I’m not a natural athlete. I don’t have great coordination. I’m not terribly quick—physically or mentally. When I started martial arts, I weighed less than 140 pounds. But I did have some academic ability.
My lack of athleticism had been ordained. My father and his six brothers had formed their own street gang in their youth, with my father as the boxing coach. As a result, my horrified grandmother and aunts decreed that no child would fight. The men were forbidden to show or speak of such things, and the continual mantra growing up was: “Come straight home and don’t fight.”
But that didn’t change my father’s temperament. Until the end of his days, my siblings and I were terrified of going out in public with him because he raised his fists at the slightest provocation. Once, that was for as minor an infraction as a waiter being slow to bring catsup for a steak. When I told my father that I was learning martial arts, he was mystified and disdainful: didn’t any real MAN naturally know how to fight?
As a result, I did research when I got interested in martial arts. I read of the internal martial arts—Xingyiquan, Baguazhang, and Taijiquan. They were portrayed as martial arts that used mental powers. Xingyi, for example, even means Form (of the body) and Mind. I calculated that my mind might make up for my physical deficiencies.
There was another reason too. Some of the martial arts schools in Chinatown were associated with tongs and gambling parlors and I didn’t want to get involved with that—nor did I think they would welcome a skinny and awkward kid like me.
What I read was true, though. Internal martial arts require mental prowess and mastery of abstruse theories. They require the mental channeling of energy, the visualization of organs and energy flow. Eventually, the process gets reversed, and physical training enables a quicker mind, superior concentration, and eventually, meditation.
Memorization, an integral part of all forms of Chinese learning, is the foundation. You must remember what move comes next, coordinate hands and feet, and manage your body in space. The moves all have poetic names, and while that seems like an added burden to memory, it helps—White Crane Spreads Wings, Fierce Tiger Descends the Mountain, Sage Points the Way, Green Dragon Flexes Its Claws. You must learn dozens of sets and try not to mix up the postures.
If you want to take an anatomical view, the training results in new neurological growth and patterns, better blood circulation that nourishes the brain, and coordination that strengthens the mind-body connection. Even having to constantly shift your eyes at different distances and directions is stimulating.
Chinese martial arts is creative. Granted, it takes a long time to reach that level, but if you spar or fight, it’s purely improvisatory. Since you can’t always predict what your opponent will do, to say you should “react” is already slow. You need keen observation, sharp reflexes, determination, and calm. You must release a creativity that is allied to the spirit.
Practice improves acuity. Acuity improves practice.