The new "Kung Fu" TV show strips the heart and morality out of the original, deciding instead of making us think, and giving us a roadmap of how to live a balanced life, it would be much better for modern audiences to appeal to 16-year-old girls and not make them think very much.
In the original series, the fight scenes captivated us, but the heart of the series was the morality of the monks. Their Taoist/Zen philosophy gave many of us a wake-up call that there were different ways of looking at the world than through the stained-glass windows of a church. For some of us, it pointed the way toward inner peace and the acceptance and tolerance of others.
The producers of the new series have hired an attractive young cast, threw in a sword with magical powers (Holy Green Destiny, Batman) which must be held by its rightful owner (shades of Thor's hammer). The plot is the same as many bad kung-fu films. "You bastard! You killed my teacher!" And they hint at a lot more magic to come.
Just what we need. Insert eye roll here.
Another thing we don't need: making it appear that you can achieve miraculous kung-fu fighting skills in three short years. Some of us who have studied martial arts for nearly 50 years see just how damaging that idea can be.
Kudos to the producers for using an Asian cast. A roundhouse kick to the head, however, for making it so shallow.
There is so much they could do. Why not bring the girl back to San Francisco and let her help people overcome their problems and see a better way to live, along with a little butt-kicking along the way?
There could also be some insight into the workings of a dysfunctional Chinese-American family, but it would help if, after spending three years learning the secrets of the universe, the lead character returned with a hint that she gained some wisdom along with kung-fu skills, but unfortunately, there is no hint of that wisdom in the dialogue.
Instead, I almost expect the second episode to show the lead character shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch.
And could someone tell the writers that when an attacker's arm is hideously broken the fight is over? And you know, like if you get kicked in the face five times, a sixth kick is not likely to be needed?
People right now are hungry for balance, kindness, and justice, not more magic and another "Tong war." And I hope the series brings more young people to martial arts schools, like the original series and Bruce Lee did. In the meantime, I can only hope the show "finds its legs" after a few episodes and becomes a little deeper. If the first episode of the new series is an indication, the producers appear to have ripped the heart out of the original "Kung Fu" series and are showing it to us beating in their hands before the audience, and the series, dies.
Fifty years ago this summer, in 1971, I was working for my dad as a laborer in his ornamental iron business. I was 18 years old, had just graduated from high school and was soon to start college. My dad was very mechanical and was an artist with ornamental iron, doing everything from columns and railings to stairways in apartment complexes. I did not inherit his mechanical gene, so I was relegated to painting and helping carry materials.
One day, we were working on the third story of a new apartment building in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. The third floor balcony had some kind of temporary sheet metal flooring, but on this day, I didn't realize the flooring did not have support under it.
I was daydreaming and not being mindful about what I was doing when I went up to the third floor and stepped out on the balcony.
As soon as I stepped on it, the flooring gave way beneath my feet -- three stories up. It was as if I had stepped onto a trap door that suddenly, without warning, opened up.
To this day, I'm not sure how I did it. With no warning, as I was not paying attention, there was no floor under me and I was falling. In the fraction of a second that I felt myself falling, I reacted. Somehow, I jumped to the beam on the outer edge of the balcony and grabbed hold of some iron work we had installed the week before.
The flooring crashed to the ground. I looked down and began shaking inside. I could have been seriously injured or killed if I hadn't reacted without thinking, as soon as the flooring collapsed. But how did I jump when the floor was giving way beneath me? There was nothing to jump from, just sheet metal falling under my feet.
It's still a mystery, but maybe it explains why the concept of "empty" is one of my favorite "energies" in Taiji, but this concept is not limited to just Taiji.
"Empty force" is called "Kong Jin" in Taiji. It does not mean knocking someone down without touching them, as some less-than-honest people will tell you.
Empty force means that when an opponent tries to push you or seize you and apply force to you, whatever he is pushing on gives way like the flooring I stepped on, leaving him off-balance and vulnerable to a counter.
Sometimes, you can offer your opponent stiffness when they grab you. When you resist, he thinks you are going to continue using muscle-on-muscle, so he continues to use muscular force. Suddenly, you "empty," and he goes off-balance.
In the old "Kung-Fu" TV show, they said, "A Shaolin monk, when reached for, cannot be felt."
When an opponent reaches for you, when he exerts force, the target dissolves.
There is a popular saying in Taiji; "Leading Into Emptiness."
For example, someone hurls an insult at you, wanting to "push your buttons" and make you react. You don't react negatively. You lead their verbal attack into emptiness. It is very good verbal self-defense. It is also a very good social media technique when you encounter someone spewing negativity on Facebook or Twitter to trigger reactions. Don't react with negativity. Lead them into emptiness.
Here is a physical example. A boxer like Muhammad Ali would lead his opponents into emptiness by sticking his face out toward the opponent, anticipate the opponent's punch, and when the glove came toward his face, Ali would lean back or slip to the side or go under, leading the punch into emptiness. Ali would use that split-second when the opponent was slightly off-balance to counter-punch.
But a third way to lead someone into emptiness is when they grab you to take you down. They always use muscular force, and very often, just emptying and not using force against force will put them off-balance just long enough to take advantage and put them down instead.
In Photo 1, I'm demonstrating this concept on a larger partner. He is pressing in on me, giving me force.
In Photo 2, I take all the tension out of my arm muscles and I step back, causing the support he had in my arms to collapse like the flooring I stepped on 50 years ago.
In Photo 3, he has fallen into the emptiness, losing his balance, and I am in position to come down on his neck or head with an elbow.
There is more about this on my website for members to watch in the Close-Up Self-Defense video (in the Push Hands section). It is also on the "Close-Up Self-Defense" DVD.
It takes practice to "empty" completely and suddenly so your partner falls into the emptiness. Even though I am "emptying" in the photos here, you can see that I am maintaining my structure and balance. The key is to let the "floor" (the part of the body he is pushing on) collapse under him, putting him off-balance just long enough for you to counter.
Practice by having a partner grab you and apply force, as if they want to take you down. Give them resistance for a moment and then completely relax and see what happens. When you collapse that part of your body, maintain your ground, peng, and structure. You can even do it with just one side of your body. Someone pushes on one side, you give that side to them. Empty it and let it go. It often sets them up for a good counter.
I still think of that day in 1971 when I do push hands. My goal is to have -- at all times -- the sensitivity that I showed on that morning, when I reacted without thinking, in the blink of an eye, as I took a step and suddenly there was nothing beneath my feet. If I had taken even enough time to think, "Oh crap!" it would have been too late to react.
In the meantime, I'm also working to provide my push hands partners with that "Oh, crap!" experience. They usually don't react as quickly as I did, but that's the idea, isn't it?
--by Ken Gullette
From Count Dante to the Chen Pan Ling System: The Internal Fighting Arts Podcast Interview with John Scott
He has been in martial arts for a half-century, ever since he bought some of Count Dante's training materials as a kid.
We have a good time talking about the martial arts journey that led him to his teacher, Grandmaster Chen Yun Ching, the son of Chen Pan Ling. The photo at left is John Scott standing next to Chen Yun Ching.
Follow this link to either listen online or download the file. It's also available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Podbean and other podcast distributors.
My grandfather, Henry Gullette died when he was 69 years old. He was an old man when by the time he was 60. He was a very nice old man, but the thing I remember him doing most was sitting on his couch watching TV. In the photo above, he is younger than I am now.
My father, Kenneth Sr. died when he was 61. He was a nice guy, too, maybe the best man I have ever known (his picture is below). My dad had his first heart attack at age 50 and gave up after that. I remember in his fifties he would say, "I'm not going to be around much longer."
It turned out to be true.
Today is my 68th birthday and I am still trying to get better at gongfu. Despite having much more serious health issues than either my father or my grandfather, I still have goals I'm trying to achieve. I'm not as good at the internal arts as I want to be.
There is no way I'm giving up yet. I'm having way too much fun.
What is the internal difference between me, my dad and my grandfather? Why did they get old and give up too early?
Why have so many people over the years told me how good they want to be in martial arts but then they quit after a few lessons? What is the difference between them and the student who stays with it year after year? I'm in my 48th year of studying and practicing and I'm still peeling back layers of the onion, excited by what I find next.
It seems that a lot of people go through the motions of life without fully diving in and persisting, even when there are stretches when it isn't much fun.
I have a martial artist friend named John Morrow who turned 69 years old on January 6. Every year, I say to him, "I hope I'm as good as you when I'm your age."
Every year he replies, "You better get busy." Hahaha. Real funny, John.
What You Are Practicing
I have forgotten who said this, but it might have been one of Chen Fake's students, Feng Zhiqiang. He said we should practice "method, not form."
In the beginning, when we learn a form, we are trying to memorize the movements. Then, we are trying to memorize the movements in order so we can do the form from beginning to end. It takes a lot of work to remember a complete form.
But after we get the movements down and we can do a form from beginning to end, we must immediately force ourselves to go to the next level.
What you should be practicing is not the form but the method.
Every style of martial arts has its own "shen fa," or "body method." The form is only a way to practice the body method.
In the style of Xingyi that I teach, body methods include taking ground, alternating relaxation and power, maintaining intent, ground path, peng jin, dantien rotation and whole-body movement, among others. The mindset of Xingyi is to drive through the opponent. As they might say in Cobra Kai, "No mercy."
When practicing a Chen Taiji form, you should work in each movement to develop an "alive" style of moving that is relaxed but with internal strength that makes it "iron wrapped in cotton." You should make good use of the kua, dantien rotation, ground path, peng jin, whole-body movement and the spiraling power of silk-reeling, among others. The mindset of Taiji is to yield and overcome, bend but not break, maintain your structure and hide your own center from your opponent while you find his center and put him down.
In Bagua, your body method includes mud-stepping, circle-walking and a lot of the mechanics of Taiji, including an alive, spiraling quality in your movement that is relaxed but with strength underneath. But even your circle-walking has its own unique qualities as your foot skims across the ground and you keep your weight on the rear leg. The mindset of Bagua is to become like a spinning wire ball. If your opponent gets too close, he will be caught up in the spinning wire ball and thrown out in all directions.
When I studied Yang style Tai Chi, I moved in a very different way than I do in Chen style. It was slow and relaxed but the body was not "alive." There was no ground. There was no peng. There was no kua. I was taught a ridiculous way of silk-reeling that did not include spiraling movement in the body at all. My teacher told us to "think about Qi spiraling from our foot to our hands."
When I first encountered Chen style, a lightbulb went on in my head. The body method was so different, I knew instantly that it was a higher quality. But even within Chen style there are different body methods, depending on the teacher.
Sometimes, you can almost be paralyzed by thinking of all the body mechanics that make up the body method in one art. But once you learn the movements of a form, you should spend the next number of years learning how to apply all the mechanics to each movement. You develop skill in the body method.
I will practice a form and sometimes focus on just one thing, such as dantien rotation. The next time, I'll try to maintain the same dantien rotation but I'll focus on how the Mingmen (lower back) bows and unbows as the dantien rotates.
Or I'll do a form and focus mostly on opening and closing the kua. Next, I might focus on the Bai Hui point at the top of the head and try to keep my head lifted instead of letting it drop forward. Another time, I might focus on maintaining peng jin, or not collapsing my knees.
As we peel back the layers of the onion, practicing the body method helps us get deeper and deeper into it. The quality of your art is in the body method.
As I tell my students, "Don't allow yourself to just go through the motions when you practice. You won't perform with the proper body method if you don't practice that way."
My dad said he wasn't going to be around much longer. It turns out that his prediction came true and he died at 61. Now, at 68, I want to get better at the internal arts. Can I make it come true?
We can both do it if we work at it.
I want to throw roundhouse kicks.
I have been very angry during the past week-and-a-half. I am working very hard to center myself. Let me tell you why.
Muhammad Ali would have celebrated his 79th birthday today if he had lived, but unfortunately, he died of complications of Parkinson's Disease in 2016.
The night he defeated George Foreman (picture at left) to regain the heavyweight title was the night I realized I needed to stop being a racist. It was October 30, 1974. Muhammad Ali was fighting George Foreman in a fight that was held in Zaire and called the "Rumble in the Jungle."
Foreman was so strong it was scary. He was knocking other heavyweights out cold. Most people expected Ali to be killed that night.
I grew up in the American South in the 1950s and Sixties. I saw "White Only" signs on drinking fountains and bathrooms. I remember when blacks were not allowed to sit with us in the movie theaters. They had to sit in the balcony.
I remember when black kids could not swim with us in the public swimming pools.
When I was 15, I thought the coolest thing in the world would be to join the Ku Klux Klan. That's how the culture of the South affected me as a young white boy.
But in 1973, while I was in college at Eastern Kentucky University, I enrolled in my first martial arts class. I began reading about Bruce Lee, his philosophy, and I started reading books with the Taoist and Zen philosophy that I heard while watching the "Kung-Fu" TV show.
But I still had the South in me, and Muhammad Ali was a frequent target of our hatred. We hated him. We called him a "loud-mouthed" N-word. And he switched religions. He changed his name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali. What a trouble-maker!
The night he fought George Foreman, college might have already started changing me a bit, but when the fight began, and I was listening to it being broadcast on radio, I was pacing in my dorm room, hoping Ali would get beaten. I was cheering for Foreman to hurt him.
The fight only lasted eight rounds. In the early rounds, Ali was on the ropes, being pounded by Foreman. Can you imagine the punishment? George Foreman could punch a large heavybag into submission. Imagine what he would do to someone's arms and ribs and kidneys!!
Round after round, Ali took tremendous punishment, and round by round, he survived.
Something clicked inside of me. It took a few rounds, but somewhere around the seventh, my perspective began shifting. Instead of a loud-mouthed braggart, I began to see Ali's courage, and the realization struck me like a right cross to the jaw. This man was letting the strongest boxer in the world pound on him. He had a plan, and he had placed himself in the line of fire.
I began cheering for Ali. When he suddenly knocked Foreman out in the eighth round, I jumped around my room, then ran up and down the halls shouting the news.
That was the bravest thing I had ever heard or seen.
I no longer saw Ali as a black man. I saw him as a brave man, and I began looking at other black people in a new light. I realized they suffered pain just as I did. They had the same needs I did. And they deserved the same respect I did.
I realized that so much of what I was taught in my culture was bullshit. For almost a year, I had been reading about the Taoist and Zen philosophies that presented such a different view of the world than the hatred of racism. How could I become "one" with the universe and the world around me if I considered myself better than another person?
It made no sense to be racist.
The answer was simple. If I continued to be prejudiced against people who were different, the philosophy that I was adopting would be a joke.
But like everything in life, including Qigong, and the ability to center myself, it took hard work and an ability to look inward, reflect and analyze why I thought certain ways and why I took certain positions on issues.
The philosophy woke me up to empathy.
Five years after the Rumble in the Jungle I met Muhammad Ali. It was 1978 and he had just defeated Leon Spinks to win back the heavyweight title. Ali was giving a speech at a rally in Louisville and I covered it as a reporter for WLAP radio in Lexington, Kentucky, where I was working. I got a front-row seat to the speech.
After the speech, Ali was going to hold a news conference at a hotel. I had a long walk to get to the hotel, so I was walking fast across a huge parking lot at the fairgrounds, where the rally was held, to the hotel where the news conference would be held.
Just as I arrived in front of the hotel, a limo pulled up with Ali in it. He got out and was followed by three or four bodyguards who were larger than he was.
I had a hardbound copy of his autobiography, "The Greatest," that I brought with me in case I was able to get his autograph.
For a few seconds after he got out of the car, there was a little space in front of him. I walked up and handed him the book.
"Would you sign this for me, Champ?" I asked, handing him the book and a pen.
He took the book and the pen, scribbling his autograph as he walked, then held it out. By that time, he was being surrounded by people, and a bodyguard grabbed the book and pen and stuck them out behind his back as he walked with Ali. I pushed through the gathering crowd and managed to get the book out of his hand.
Then I went to the news conference, where Ali stood just a few feet away and I was standing with all the sports reporters, network sportscasters and other local media, watching and listening and enjoying my brush with greatness.
As years passed, I learned a lot more about Ali. In 1960, when I was only 7 years old, Ali won a gold medal at the Olympics and returned home to Louisville. He went to a restaurant that refused to serve him because he was black.
He was an Olympic gold medalist and still couldn't get respect from some white people.
Imagine how you would feel?
And yet, he was not an angry man. He tried to preach respect and human rights.
One day, he was visiting his mother in Louisville, and he was in a large motor home behind her house. A young white sports reporter knocked on her door to interview her. He didn't realize Ali was there.
"Oh, he's in the trailer," she said. "Just knock on the door."
This young white reporter knocked on the motor home door. Ali answered, let him in and they talked for hours. They became good friends.
That's the kind of man Ali was. How could anyone hate him?
Now why would I be angry today? I guess it's because of the riot held a week-and-a-half ago by the white supremacists in Washington, D.C. A lot of the people who stormed the capitol building were white nationalists.
I guess I have been angry because unarmed black men continue to be gunned down in the street by police in the United States. It was happening when Ali was young and it's happening now.
Perhaps, on Ali's birthday, it struck me that being a white nationalist, or tolerating them in any way, would be a violation of my goal of being a centered person. And perhaps this is my way of letting you know, since I am a teacher, that part of your training in the internal arts involves connecting -- not just with an opponent who you might never face, but also with the world, with the environment, with other animals, and with other human beings.
Being centered and connected does NOT mean being passive. Sometimes, it means standing up for what is right.
As you work on your martial arts, and as you try to become more centered and balanced, please understand that a good martial artist defends people who are weaker and are being attacked.
Self-defense is much more than throwing punches and kicks. Being a martial artist means you are working to master yourself, too.
The world is made a safer place when we all do our part and connect with others, perceiving them as being one with us, and when we realize that silence is the fuel that gives more power to evil.
From Break Dancing to Wudang Mountain to Bagua Zhang -- the Internal Fighting Arts Podcast Interview with Jakob Pang Isaksson
Jakob Pang Isaksson, a Bagua Zhang teacher in Stockholm, has lived an interesting life. In 1998, he won an MTV Break Dance Competition and appeared in a Run DMC video, "Sucker M.C.'s." Watch the video here.
A few years later, he traveled to Wudang Mountain to search out gongfu instruction. He returned to China later and spent three years there. He won medals at a large wushu competition and was selected to perform and compete with the Guang Zhou University professional Wushu Team. Eventually, he found his Bagua Zhang teacher, Li Jian Min, a teacher of Jiang Style Bagua Zhang.
I talked with Jakob Pang Isaksson about his experiences and it made for as very interesting podcast.
I have not found karate books very helpful for me, since I study and teach the internal Chinese martial arts. Most of them have been about technique, with dry information about stances, punches, blocks, and sequences of kata movements.
My opinion changed when I read a new book by Giles Hopkins that is a great addition to my martial arts library: "Wandering Along the Way of Okinawan Karate: Thinking About Goju-Ryu," published by Blue Snake Books.
Hopkins is a dedicated martial artist and an outdoors enthusiast. He approaches nature and his martial art with a philosophical attitude that immediately appealed to me. He sees the connection between the art he practices and the natural wonders he encounters while hiking along a trail or walking in the woods. His intellectual approach to the movements of kata goes "under the hood" in a way that is more meaningful than simply describing technique.
Why do we notice the leaves mainly when they burst into different colors shortly before they die? It is an observation Hopkins makes that easily translates into our approach to martial arts and to the people in our lives. We take many aspects of the arts for granted -- the rituals surrounding our practice; some of the movements that we have performed thousands of times.
As I read this book, preparing to turn 68 years old in a couple of months, and having endured physical hardships the past decade, this passage also hit home with me as I thought about how we take our own youth, strength and health for granted, and the glorious ability to perform at our peak. When we get to the point where we understand that we can't practice these arts forever, or when our physical abilities begin to slip away, it is ironic that this stage of life causes us to understand the real beauty of the arts we have been practicing for so long, and the reasons they are so important to us, like a loved one who suddenly has a terminal illness and you become all too aware of the relentless ticking of the clock.
When we are young, many of us take up martial arts so we can learn to fight better; to defend ourselves. As we get older, those of us who remain in the arts look deeper, and some of us carry the arts into our daily life in ways that make life and the arts more fulfilling.
Like me, Hopkins is no spring chicken. One of his chapters is titled, "Ah, He's Just Old, What Does He Know Anyway?"
Perhaps you need to have some years under your black belt before you can write a book like this.
He begins most chapters with something he has observed during one of his walks in nature, and he connects it with his karate. The book is divided into sections corresponding to the seasons. As he discusses something from nature, the transitions into karate are sometimes a bit clunky and repetitive. I grew a bit tired of passages that I slightly exaggerate when I describe this way: "I saw this rock along the trail and it reminded me of (insert name of kata or movement here)." There are more subtle ways of blending these concepts and messages, but if that is the worst criticism I have about the book, it is a very minor one. The only reason I mentioned this is because I was a journalist who hired and trained reporters and coached their writing. This is more a coaching comment than a criticism. It is an excellent book.
Hopkins sees deeply into the movements of kata, uncovering fighting applications, or "bunkai," that can turn on some lightbulbs for any martial artist of any style. One of the applications he discusses made me realize that a certain movement in a Tai Chi form that I have practiced thousands of times can not only be used as a joint lock against an elbow, as I always thought of it, but it can also be used to break an opponent's neck by twisting the head.
Hopkins explores interesting topics along with his photos and descriptions of movement, technique and kata. He wonders how these arts can be useful in an era when most of us do not have to worry about fighting. He thinks about the usefulness of pushing the creative boundaries when looking for the fighting applications inside kata movements, and he is honest enough to suggest better ways of teaching than to hold your students to silence with counterproductive responses to a question such as, "If you have to ask, you are not ready to learn."
The very first class I taught when I earned my black sash and recruited my own students included young guys who wanted to see just how good I really was, so they asked questions that made me realize I needed to raise my game. I had to study harder, practice harder, and be as good as my sash indicated. When you have a black belt, you are considered an expert. I think some teachers discourage questions because the wrong one can expose the true lack of depth in the teacher's knowledge.
A lot has been lost in the modern practice of martial arts. It is certainly true in much of the practice of Tai Chi, which has been watered down from a brutal martial art to an exercise for older people or "moving meditation" practiced by millions around the world. And when my granddaughter earned a black belt at a local taekwondo school and did not know how to throw a good punch, and I watched obese black belts strutting around her school who couldn't throw a good kick, I assumed that modern karate had gone the same way -- tense, muscular and simple.
It is wonderful to read a book on karate that is intellectually stimulating and offers insights about Hopkins' art, Goju-Ryu, that also informs my own practice. You don't have to study karate to appreciate it.
I highly recommend "Wandering Along the Way of Okinawan Karate." It is the first book by Giles Hopkins that I have read, but it will not be the last. I am ordering his earlier book today, and will keep an eye out for future books.
It is obvious to me that Hopkins is an outstanding teacher and the type of martial artist I would enjoy talking with and comparing notes. May he enjoy many more hikes in the woods, many more books on the market and many more seasons of training.
--by Ken Gullette
I was on the track team in high school. My specialty was the high jump.
I was not a gifted jumper but I enjoyed pushing myself to see if I could improve, even a quarter-inch at a time. I was just shy of six feet tall, not a tall, lanky kind of athlete like the famous high-jumper Dick Fosbury.
Paul Carter was a buddy of mine in school. His father attended the track meets and always came over to watch the high jump competition. He always spoke to me and watched me compete.
I did not always win, but I enjoyed the competition. Months after our senior track season, I was talking to Paul and he mentioned his father.
"My dad really loves to watch you compete," he said. "Do you know why?"
I told him I did not know.
"Because he says even when you don't win, you are still smiling," Paul said.
Really? I did not know that I had that kind of impact on anyone.
It was an enlightening moment.
I did not enjoy losing, but I did not consider myself a loser. If you compete at anything, you run the risk of losing. If you enjoy it, does it matter?
This was 25 years before I started teaching martial arts.
By the time I began teaching in 1997, I was also competing regularly in martial arts tournaments, often in open tournaments, with competitors from all styles and judges from all styles. Very often, the judges did not really understand the internal arts.
My students were good, but I noticed the impact that losing had on some of them.
I felt the same about martial arts tournaments as I did about the high-jump. I was not a gifted athlete, but I enjoyed the arts and I enjoyed the competition. But there is one more important thing I got out of competing.
I learned about myself. I learned how I reacted to pressure, how I responded when another black belt was trying to kick my ass.
And I learned to analyze each victory and each defeat and look for lessons. I learned to walk away with information to improve my skills.
One day, I was competing at a huge regional tournament in Dubuque, Iowa. The team of judges included mostly black belts from Karate, Taekwondo and other "external" arts. One of the judges was a woman who tended to score me lower than others.
On this day, I did a strong Xingyiquan form and I did not place. She scored me low again.
I approached her after the event and asked, "I notice you scored me low. What advice would you give me?"
She seemed surprised, but she said, "You run through your kata like a house on fire. There is no pacing."
For a moment, I reacted as most people would react. I thought, "Oh, she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about."
But I thanked her, and as I walked away, I mentally ran through my form. As I did, I realize that I had a tendency to barrel through it hard and fast, with power and speed.
She was right. There were little moments in the form when I should ease up, slow down, pause for effect -- add some "pacing."
I worked on it and I began winning more forms events after that day.
This kind of attitude can help you in every aspect of life. In 2006, I began working on an idea for a Media Relations Coach website. I was the director of media relations for ACT, the company that makes the college admissions exam. My goal was to teach media relations to other people starting out in similar jobs around the country.
I worked like crazy on this website, but when I launched it, there were crickets. Nobody seemed to be interested. It was a resounding defeat.
In 2008, after taking a job in Tampa, Florida, the job did not work out and I suddenly found myself unemployed.
I decided to use what I had learned in my failed Media Relations Coach website attempt, and I would create a website teaching the internal arts.
Within three months, I launched www.InternalFightingArts.com, and people began signing up immediately. I am proud to say that it is still in business more than 12 years later as I write this post, and it is doing better than ever.
Losing gracefully is very easy if you use each competitive situation as a learning moment. If you win, what do you learn?
If you lose, can you use the information from that loss to propel you forward?
You can't win them all. And maybe you don't want to win them all. You don't learn a lot in victory.
It is in defeat where you can mine gold, not just about your technique, but also about yourself. And from there, you can work to get better.
Go get 'em. And keep smiling.
--by Ken Gullette
My mother would not let me see a James Bond movie until the fourth Bond film "Thunderball" came out in late 1965. We were very conservative Christians, and she thought the movies were sinful because they showed drinking and (gasp!) sex between men and women who were NOT MARRIED!
She thought I would burn in Hell if I ever saw a James Bond movie.
But by the time "Thunderball" came out and I was nearly 13, she relented. My buddy Ed McCaw and I went to see it at a theater in downtown Lexington. We walked in during the long scene when the atomic bomb was stolen from the downed plane. We stayed all the way through the movie the second time through. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
I thought Connery was the coolest man who ever lived. The way he walked, the way he talked, and the slightly sarcastic, confident sense of humor had a big impact on me.
But the way James Bond fought in those early films also had an impact.
When Sean Connery played 007, he often found himself against much stronger, tougher opponents, but his resourcefulness often helped him win the fight. Whether he was fighting Oddjob in the vault at Fort Knox, "Red" Grant on the train in "From Russia, with Love," or the Japanese martial artist in "You Only Live Twice," he found a way to win.
One of the radio commercials used in the summer of 1967 to advertise "You Only Live Twice" went something like this: "They rush him from all sides. FIFTY karate experts whose hands can slice through rock. The odds...FIFTY to one. THEY haven't got a CHANCE." Listen to the original radio ad here.
Oh, man. I still get cold chills listening to that radio ad.
As a kid, and as a young teenager, I was often the target of bullies. For some reason, they were attracted to me like fat to a mother-in-law, but they made a big mistake when they pushed me to the point when I could not walk away.
They did not realize they were picking on a guy who enjoyed fighting. I always tried to avoid it, but if I could not avoid it, once the fight started I considered it the ultimate one-on-one competition. It was the ultimate sport. I never lost a fight in my life.
And from watching James Bond movies in those days, I realized that the better, stronger fighter does not always win. Usually, the smarter fighter wins.
The second-to-last real fight I had was when I was 17 years old in high school. A guy named Charlie wanted to fight. The disagreement started in Mr. Fife's geography class and we took it to the boy's restroom there in the Stone Building at Lafayette High School.
It was a very small restroom and we faced off.
Charlie hauled off and punched me in the jaw. My head exploded in pain, and sparks seemed to burst in front of my eyes like fireworks.
It was clear that he was a much better puncher than I was.
So I moved in, clenched with him, and slammed him into the side of a stall.
How would Sean Connery handle this, I thought. Well, since he appeared to be a better boxer, I would stop him from being able to punch me.
I threw him to the ground.
He tried to get up, but before he could reach his feet, I slammed him to the ground again.
Each time he tried to get up, I slammed him into the wall or back to the ground.
Finally, exhausted, he gave up. We went back to our classes. I won the fight.
The moment I walked out of the restroom, I thought, "Sean Connery would be proud of that one."
Self-defense is a lot more than physical strength or even technical skill. Often, it is about awareness, not being there, and if you can't escape the fight, it's also about how you can use your surroundings or items you can pick up.
And it is about keeping your cool at all times. Or, as I learned in the internal arts, remaining centered at all times.
Tonight, I will raise a glass to this fine actor. I have watched his Bond movies countless times. I have them all on Blu-Ray and catch them when they pop up on cable channels. He will always be an inspiration to me in many ways.
I salute you, Sean Connery. The bullies who picked on me might have other feelings, however.
--by Ken Gullette
On a Saturday morning in early 1998 I drove to their home in Rockford, Illinois, about two hours from my home, to find out what some of these "body mechanics" were that I had recently read about in an internet chat room -- terms like "ground path" and "peng jin."
Jim worked with me for an hour, explaining the difference between the Yang style Taiji I had studied up to that point and the Chen style that he was studying and teaching.
In one hour, I knew I had to start over. What I had been studying was empty. It was based on "chi cultivation" and not on body mechanics.
After 25 years in martial arts and more than a decade in the internal arts, I couldn't find my kua with both hands. This was a problem, considering I had a "black sash" and was already teaching. My students and I were already making a splash at area martial arts tournaments. Now, my style of Taiji had to change.
For the next few years, I drove regularly to Rockford to study with Jim and Angela. They introduced me to Ren Guangyi and Grandmaster Chen Xiaowang, who they hosted for workshops.
My career up to that point had been in the news industry as a reporter, news director, anchor and producer. Every day, I tried to explain news stories and events in an understandable way. A complex story had to be broken down so the general public could make sense of it. As the reporter or story writer, I had to understand it, too.
That is how I approached my teaching of the internal arts. As I began learning the internal concepts, often in a roundabout way, I asked myself how I could explain it to my students and to myself in a way that made sense.
Over time, I broke the body mechanics down into six main concepts that beginning students needed to at least know about:
One -- The Ground Path -- If someone pushes against any part of your body, they must feel as if they are pushing into a steel rod that is connected to the ground. That needed to be maintained through all movements.
Two -- Peng Jin -- An expansive quality in your body and limbs that works with the Ground Path to give your relaxed movements an internal strength that is not evident on the outside.
Three -- Whole-Body Movement -- When one part moves, all parts move, and your internal strength unfolds like a ribbon from the ground through the body. All styles talk about this, but it is clear when watching even Taiji people that many do not achieve it.
Four -- Opening and Closing the Kua -- The crease at the top of the legs, along the inguinal ligament, acts as a buoy in the ocean. Used properly, it helps you adjust to incoming force and rebalance yourself.
Five -- Dantien rotation -- They say the "Dantien (sometimes spelled Dan T'ien) leads all movements," but I believe all movements start with the ground and the Dantien is part of what leads the internal strength along the ground path.
Six -- Silk-Reeling Energy -- The word "energy" can be misleading. It means "method" in this context. Silk-Reeling energy is a method of spiraling the body, from the ground through the limbs, that helps provide additional power to your movements. I teach the Silk-Reeling exercises to guide my students on the proper way to combine all six of these concepts into their movements.
When students begin learning from me, the first thing they learn are these six body mechanics, and from there, they study the art they want -- Chen style Taiji, Xingyiquan or Ba Gua Zhang. On my website, there is a section devoted to many videos breaking down these skills, and I also teach them in my Internal Strength DVD and Silk-Reeling Energy DVD.
As you continue learning, there are many other concepts and skills to be learned, but in my experience, a lot of students are just kind of thrown into classes and simply follow the teacher for a long time, as they slowly develop a sense of what they are trying to achieve.
I believe it is much more difficult to reach your destination without a road map. Understanding these six principles and how they factor into your movement and self-defense applications will be a revelation, like firing up a brand new updated GPS device.
If you read this list and do not understand how to translate these into your internal movement, save some time and check out either the DVDs above or my membership website at www.InternalFightingArts.com.
Here is a true fact about many internal arts teachers: It is a lot easier to pretend to be teaching something mystical than it is to put in the hard work required by the internal body mechanics that produce real quality.
My goal in teaching is to cut years off the time it takes someone to go from novice to skilled by providing information that I did not have for decades as I tried to feel my way through the thick jungle of misinformation, hacking through the tall weeds of mysticism and magical chi powers in search of something true. I am still learning.
Internal energy, and the relaxed power of Taiji, Xingyi and Bagua comes from good body mechanics, not mysticism. If you don't fully understand the principles you should be working on, the road ahead is much longer and much more expensive.
-- by Ken Gullette