"Taming the Tiger" - Chapter I, part 2

Hiya, kiddies, and welcome back. Today, I present the second half of Chapter One of "Taming the Tiger." Enjoy.

-Sean-

I don’t know how long I was out. Al would never tell me. All he would ever tell me was that I tried to get up, but then acted weird and fell on my back. Whatever I did, it grossed him out and he never wanted to talk about it. For a tough guy, he could get awfully squeamish when he saw someone getting hurt.

When I came to, I could see his face looking down at mine. He asked me if I was alright. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t seem to get air into my lungs. I stood up, struggling to get to my feet. I was surprised to see I was at the bottom of the stairs. Al offered me a hand, but I pulled away. I would at least get up on my own.

“Hey, are you alright?” Al asked. “Can you speak to me.”

As soon as I was on my feet, everything went black again. When I came to, I was on my knees, holding onto the handrail. I could feel my breath coming back.

“C’mon,” he said, leading me away from the handrail. “Let’s get out of here and get home before we get in trouble again.”

We made our way up Newhall Avenue to Augur Street. My head was in fog. I didn’t know what to think. I was surprised by Al’s concern for someone who wanted to kick his ass only a few minutes ago. That was something totally new to me. Usually, the guy I was fighting would finish me off, sometimes with the help of his friends if any were around. I know that’s what I would have done.

My lungs hurt. I must have had the wind knocked out of me. My face hurt, too. It seemed hard to breathe through my nose.

“Are you doing alright?” Al asked.

“Yeah,” I said. It hurt to speak, but I sure wasn’t going to admit it. Just that one word made the side of my head hurt along with my face and lungs.

We turned left at Augur Street. I didn’t know where we were going, but I just staggered along wherever Al was taking me. I got drunk for the first time that previous summer. I remember my friends having to escort me then, too, because I could hardly stand on my feet.

This was like that, except I didn’t have the fun part of getting drunk.

We entered Al’s house through the garage. There were boxes of all kinds of household items waiting to be unpacked. In a corner stood something I’d never seen before. It looked like a part of a telephone pole, about as tall as me. It had three wooden arms sticking out, two at the top and one from the middle. Near the bottom was a tree branch, that stuck out and curved toward the ground.

Several large swords and knives were also grouped together in a pile near the dummy, as well as a large glass jar, half-filled with some brown liquid.

A door connected the garage to the dining room. We went inside and Al said something in what I would later learn was Cantonese. A woman’s voice responded from the kitchen, also in Cantonese. When she came out, I saw a very attractive Asian woman. She had a body like someone who lifted weights, with the biggest shoulders and biceps I‘d ever seen on a woman at that time. Her hair was in a ponytail and she also had some of the thickest glasses I’d ever seen, too.

“My God! What happened to you?!” she said, this time in English, with a trace of a British accent. “Lop Pun, did someone beat him up?”

“We had a little fight,” Al said.

She glared at him, grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her, yelling in Cantonese. Al’s face grimaced in pain and he tried to pull away from this woman. Her fingers dug right into the muscle in his arm. I could even see a couple of tears running out of his eyes.

“Ow! Mom! He tried to sucker punch me on the way out of school!” Al shouted. He said something else in Cantonese, then added in English, “Mom! That hurts! I was just protecting myself!”

She said something else in Cantonese, then released Al’s arm. I could see the bright red imprint of her hand on his bicep as he walked into the kitchen. He came back out with a small, half-filled glass jar of that same brown liquid I saw in the garage.

“Are you alright?” she asked me. Her voice was much calmer, much gentler than when she spoke to her son. She touched my face, around my eyes and nose. I started to pull away, but she said to relax.

Meanwhile, Al was rubbing that brown liquid on his arm. He grimaced in pain as he did it, but the imprint of his mother’s hand disappeared as he rubbed.

“Get me some cotton balls and some tissues!” she barked at Al. He did as she asked, but cut me a nasty look out of the corner of his eye as he went to fulfill her request.

He came back with a box of tissues and a half-full bag of cotton balls. His mother then took a tissue and wiped my face. I could see some blood on the tissue. She then called Al to her, in Cantonese. As he stood next to her, she handed him the dirty tissue.

Taking a cotton ball from the bag, she dipped it into the brown liquid.

“Close your eyes and relax,” she said. “This might sting a little, but it will help with the swelling and keep your scrapes from getting infected.”

She was right. It did sting on the parts of my face that were scraped by Al’s sneaker tread. As she rubbed it on the bridge of my nose, I could detect an odor kind of like a cough drop. It opened up my sinuses and I could finally breathe much more easily.

It had a warming sensation to it, too. I could feel my face go slightly numb as the pain disappeared.

“What is that stuff?” I asked.

“Dit da jow,” Al said. “It’s my mom’s recipe. It’s good for all kinds of things. Bruises. Scrapes. Broken bones.

“See, it even took care of the bruise my mom gave me,” he said, holding up his arm. He was right. The red mark was completely gone from his bicep.

She asked Al another question, also in Cantonese. Al said, “Yeah.”

“Why did you push my son into the waste basket?” she asked.

“Well, someone else pushed him in first,” I said. “I don’t know who. I only pushed him in again as a joke.”

“Some joke,” she said, looking straight at me. “So you both got hurt and you both got suspended. Was it worth it?”

Al didn’t look too badly hurt. At least not by me.

Still, if a teacher or my own mother asked me that question, I probably would have had some wise guy answer. But I couldn’t do that with her. I only meekly answered, “no.”

“I don’t understand what it is with boys!” she grumbled. “Al knows he’s not supposed to get into fights. You’re what? 14? You’re ninth graders. You’re supposed to act like high school students.”

“Mom, he started it!” Al protested.

“I don’t care who started it!” she snapped back at him. “You’re almost men now! You’re supposed to act like it!

“You guys are lucky!” she said. “When I was a girl, if I got into a fight, my teacher would hit me with a switch. Then my parents would also hit me. Then my sifu would hit me, and he hit worse than the rest of them!”

“Seefoo?” I asked.

“It’s her uncle,” Al said. “It’s the guy that taught her kung fu.”

I stood up and thanked her for treating my face.

“I wish I had an uncle who could teach me kung fu,” I said. “Then I wouldn’t be needing all this stuff on my face.”

“That might be a good idea for you to learn,” she said. “It might teach you some manners and keep you out of trouble. Though it doesn’t always work for Albert.”

They escorted me to the door. Al’s mother offered to have him walk me home, but I turned her down. It was bad enough to be walking home looking like I just got beat up, but I didn’t want to be helped along by the guy that did it.


The pain was mostly gone by the time my mom got home. My nose was a little swollen, but the bruises were nearly gone. I had two red circles under my eyes instead of the bruises I thought I would have.

“You got into another fight, didn’t you?!” Mom shouted.

“No, Mom,” I said as I filled a plastic bag with ice. “I told you, I fell down a flight of stairs.”

I sat down, wrapped the ice bag in a paper towel and held it onto the bridge of my nose.

“Bull!” Mom said. “You only get hurt like that from a fight! We’re going to get you some x-rays. I only hope the other kid’s parents aren’t taking him to the hospital, too.”

“I wish,” I thought to myself. The only mark on Al was the one his mother put on him.


“Well, it looks like you’ve broken your nose a few times,” said Dr. Franklin, looking over the x-rays at his office. “But not this time. I can’t see any new damage.

Turning to me, he added, “You got lucky this time. I see you’ve got a few other scrapes on your arms and back, from ‘falling down the stairs.’ ” There was a note of sarcasm to the last few words. He didn’t buy that story, either.

“You know, if you keep going like this, sooner or later you’ll break something worse than your nose, or your hand, like you did last year. You might end up with a skull fracture or a broken back. You don’t know how hard it is for me to tell a young guy like you that he’ll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Never get to learn to drive or play sports or go swimming. Is it worth it?”

That was the second time I heard that phrase that day. I was in no mood to hear it again.

“Sometimes, you just gotta fight,” I said.

“Well, I hope you still think it’s worth it when you get hauled into Yale-New Haven Hospital on a stretcher and you can’t move your feet. Maybe then, you’ll see what you’re giving up.”

Where's the kerrotty in "The Karate Kid"?

In the interest of disclosure, I haven't seen the remake of "The Karate Kid." I'll probably catch it at the Fun-Lan Drive-In next week depending on the weather.

But it's interesting to see the articles and commentary out on the 'net about the martial arts depicted in that movie. Already, people are up in arms over the fact that it's not the Okinawan-Japanese martial art of Karate but Chinese Kung Fu. They could have just as easily called it "The Kung Fu Kid" but they were obviously trying to capitalize on the name recognition from the classic 1984 movie of the same name.

Mr. Miyagi explains the Chinese origins of Karate to his future student, Daniel LaRusso.

At one time, I would have been one of those complaining. I used to get tired of trying to explain to people that I wasn't doing Karate (pronounced ker-rot-ty) while practicing a set from Yang Taiji, Wing Chun, Lion's Roar, Hung Gar or some siniwalis from Filipino Escrima, Kali or Arnis.

To just keep it simple, I'd just agree with them and say, "Yep. It's kerrotty."

Truth is, the word, Karate, has come a long way from its origins. At one time, it was one of several names for the martial art practiced by the Okinawan people. Other names include kenpo, tode and te.




In its original spelling, Karate used the Chinese characters for "China" and "Hand". The word denoted an art from the Chinese mainland with its origins in the T'ang Dynasty, as practiced by the residents of Okinawa. At the time, Okinawa was a Chinese protectorate. (See above picture).

Eventually, the Satsuma samurai conquered Okinawa, eventually annexing it for Japan. Karate was driven underground until the early 20th Century. As the art caught on in the Japanese mainland, Okinawan master Funakoshi Gichin changed the spelling of Karate to use the characters for "Empty" and "Hand."

It was during this time that the Japanese occupied Korea. They did a great job in suppressing and destroying Korea's culture, including its indigenous fighting arts of Taekyon and Kwanbop.

In addition, many Koreans were forcibly taken by the Japanese and conscripted into their armed forces or used as slave labor in factories. While in Japan, many of them learned Japanese martial arts. Upon their return to Korea, many of these masters blended arts like Shotokan Karate, Kendo and Daito-Ryu Aikijitsu with what remained of the indigenous Korean arts, creating blends like Tae Kwon Do, Tang Soo Do and Hapkido.

Those arts came to be considered Korean Karate by both their respective founders, (like Gen. Choi Hong Hi or Hwang Kee) and by American servicemen stationed in South Korea.

Starting in the 1950's, when those servicemen came back to the U.S. following tours of duty, Asian martial arts became part of the American pop culture scene. It was everywhere from comic books to TV shows to movies. With only a few plateaus, the popularity of martial arts just grew and grew.

As a result, the word Karate (mispronounced as "kerrotty" by Americans, as opposed to kah-rah-tay in Japan) became catch-all word for any Asian martial art no matter its country of origin. More than that, many American and European martial artists created their own versions of Karate, inspired by the Asian versions of hand-to-hand combat.

So like it or not, Karate is now the generic word for "martial arts" in 21st Century American English.

We might as well get used to it.

"Taming the Tiger" - Chapter I, part I

Note to my loyal readers: From time to time, I will publish excerpts of my novel, "Taming the Tiger". Today, I post the first half of chapter one.

My grandfather used to tell me about how when he was a kid, when two guys got into a fight, they would settle it with their fists. No sticks. No knives. And certainly, no guns like so often happens these days.

And when the fight was over, the two boys would be friends. Some of his longest, closest friendships were with men that he fought with when they were boys.

When I was a kid in 1979, things weren’t as bad as they are now, with the guns. But they weren’t as good as my grandfather recalled his own childhood. When I was a kid, getting into a fight with someone was not the end of a situation. It was often the beginning of a lot of trouble. We didn’t use guns, but there were plenty of guys who thought nothing of using sticks, knives, or just getting some friends and ganging up on you.

Only one time, did I ever become friends with someone after I had a fight with him. That was from my fight with Albert Cheung in the 9th grade. Today, more than 30 years later, he still remains one of my good friends.

Al transferred to Hamden Jr. High in the middle of September 1979. He was a skinny kid, like me, and one of the few guys in the class who was shorter than me. In that inner-city school, the blacks and whites were more or less equal in numbers. Out of almost 500 students, there were only a couple of Asians. That alone would make Al stand out.

On one of Al’s first days at school, someone, pushed him into the wastepaper basket in the corner of homeroom, right next to the door. It was probably Derrick Adams who did it, but I’m not sure.

I helped him out and asked him if he was alright.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Al. “Thanks.”

“Good!” I said, shoving him back into the wastebasket. I was a cocky little shit in those days, so I let out a laugh as he fell in so deep he was actually stuck.

Al shifted his weight, falling sideways with the wastepaper basket still stuck around his butt. He wiggled free and sprang to his feet. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow, he got behind me.

I felt something hit the backs of my knees, making them buckle. I started to fall, but caught myself. The next thing I knew, Al gripped the back of my neck with those iron-hard fingers of his!

“Now you’re going in head first!” he said.

I struggled to get free, but it took all my strength to keep my face out of the trash can.

Our teacher, Mr. Scalzo, came in. He tried to pull him off my neck but couldn’t do it.

“Will someone get in here!” he yelled down the hall. “Charley’s fighting again! I need help!”

Another teacher and Mr. Edwards, our assistant principal, barely got through the door with everyone standing around and cheering, mostly for Al to get my head in the can.

I was busy trying to keep out of the trash can, break free so I could kick Al’s butt. It took the teachers and Edwards at least a minute to get through the door and pull us apart.

Eventually, Edwards got me in a full nelson, while the other teacher got Al in a headlock, and marched us down to Edwards’ office. Along the way, I could hear the other kids laughing that I got beat up, "by a chink.”

Once in the assistant principal's office, Edwards and the other teacher sat us down next to each other. Edwards took his seat behind his desk.

“I think you should get some of the other kids in here as witnesses and ask them what they saw,” Al said. “They’ll tell you he's the one who started it.”

I rolled my eyes. I could tell he’d never been taken to the main office for fighting.

“It doesn’t work that way,” I told him. “They don’t care who started…”

Edwards cut me off.

“Charley, I don’t want to hear another thing out of you!” he snapped. “The school year is only two weeks old and you’re back in here for fighting!

“And you, what’s your name?” he asked Al.

“Albert Cheung.”

I snickered. “Aaaallbert.”

“That’s enough out of you!” Edwards said, pointing at me.

“Well Mr. Cheung, I’ve never seen you in here before,” Edwards continued. “Am I going to
expect to see you in here often, like our friend Mr. Batchelor over here?”

“No,” Al replied.

“Good,” he said. “Since this is your first time, I’m letting you off easy with one day indoor suspension. Charley, you’re getting off lucky since you’re in here with him. You’re also getting indoor suspension even though you should be getting three days out-of-school suspension.

“You both report there tomorrow,” he said. “And this better be the last time I see either of you in here. Especially you, Mr. Batchelor. You came very close to expulsion last year. If this is what we can expect this year, I don’t see you making it through June.”


Personally, I thought indoor suspension was worse than out-of-school. For indoor suspension, we had to sit in a room with other guys who also got indoor. We had to be quiet and do the work that was sent down by our teachers. If we finished the work, we still had to sit and be quiet.

Of course, I still had some of the other punks in there pointing fingers and snickering. I could hear a couple of them talk about how I got my “ass kicked by a little chink.” before the teacher shut them up.

Anywhere or anytime else, I would have gotten up and thrown down with them. But Edwards’ warning about being expelled stuck with me. I could feel my face and ears turning red with rage over what they said. It also made me want to go after Al all the more. As far as I was concerned, he was the reason I was in here and he was the reason I was going to catch shit from the other kids over the fight in homeroom.

On our way out of school that day, I followed him out the front door, to the stairs leading to the bus stop.

“Hey chink! I’m fuckin’ talking to you!” I shouted. “We still have some unfinished business!”
Al started walking a little faster. I picked up speed, too.

“What’s a matter, you pussy?!” I said. “You only want to fight when Edwards is there to break it up?!”

Never slowing down, Al looked over his shoulder and said “Hey, I don’t want to have to hurt you! Just back off!”

I was never one to back off. No matter what the odds, no matter who I was fighting, I just couldn’t back off. Even if I knew I would get killed, I still kept fighting. It was a source of pride for me in those days. I didn’t win all the time. I probably got my butt kicked about half of the time. But at no time did I ever back down.

I caught up with him at the top of the stairs going down to the driveway. Grabbing him by the shoulder, I spun him around and punched him in the face.

Al turned his head, rolling with the punch. He then glared at me. He was angry and I was glad he was angry. I thought I could draw him into making a mistake. But the first mistake was mine.

“C’mon!” I said. “Take your best shot!”

Al’s left foot shot up from the ground. It was one of those times when something bad is going to happen, and everything seems to go in slow-motion, but you still can’t do anything about it. I could see the foot coming at me, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t move or block fast enough to protect myself.

The instep of his foot nailed me right on the right side of my head and neck. I felt my neck stiffen as I fell to my left. I barely kept my balance, but I stayed on my feet as I staggered sideways down the stairs.

Halfway down, I stopped my fall. Looking up, I could still see Al glaring at me from the top of the steps. I shook it off, charged up the stairs, yelling and swearing at him.

“C’mon!” I shouted. “Try some more of that karate shit on me!”

The next thing I remember, I could feel the treads of a size 8 Puma running shoe scraping my face. I could see the sky and clouds. I felt my back hit the ground and the air hiss out of my mouth.

Then, everything went black!

A Little Cramming on a Friday Afternoon

I promised all of you that I would keep up with my workouts even if I fell a little behind in my blogging. Like last week, I've been forced to try to cram as much into a short time as possible, and take my workouts whenever and wherever I could squeeze it in.

Even though I finished my novel, "Taming the Tiger" on Tuesday, I still had other obligations this week, including the search for work and/or paying freelance gigs. In addition, Vitaly's summer vacation began yesterday at noon.

With a paying job to complete, I also had to plan on keeping Vitaly busy this afternoon. Naturally, since he was off from school, he wanted to spend some time with his old man. I promised him that if he let me finish the story I worked on this morning, we could go to Al Lopez Park and ride bikes this afternoon.

As a man of my word, I loaded up the bikes into the van and we undertook a three-mile loop around the park. Vitaly has gotten much, much faster with his bike. I have 15 gears on my old mountain bike, but I still had a hard time keeping up with him.

For Vitaly, it's not a trip to Al Lopez without stopping at their playground. For me, looking at that mass-produced playground equipment is a sad sight after recalling the large, wood castle that once stood on that site, built by the Tampa Bay Woodworkers.*

To take my mind off my sorrow, I worked in a short session while Vitaly climbed on his impersonal, mass-produced jungle gyms. I did a mini-circuit consisting of forms, shadowboxing and 108 claw pushups.

It was harder doing the claw pushups than I expected. At home, I do them on the padded floor of the carport kwoon. I mix it up with sets varying from all five fingers, down to four, three, two and just the thumbs.

But the ground at Al Lopez was much harder than I'm used to. I managed to do all 108 pushups, but the sets consisted only of five and three-finger claw pushups. No two-finger or just thumbs.

In between sets of the pushups, I did runs of the Siu Lum Tao, Chum Kiu and Biu Jee from Wing Chun, the Sam Chien set (the Chinese originator of the Okinawan/Japanese Sanchin kata) and two runs each of the Gao Bo Toi and Sup Baht Mor Kiu from Yau Kung Mun. Also, I did some short combinations of jeet teks (intercepting kicks) with straight blasts, aka chain punches.

It may not sound like much, but in that 90-degree Florida sun, following a three-mile bike ride and doing it in less than 30 minutes, it's a killer.

ITEM: Just giving my faithful readers and friends a heads-up - I will be posting excerpts to "Taming the Tiger" here on this blog. Stay tuned.

*Though I didn't have a hand in building the castle, I was a member of the Tampa Bay Woodworkers in the late 1990's. Thanks to their help and instruction, I was able to make the arms for my wooden dummy.

Busy "Taming the Tiger." Be Back Next Week

Happy Trails to you, till we meet again next week.

It's been more than three years since I adopted my son, Vitaly, and brought him home from Ukraine, but I still feel very much like a new father. I still get excited watching him get excited over some new move he learned in gymnastics, doing art, making music or even just relaxing with TV or a DVD.

I've all but kissed R-rated movies good-bye. Strangely, I don't miss them as much as I thought I would. A lot of those kids' movies and TV shows are pretty good.

Being a father made me want to do something for kids. All kids. Not just my son. I played with all kinds of ideas for children's and young adult books. I reread some of my favorites from my youth, mostly adventure stories like "Treasure Island" or "The Call of the Wild." I also read and reread books by various children's and young adult authors, like Judy Blume.

I watched a lot of kid and youth-oriented movies from the 70's and 80's, like "Goonies", "The Karate Kid," "The Breakfast Club" and "Some Kind of Wonderful." (The first two I enjoyed sharing with my son. The others will have to wait.)

I thought back to my own childhood and teenage years and how things have changed from the 70's and 80's to the present day. I recalled how perhaps the two things that best carried me through my own turbulent teenage years were my interests in the literary, the visual and the martial arts.

To be honest, I hated what they assigned me to read in school and with few exceptions, I wasn't crazy about what they had me do in art class, either. Though I was pretty fit, I wasn't crazy about P.E. I'd preferred lifting weights, practicing martial arts and boxing, to basketball or soccer.

Then it hit me! Why not write a young adult novel about the martial and the visual arts? Those were two subjects with which I was most familiar. I also thought it would be a good idea to illustrate my novel myself. Part of the problem with writing about martial arts, especially for an audience of laypersons, is spending page after page describing action that might only last a few seconds.

By illustrating the novel as well as writing it, I save myself a lot of undo exposition and save the reader a lot of boredom.

Since last fall, I've been putting myself back in the mind and body of a 15-year-old boy during the 1979-1980 school year. I've been thinking how I wished I had a chance to learn some real kung fu, instead of training by myself in my basement because I was between instructors.

And that's when I came up with the idea for "Taming the Tiger." It's the story of a 15-year-old misfit and small-time hood who comes to develop self confidence and an appreciation for art and beauty through the study of kung fu. Charley Batchelor, the protagonist in "Taming the Tiger," goes from being a wannabe tough guy to someone who is truly tough and truly gentle.

I've really enjoyed writing this and I'm thrilled to say that I can see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I've written more than 14 chapters, roughly 140 pages of text, and have about two chapters left to complete.

I'm on a roll and I don't want to stop. I honestly think that, text-wise, I can complete this novel within a week. The artwork will take a little longer, but once the text is complete, I can start marketing it to various agents and publishers.

I'm going to be taking some time off from Facebook and from "Tales from the Carport Kwoon" for the next week. I'll still be working out, but I'm not going to have time to write about it here, especially with paying jobs and my search for regular employment in addition to completing my novel.

So take care of yourselves. Be sure to exercise. Try to eat right, though I'm learning how hard that is with this diet Roxanne and I are on. Take some time to socialize and say "hi" to some old friends once in a while. Tell them I said "hi" too, and I hope they're doing well.

Take some time to get alone, too, with your thoughts.

If you're of a mind to, take some time in prayer. Don't expect it to change your circumstances. It might do that or it might not. But if done right, with the right heart and mindset, it can change your attitude and your viewpoint.

Have fun. I'll get back to you all next week when I've completed the text of my novel and we can have a blast going over what we've been up to in that time.

Have a good one.

Sean

Intensity vs. Duration

Is it possible to get a good workout in less time?

That's a subject for debate among athletes of all kinds. If time keeps you from training the way you want, is it possible to squeeze a lot of benefits into a shorter, but more intense, workout?

Some, like Bruce Lee's sihing (older Kung Fu brother) William Cheung, believe that intensity is more important than quantity when it comes to training. This past week, I've been putting that to the test. My financial situation has been pretty rough. It's put pressure on me to either find a real job or at least come up with more paying freelance work.

That's cut a lot into my workout time.

On the other hand, I am trying to be mindful of something I read over at my friend Don's Yau Kung Mun blog - that you should try to do at least a little something each day.

I am determined to get in a workout session at least six days a week. Even if I only have 20 or 30 minutes, I will get something done in that time. I may not get to do a lot of forms or some heavy bag work, but I can get a lot of conditioning done in that short of time.

Dan Ivan (above) is an American karate pioneer who served as a military intelligence agent in post-war Japan. He had several opportunities to use his training in real life-or-death situations. One key piece of advice he had for students was to stretch.

"If you have time for nothing else, do your stretches."

Today's workout was a little longer than usual - a full hour! I put it to use with a good full-body stretch. It's not particularly glamorous or exciting, but given my knee and neck problems, it is probably the most important part of my workout. I really feel a difference for the better when I stretch faithfully. Conversely, I feel a helluva lot worse when I'm not stretching regularly.

Following that, I did a short circuit, alternating between runs of the Siu Lam Tao set, pushups and sets with the abwheel. After watching a video of some Gurkhas practicing with the khukuri knives, I was in the mood to play with something sharp. Since I couldn't find my own khukuri, I used my steel kris, doing redondos and figure-eights between sets of abwheels and pushups.

In addition to my circuit, I recalled a training method I used as a 15-year-old middle class white punk from the suburbs. In those days, I didn't have a heavy bag or a makiwara, not that I would have known the proper way to use the latter. Instead, I conditioned my hands using mass quantities of knuckle pushups.


The phoenix-eye fist. One of the nastiest techniques of the Chinese martial arts. But like anything else in Kung Fu, you must approach it gradually and condition yourself to be able to effectively use it.


Assume a pushup position on a soft exercise mat. With your hand in the phoenix-eye position, balance on your bottom knuckles.

GENTLY roll onto your extended forefinger and do your pushups. Two or three will be very good for a beginner. I personally do eight to 10 in a set.

At least twice a week, I made a point of doing 100 knuckle pushups. It didn't matter how many sets it took. By the end, I was doing sets of only four or five pushups. But, I completed them.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of claw pushups and phoenix-eye pushups. My goal is to do a set of 100 of them twice a week. I mixed it up with sets of up to 30 pushups using all five fingers, to sets of only three or four reps of the forefinger-and-thumb pushups. I averaged about six to eight pushups of the phoenix-eye pushups. But no matter what, I did the full 100 pushups.

It was barely an hour. By my recent standards, an unusually long workout. It's not much, but I feel like I'm getting a lot done.

Wooden Dummy Lesson of the Week

In response to my Facebook friend and fellow martial arts blogger, John "Dojo Rat" Titus, I've been including some combinations to practice on the wooden dummy. This week's lesson is a defense against being sucker-punched. This combination includes a lot of overkill and I don't recommend it except for extreme life-threatening situations.

In the above photo, I am being my usual mild-mannered self.

From the corner of my eye, I see some bad guy trying to sucker-punch me. I respond with a mon sao from the Biu Jee set in Wing Chun. It's one of those "Oh shit!" moves that you used to clear something out of the way.

Once I make contact with his arm, I grab (lop sao) and nail him with a side kick to the ribs.

While he's still hurting, I maintain my hold on his arm and punch him in the armpit. You can use either the Wing Chun verticle fist or (if you're in a bad mood) use the phoenix-eye fist.

While he's doubled over in pain, hold his arm with both of your arms. Place your right hand right at his elbow. His natural reaction will be to bend at the waist and straighten his lead leg. He might as well have a sign on him saying "Please dislocate my knee."

If you want to be a real dickhead, check his injured arm with your left pak sao (palm block) and elbow him in the back of his head while he's doubled over.