Saturdays And A Place For Me

For a while now, I've reflected on how much I'm enjoying my martial arts training, and what it's come to mean to me. I typically attend classes three days a week, but I especially look forward to the classes I do on Saturday, which consist of two basic Choy Li Fut* classes, and a class in Qi Gong movement and meditation.

I've been pondering how to put this coherently into words, and a question Saturday from one of the instructors pulled everything into sharp focus, like operating a camera's zoom lens. He asked each student how they were doing, and how their day had gone so far (my first class is at noon). When he came to me, I replied that I was doing well, and was glad that it was Saturday. He asked me, "Why? Are your weeks difficult or troubling?"

I replied that they were sometimes, but mostly that I was glad it was Saturday, because that meant it was time to come to White Dragon. That's when things pulled into focus for me-yes, I am glad it's the weekend, yes, I'm challenging myself, learning new things, and enjoying it, and yes, I'm enjoying the people in our school community-my "Kung Fu brothers and sisters," as our head instructor likes to say.

But in that moment, the gut-level reason for my enjoyment of martial arts, and why I look forward to Saturdays (and my twice weekly night classes) sharpened itself to a point and pulled clearly into focus:

I needed someplace to go, just for me.

If you were to logically examine what my life has been over the last 3-4 years, this might not seem to make any sense. With all that was going on, the last thing I needed was another schedule commitment, especially during my weekend time-or so it seemed. I was involved in a stressful project at work, which demanded a lot of overtime and travel to the project site. My mother-in-law was in failing health, which meant my wife spent as much time with her as she could. This meant that I was responsible for handling almost everything at home in order for her to be able to care for her mother, along with providing emotional support to my wife. A close friend was experiencing a rough time personally, so some of my time and emotional energy was devoted to them as well.

My weekends were supposed to be time for me to recharge, not to "have to be somewhere". Yet I was finding that, when I did have free time on the weekends, I wasn't doing much of anything, and sometimes when I headed back to work on Monday, I'd feel somewhat sad and frustrated, like I had missed something.

All that started to change when I started my Tai Chi classes. It was something I'd wanted to do for a while, and since I wanted to get in as many classes per week as I could, I decided I would make time on Saturdays to attend. I found myself looking forward to class, especially on Saturdays (I enjoy the weeknight classes, but sometimes getting there is a bit of a "push" schedule-wise, so I need to unwind and prepare myself mentally more than I do on Saturdays). My weekends now had a little structure, and I found that I liked that.

Beyond that, I began to feel like I was part of a community-something bigger than myself (even though my training was for my benefit and enjoyment). I felt welcomed and encouraged from the beginning. That isn't always the case with activities like this-it's natural that people with common interests will form bonds, but at times this can lead them to feel (and act) like the martial arts school, the gym, yoga class, shooting range, etc. is their "private club", and newer people tend to get ignored. I've never felt that way at White Dragon.

Our head instructor likes to talk about our school community, and our "Kung Fu brothers and sisters." The more time I spend there, the more I appreciate it, and want to do my own part in making everyone feel welcome. I feel like something really special has been created there, and we all need to respect and nurture it.

So, Saturdays are different for me now. I don't devote the entire day to training, but my day is definitely built around it. I've got time for other things in the morning, and after I get home in the afternoon, clean up, and eat something, I've still got free time left for other activities and duties, or just for quiet time at home. But the core of the day is my class time. It's a comforting routine that I've come to look forward to, and hate to miss.

So, yes, Mr. C-I'm always glad it's Saturday.

*(Choy Li Fut is the other martial art that's taught at our school-it's what most people would think of as "Kung Fu". Since our school stresses the martial aspects of Tai Chi along with the health benefits, it's all kung fu to us. Although my training emphasis is on Tai Chi, I am allowed to attend lower level classes with the Choy Li Fut students. I find it's good for conditioning; like an aerobic kickboxing class, only more intense and focused on technique, and it's helping with my balance as well.)

Up Off the Couch

After Thursday's class, I was thinking about how effective (read, "painful") the Tai Chi stance training was. So Sunday, while I was enjoying the NFL playoffs on TV, I decided to get in a little more training. I would get into the Horse Stance or one of my Tai Chi stances during commercials (or the endless replays) and hold the stance as long as I could. I also followed some tips a classmate gave me, and worked on my balance with all my weight on one foot. One thing you learn pretty quickly doing this is that you're not perfectly symmetrical-you can balance better on one side of your body better than the other. It will be a worthwhile goal to even this out, so even if one side still feels stronger than the other, neither one will be wobbly.

"As long as I could" turned out to be less time than I wanted it to be, but it's more than I could have done even a few weeks ago.

Saturday Training

This Saturday, we had our 3-hour "Mega Class" at White Dragon. This is an event the school just started; the first Saturday of every month will be "Mega Class" day. I wasn't able to participate for the whole thing (Had some chores to do in the morning, and also had my first lesson of 2013 scheduled during the 3-hour period). I'm not sure I could have made it through the whole 3 hours, as I'm still getting my strength back as I recover from my winter cold.

I did an interesting mix of things during the class, both Tai Chi related, and some basic Choy Li Fut kicking/punching exercises, a lot of which were new to me. I probably looked pretty silly doing some of the drills, but I was working hard and that felt good.

The more I do this, the more I realize how crucial your lower body and leg strength it is to martial arts (and so many other activities). Tai Chi is deceptive because you're moving so slowly, but it works your legs really well. Since I've started in the basic kicking/punching classes, where you spend a lot of time in the Horse Stance, that's just ramping up my leg strength (it hurts, but I know I'm getting stronger).

After the Mega Class, I went to my regular Qi Gong class, which quieted things down. We've been working on an elaborate sequence of movements over the last few weeks, but set that aside for some breathing/stretching and standing meditation. I was pleased that my legs didn't hurt through this exercise; occasionally I can get a little wobbly during standing meditation, and my legs and feet often get sore. Didn't have any of that this time, which made me happy.

All in all, a very satisfying two-hour workout. Next month, I'll be sure and stay after for the monthly showing of a cheesy Kung Fu movie.

Back At It

I'm back to posting after a long absence, and back to my martial arts practice after staying away for about a week due to a winter cold. All of my plans for extra classes/practice during my holiday time off vanished in a fog of clogged sinuses and headaches.

Prior to getting sick, I had ramped up my number of classes, to get in more conditioning work. At our school, all students are allowed to attend the lower level classes, regardless of your main discipline. The additional classes I'm attending focus more on the basic movements and techniques of Choy Li Fut (what most people think of as "kung fu"), and are an excellent upper/lower body workout.

Went back to class for the first time Thursday night. I was glad I went, but the 90 minutes of classes took a lot out of me; I could definitely tell I'd been sick. Getting back on track at school and on the blog.

Back In A While

I'm going on a little vacation, and will resume posting when I get back.

Are You Eating The Real Thing?

I'm making an effort to introduce more "real"/natural/unadulterated foods into my diet, and it's dawned on me that sometimes what we think we've been eating all these years is something completely different:

A recent example is my experiment with maple syrup. I'm a big fan of pancakes and waffles, so I thought I would try "real" maple syrup. I tried a couple of different varieties, and my first impression was-

It doesn't taste like it's "supposed to".

I tried some different kinds, and noticed some differences (for example, the darker the syrup, the stronger the flavor typically), and that Grade A isn't necessarily "better" than Grade B, it's just different. Still, to me, the natural maple syrup mainly tasted sweet, not "maple-y", which started me wondering, what exactly is in most name brand pancake syrups? (and there is a reason they call it "pancake syrup", which we shall see).

After examining several different brands, including Mrs. Butterworth's (our family favorite), it turns out the main ingredient is molasses, not maple syrup (along with the typical assortment of preservatives, artificial flavorings, etc.) Thus, my taste confusion became clear-

I was totally wrong about what maple syrup was "supposed to" taste like because I'd never actually had it.

So, my decision now is to a)get accustomed to the taste of real maple syrup; or b)find a more unadulterated type of molasses to pour on my Sunday waffles, since apparently that's what I've been eating (and liking) all these years.

Just a little object lesson in a world of knock-offs, derivatives, and outright fakes-are you eating the real thing?

A Letter Home - 09/11/01

Shortly after September 11, 2001, I came across the piece below on a blog called Right Thinking Girl. I've kept it all these years because to me, it was very powerful and touching. It's an imaginary letter written by a woman who died when the towers fell, telling her husband about her last moments and saying goodbye.

I thought it deserved to see the light of day again. In tribute to the writer (who I am unable to locate), in memory of the innocent people who died that day, and all of those who gave their lives trying to save them, here it is. It's called A Letter Home.

Dear S,

I know you wake up in the morning wondering if it was real or if it was all a bad dream. I know that the bed seems so empty, even when you're lying there, because you don't believe in the anything anymore, not even the physical realities of the world. You fail to see how you can be there, alive, when I am not, as if the notion of one of us existing without the other is incomprehensible. Those moments of confusion, when you think maybe you're the one who is dead because the pain is so immense that you simply cannot be alive and experiencing such depths of agony, well I know about those too.

I know you are wondering why you had to be on the ground that day, and why I had to be what seemed like a hundred miles up, in that tall silver building that seemed every day until that day to be indestructible. I know those dark and sour thoughts have worn neural grooves in your brain, and you go over them like worry beads, trying to find a way inside, a way to go back in time and stop it all from happening.

If only you'd done this, or that, or the other thing.

You couldn't have stopped it, baby. The origins of that morning were in place long before we got to the office that morning, long before we knew each other, long before we were even born. The more you chase the contrails of that event, the father you get away from me, because I'm still here, still right beside you, still loving you.

I know you cry yourself to sleep sometimes wondering if I was scared and if I was alone and what my last thoughts were. I was scared, but I wasn't alone. I was with Joanna, the same Joanna who was with me on the day I found out I was pregnant. The same Joanna who had eaten dinner at our table more times than I could count. The same Joanna you banished to the balcony so she could smoke her cigarettes. When we realized that things were bad, we huddled together, whispering our prayers. At some point it became clear that we had to do something. The fire was so bad by then. The smoke was too much. The flames were more intense than anything I had ever felt, it was as if they were electrified, just going everywhere and so violent. Together we stood on the glass of broken windows, smelling the big, fresh, blue air. We looked down, way down to the ground where the people were. So many people had already died. My boss. Jacie, one of my bridesmaids. Countless others. I was lucky, is what I am trying to tell you. I had time to call you. I had a moment where I could begin to understand, at least, the situation that had befallen me, though the thoughts were as empty as a canyon.

We stood on the ledge, and I couldn't do it. I am an optimist: I still believed that there was hope. Joanna was crying. A man I knew from down the hall came staggering up, and he choked, "I'll go with you."

He was burned. His clothes were smoking. And Joanna held his hand, and she hugged him. They stood on the ledge and I said, "I love you," to them both.

I don't know if they heard me over the roaring fire, the wind, their own thoughts streaming through their chaotic brains at that instant. Joanna didn't turn around to say goodbye. She and the analyst from down the hall held on tight to each other. The walls were closed in with fire, and my throat was choking on the smoke. Joanna tugged his wrist, just a little, and they vaulted from the small window, past the sky, past the idea of sky, to the snapshot blue, and the sea blue by association.

They fell from the sky as saints.

I was thinking about that time you took me to Coney Island and you made me go on the roller coaster, even though I didn't want to, and how I screamed and screamed and screamed as the coaster came screaming down the track, so fast that I barely had time to comprehend it. Our bodies: we believe in them the way we believe in our selves. It scares humans, I think, to get close to that interior edge where the two blur.

I turned from the gaping window. Things were so crazy, baby, you have to understand that at the time, the world had ceased to make sense. So far out there on the margins of existence, it is quiet as a Siberian forest. Time warps and slows down, and there is room to hear your own thoughts, the backlog of thoughts that have simmered under your consciousness for years. The flickers of impressions that glint in your daily life, emerge shyly in your dreams, trickle into the periphery of your conversations, it's all right there. As the flames licked ever closer, I was thinking not of death, not of pain, not of the heat or the roar of flames. I did not ask why? or what's happened?. I did not pray or ask God's forgiveness. No, none of that was very important at the moment. What I was thinking about was you. I have slept with you in that bed that now seems so empty and lonely for over ten years, and at those last few moments I was thinking of the nights when I would wake up for some reason and look at your face. You looked somehow smart even in sleep. Those moments were the most intimate, I think, because nobody else ever knew you like that. It was just for me. In those moments you were not distracted with the baby or work. You were simply my husband, in bed with me. So while I was in that office as the fire swarmed around me, I was thinking about you sleeping, your beautiful, sweet face in perfect repose. That was the last full impression to transverse my brain: the image of my husband sleeping beside me.

When it finally happened for me, I was suddenly jerked downward. There was a rain of fire and sheetrock, and it was over with just that simply. I didn't suffer, certainly no worse than some of the others did. I held the image of you as long as I could.

I am comforted now somewhat by the knowledge that you’ll find another woman who will make you happy. You will emerge from the office one day in early spring and you will discover yourself staring just an extra moment at a young brunette as she slips into a taxi. Or at the club you'll see an ethereal blond who reminds you of someone, and you'll talk to her, and for a few moments you'll remember what it's like to love, and to flirt, and to be welcomed into someone else's day. You will go on. You are strong and you are brave.

I am telling you this because I think the questions about my death are keeping you from seeing the world around you. You are getting all tangled up in the details of that day. My love, my love, remember my ravenous kisses, but escape them. You have the soft air and the sunlight among leaves and the cry of our baby to look forward to. Do not let me steal your universe the way they stole mine.

I wish you a long and happy life.
With love,

Your wife