Cooling Down; Heating Up

We've been having a cold snap lately. I've had to trade in the cropped yoga pants and tank top of the summer for sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt.

I've noticed that if I wear gloves--even fingerless ones--during T'ai Chi, I don't feel the nice tingly Chi feeling in my hands. It must really interfere with the flow. So, bare hands are required.

Yesterday afternoon it was in the 30s Fahrenheit. During my warm-ups I tried to keep my hands inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt as much as possible. Even so, by the time I started the form, the tips of my fingers were freezing! Almost starting to hurt from the cold.

Nonetheless, I proceeded into the form. About 10-15 minutes into it, I noticed my entire hands, including the tips of my fingers, were nice and toasty.

I've heard about these T'ai Chi and yoga masters in Tibet or Nepal or wherever who can sit naked in the snow and melt all the snow in a 3-foot radius with their intense Chi. I don't know how they do it sitting still, but I'm starting to get a feel for generating heat. The next time it snows, I'll see if I can melt it with my Chi.

What's Next

Now that I have learned the whole T'ai Chi long form, I wondered, what should I do next? If I want to make my practice deeper and richer (and more reliable), what's the best way to do that? I was reluctant to take a wild guess, and possibly do even more damage, by taking steps that were either too challenging or too boring. What to do?

The author of my book The Complete Idiot's Guide to T'ai Chi and Qigong and my DVD Anthology of T'ai Chi and Qigong: The Prescription for the Future is Bill Douglas. The way he writes and speaks gives me the impression he's a very down-to-earth and approachable guy. I went back to his web site, http://www.smartaichi.com, and found an "Email Bill at" and his email address. An open invitation. So I emailed him.

To my surprise, he replied the same day. I say "to my surprise," because (a) you'd think he'd be a pretty busy guy, what with publishing books, DVDs, CDs, running classes and what not, and (b) he replied himself, not an assistant you might expect a busy guy to have. His reply was most gracious. He recommended re-reading the book, as you can glean new insights with each re-read. He recommended getting his audio CD of Qigong breathing exercises. And he said if I was ever in the Kansas City area, we could arrange a private lesson. How nice is that?

So, Step 1: I got his CD. And it is wonderful! Deep abdominal breathing, and visualizing cleansing any loads or tensions you have held onto and then filling yourself up with pure, radiant healing energy. Aaaaahhhh!

He recommends doing one of the 3 Qigong breathing exercises daily. The implication is that this would be on top of the daily T'ai Chi practice. But I'm going to be realistic with where I'm at right now. I'm looking to deepen my practice, but I'm also looking for a daily practice that's sustainable. So, on days when I'm "too tired," "just don't feel like it," or lately, if it's too cold outside, then I'll do a Qigong breathing exercise instead. I'm hoping that mixing it up like this, and allowing myself to choose my practice spontaneously each day, will help ward off boredom and apathy.

An interesting observation: my husband and I had planned to go see Toy Story and Toy Story 2 in 3D last night, and I asked that we postpone it, because it would eat up the whole evening, and I wouldn't be able to do T'ai Chi. That's moving in the right direction.

Grand Terminus

Well, I finally did it. Yesterday was the last lesson. I've learned the entire Kuang Ping Yang long form.

I wish I could say I am elated, have a tremendous sense of accomplishment, appreciate the fruits of my long hard labor. But unfortunately my victory is tarnished by my shoddy performance the previous two weeks.

I had house guests coming for a week. So for the week prior to that, my husband and I vigorously cleaned parts of our house too long neglected. We moved furniture to clean under and behind. God knows how many trips up and down stairs. Hours of kneeling, squatting, bending, pushing, pulling. By the end of each day I was bone tired. For 4 days in a row, I took Advil and parked my butt on the couch in front of the TV instead of doing T'ai Chi. I was "just too tired."

Then when they arrived, there were of course activities all day and into the evening. Some of the days included hours of walking around tourist destinations--zoo, botanical gardens, museums, etc. I did do T'ai Chi some days, but there were as many days of Advil and couch as there were T'ai Chi practice.

Then, here's the scary part: After they left, I wanted to spend time alone with my husband, so I didn't feel like taking time away from him to do T'ai Chi that day. "Didn't feel like it."

Here is my fear of the slippery slope: "Just too tired" and "Don't feel like it" are so arbitrary. How tired is too tired? When I don't feel like practicing, shouldn't I do it anyway? Isn't that what discipline is all about?

A month or two ago, I was concerned about what I would do after I reached the Grand Terminus, the last movement of the form. Now I'm concerned even more. Will I resume a daily practice, now that I know the entire form? Will it get richer and deeper? Or will it become an optional activity--a good idea, but if I'm too tired, or there is too much going on....?

We shall see.

Gratefulness Episode 3

The results from the scan have come back. There was no sign of thyroid cancer anywhere else in her body.

All these weeks and months, I have believed that the treatment would work. That the surgery to remove the thyroid, followed by the irradiated iodine treatment, would rid her body of cancer. That my loved one would be among the 90-something% of people who survive thyroid cancer. I believed that, expected it.

But this result is what we've been waiting for. This result is the answer. No signs of cancer.

And again, I am grateful.

Not Just Going Through the Motions

Last night, I was just getting into bed, when the shocking realization hit me. "Oh, my God!"

My husband sat bolt upright in bed. "What?!" he asked in alarm.

"I can't believe it! I forgot to do T'ai Chi!"

"Oh, my God!" he agreed, just as shocked as I was. "Can you do it now?" he asked.

I looked at the clock. 12:34. Ugh. "No," I sighed, dismally aware I was letting myself down. "It's too late."

"Just do 5 minutes," he suggested. (My anchor!)

"OK." I decided to do one pass through the part of the form I know so far, which takes 12 or 13 minutes. (So, more than 5! Yay for me!)

I didn't feel like going out into the back yard at that time of night. We have a large family room with enough space to do T'ai Chi, if you move furniture out of the way. I went downstairs, in the ready-for-bed state I was in, which included bare feet.

I skipped the warm-up entirely. So I observed that my knees were a bit creaky. My high kicks were not so high. Bare feet on carpet presents its own kind of challenge to the balance. I didn't feel like moving furniture, so my space wasn't quite wide enough, so this meant creatively modifying some movements to stay within the confined space. All of these hindrances actually drew my attention more into the moment.

I could have literally just gone through the motions, just to be able to say I hadn't skipped. Instead, it became an interesting new experience. Entertaining. Playing T'ai Chi.

Mr. Bunny Revisited

I'm back home from the convention, and resuming my back-yard practice. I haven't practiced with Mr. Bunny for a long time.

My husband looked out the window last night around 6:15 and told me the bunny was out there, so I right quick changed and headed out, hoping he'd still be there.

I always do some warm-ups before beginning the form, to loosen up spine, hips, knees, shoulders, and what-not. Mr. Bunny seemed to be watching me while nibbling some yummy grass. I did a deep lunge, right leg out front with a deeply bent knee, left leg lengthened way out to the back, to stretch my left hip flexor. Long, deep streatch. Aaaahh.

Just then Mr. Bunny did a deep cat stretch, front paws way out front, back paws way out back. It was as if he was thinking, "Wow! That's a good idea! I think I'll do that!"

He stayed with me for the entire practice. This made me happy.

I was wondering why I haven't seen him for a month or two, and I think I figured it out. During the longest days of summer, I practiced at twilight, which was 8:30 or 9. And Mr. Bunny was there. As the summer wore on, I've been sticking with the 8:30 or 9 practice time, but recently it's been full dark.

But I think Mr. Bunny's been hanging out in our backyard at twilight, whatever time that might be. He doesn't have a watch in his waistcoat pocket, like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland (at least, not as far as I can see).

Look to Infinity

Another convention this past weekend. Another hotel. Another attempt to find a place to practice T'ai Chi.

The last hotel had a separate yoga room that was empty, so I commandeered it for T'ai Chi. It was out of the way of the panting treadmill runners and grunting weight lifters. I didn't figure any yoga practitioner would begrudge me the space to do T'ai Chi. But there were no yoga practitioners elbowing in for space when I was in there anyway. It was perfect.

I hoped I could find a similarly perfect place in this hotel. I headed for the fitness center to check it out. No yoga room. Machines packed in like sardines. Narrow pathways between them. There was one pathway that was maybe big enough, but it led back to a machine that surely, as soon as I started, someone would want it. Sigh.

Then I noticed a sign. "Stairway to Pool." I'm open-minded. Through the door and up the stairs. A pool. A big, mostly empty pool, with a big patio around it. And here I found a space the perfect size between a row of chaise lounges on one side and a row of tables on the other. The only people in the pool had their stuff at the other end. This was it. This was going to be my T'ai Chi space for 4 days. So I did my practice. It really was pretty ideal. Except for the fact that it was like a sauna in there, and I had sweat running down every vertical surface (but hey, that's detoxifying, right?).

And also except for the fact that some days I kind of had an audience that was trying not to be an audience. I mean, picture this: you're at a pool, ok? Hanging out, swimming, splashing, or reading, or whatever. And this person camps out a few feet from you and starts doing T'ai Chi. Maybe you've never seen someone do T'ai Chi in real life before. You've seen it on TV. You recognize it when you see it, but here's someone right in front of you doing it. Do you watch? You don't want to stare at the person, make her feel uncomfortable.

And me, I travel 15 or 20 feet as I go through the form. When I start maybe I'm 20 feet away, but at one point I'm only 4 feet from this person reading on a chaise lounge. I don't want to invade her space. I don't want her to feel like I'm staring at her. I studiously avoid looking at her. She studiously avoids looking at me. We are both studiously, politely, refusing to even notice the other's existence.

So if I mustn't look at her, and she's right in front of me on a chaise lounge, where do I look? At first I looked at the floor a few feet in front of me and little to the side. This was an unfortunate choice. You try doing some balance-challenging high kicks right in front of a non-audience while looking at the floor, and see how that works out for ya. For the first time since starting on my T'ai Chi practice 3 1/2 months ago, I have a non-audience and I'm wobbling all over the place. If this is her first non-viewing of T'ai Chi in real life, why can't I be perfectly balanced and graceful, like on TV?

Then I remembered some advice from a T'ai Chi book I was thumbing through at a book store recently. "Look to infinity." Don't look at the ground. Don't look at the sky. Look to infinity. So I tried that--well, looking at the wall straight ahead anyway. And, quite miraculously, this improved my balance tremendously. The next practice I maintained the infinity gaze throughout, and it was quite possibly the most balanced practice I've ever had. Maybe not quite like on TV, but at least I need not be embarrassed.

I began thinking about how this could be a metaphor for life. If you look to infinity, keep your sights on the big picture, that can help you stay balanced, and not wobble over every little thing.

I need to go back to the bookstore, find that book again, and buy it.