of open space where you can stretch, warm up, etc. This means you’ll probably end up outside, on a less than perfect surface. You need to be prepared for this mentally, so it doesn’t throw you off. Also, they don’t put down mats on the floor. You’re performing on a very shiny, slightly slick basketball floor, so it might help to wear different shoes than you normally would at school. (I’m glad I ended up not doing Push Hands this year; several competitors wearing the same kind of shoes I had slipped and nearly went down during their bouts.) After my “mad dash” to the first event, I learned that if I went outside and stayed near one of the emergency exit doors on the sides of the Pavilion (some of which were opened for ventilation), I could clearly hear all of the announcements, and get back inside in plenty of time for my event.
This tournament really showed me the value of staying relaxed, and just experiencing the whole event, without expecting everything to be “perfect” or to go a certain way. Keeping this in mind actually helped my confidence a lot when I went on the floor. Sure, I practiced a lot leading up to the tournament, but consciously choosing to stay relaxed built on that and really made the difference. I was much more aware of everything I was doing-not only did this state allow me to make some “real time” corrections in my form as I went along, it really enriched the whole experience. I had hoped that someone would get a snapshot or two of me performing, and was initially a bit disappointed when that didn’t happen. The more I reflected on it though, I realized that I had wanted a picture of myself, but didn’t NEED one to fully remember and reflect on my experiences – I know what I did that day, and what it felt like, because I was truly “there”.
The awareness also allowed some more of my natural determination to kick in-as so often happens, you’ll practice a particular part of your form multiple times and execute it perfectly, only to run into trouble when you actually perform. There is a toe kick sequence in my flute form, which I must have practiced 10-12 times outside and felt really strong doing it. Sure enough, during my performance, the right leg rose up into the crane and I started to feel wobbly. I had a quick internal argument with myself, where I debated tapping my toe and starting that section again. Ultimately, in my mind I said, “NO! I did not endure all of the practice, and come all this way, to let down now. I will hold my crane and do my kick, even if I look wobbly and score poorly because of it. I will NOT walk off this floor feeling disappointed in myself.” I held on, and finished the kick, although it was a bit shaky. (In the interest of full disclosure, though, when it turned out I’d tied for third and they asked me to come out onto the floor again, I was intensely relieved that the judges only asked us for a 30-second performance. This meant I wouldn’t need to do the kick again since it was near the end of the form. My feeling was more along the lines of, “Woo hoo! I get to go again!!’).
This was a significant competition and a significant performance for me in both events, and I’m so grateful I was able to go and participate.
Here are some lessons I took away from this tournament, along with some things I learned about myself:
Mentally, you need to be ready to go the minute you walk through the door. Certainly you want to stretch, warm up, and have some quiet time, but the schedules typically fluctuate at these events, and your event could come up sooner than you think. I was outside stretching and warming up when I heard the first call for my Tai Chi hand form event. I had to dash back in, and stash my backpack under one of the judges’ chairs because there wasn’t time to go back to my seat. This is where visualization comes in-I had already” walked through” my routine mentally shortly after I arrived at the arena earlier that morning.
You need to find a spot to warm up, and you may need to be a little aggressive in “claiming your territory” to do it, especially in a smaller venue. I’m not suggesting anyone act rudely, but once you begin your warmup, you don’t need to give that space up and move just because some people drift into that area and start socializing. They can always find another spot. I will say, though, that this type of practice should be limited to stretching and hand form practice-find a more isolated spot for weapons practice.
Every venue will have its quirks, and you simply have to deal with them-it’s part of being a martial artist and a competitor. For example, the Kezar Pavilion (site of the Plum Blossom tournament) is a very small venue. It doesn’t have a lot of open space where you can stretch, warm up, etc. This means you’ll probably end up outside, on a less than perfect surface. You need to be prepared for this mentally, so it doesn’t throw you off. Also, they don’t put down mats on the floor. You’re performing on a very shiny, slightly slick basketball floor, so it might help to wear different shoes than you normally would at school. (I’m glad I ended up not doing Push Hands this year; several competitors wearing the same kind of shoes I had slipped and nearly went down during their bouts.) After my “mad dash” to the first event, I learned that if I went outside and stayed near one of the emergency exit doors on the sides of the Pavilion (some of which were opened for ventilation), I could clearly hear all of the announcements, and get back inside in plenty of time for my event.
This tournament really showed me the value of staying relaxed, and just experiencing the whole event, without expecting everything to be “perfect” or to go a certain way. Keeping this in mind actually helped my confidence a lot when I went on the floor. Sure, I practiced a lot leading up to the tournament, but consciously choosing to stay relaxed built on that and really made the difference. I was much more aware of everything I was doing-not only did this state allow me to make some “real time” corrections in my form as I went along, it really enriched the whole experience. I had hoped that someone would get a snapshot or two of me performing, and was initially a bit disappointed when that didn’t happen. The more I reflected on it though, I realized that I had wanted a picture of myself, but didn’t NEED one to fully remember and reflect on my experiences – I know what I did that day, and what it felt like, because I was truly “there”.
The awareness also allowed some more of my natural determination to kick in-as so often happens, you’ll practice a particular part of your form multiple times and execute it perfectly, only to run into trouble when you actually perform. There is a toe kick sequence in my flute form, which I must have practiced 10-12 times outside and felt really strong doing it. Sure enough, during my performance, the right leg rose up into the crane and I started to feel wobbly. I had a quick internal argument with myself, where I debated tapping my toe and starting that section again. Ultimately, in my mind I said, “NO! I did not endure all of the practice, and come all this way, to let down now. I will hold my crane and do my kick, even if I look wobbly and score poorly because of it. I will NOT walk off this floor feeling disappointed in myself.” I held on, and finished the kick, although it was a bit shaky. (In the interest of full disclosure, though, when it turned out I’d tied for third and they asked me to come out onto the floor again, I was intensely relieved that the judges only asked us for a 30-second performance. This meant I wouldn’t need to do the kick again since it was near the end of the form. My feeling was more along the lines of, “Woo hoo! I get to go again!!’).
This was a significant competition and a significant performance for me in both events, and I’m so grateful I was able to go and participate.
Grief
One of my favorite Dean Koontz quotes, in memory of my mother (Originally posted on FB July 27, 2014)-
Dean Koontz, from "Odd Hours"
“Grief can destroy you --or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. OR you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it.
But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see that it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it.
The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.”
Dean Koontz, from "Odd Hours"
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