THE popping sound was audible, even if only to me. The pain that was felt was unmistakeable. I tried not to be upset for the rest of my warm-up stretch but it seemed obvious enough for the classmate standing next to me to tell me to wash my face. I rushed to the bathroom and every splash of water invited more despair. I limped to my bedroom and crumpled like a leaf.
Shaolin kungfu school is certainly not for everyone, and that was part of its allure. However, there is no tangible way for anyone to prepare themselves for the test of physical and mental endurance in store at such an institution.
My hamstring had pulled since my first day of training at the school, and I had been soldiering through a partial recovery for two and a half months since then. I was coping quite well, so re-injuring it, and starting from scratch again, was the last thing I was expecting. I was excused from the upcoming class, and sobbed inconsolably for the next two hours. I felt irresponsible, frustrated, desolate and undeserving of this education.
One of my three Sifus, Master Can, visited my bedroom when class was over. “I know what you are thinking right now. You just want to go home, don’t you?” he enquired. I nodded bashfully, laughed and choked on saltwater. “I had the exact same thought many, many times during my own training,” the Master continued. “Don’t be afraid of your injury - it is actually not that bad! It is mostly a battle with your mind. Don’t stay in here. Get some fresh air, hang out with your classmates and think positive. Your leg will feel better in a few days, and you will be fine. I promise you.” The Master’s smile was wise and comforting.
Two of my close classmates, Jack and Jacob, entered right after Master Can left. They held me tight and lent their ears and made me laugh. The very next day, I took a 5-hour bus ride to another city to reset and recharge. And on Monday, barely four days after the lowest point of my time in China, I was back out in the training yard, pushing myself like I had never pushed before, and strained my heel in the other leg!
The way my classmates and I live in rural China defies the logical standards of the world we left behind. There is limited access to modern drugs, and recuperation time, let alone sports therapy, is a far-flung concept. Master Can has told us that his passion for Shaolin kungfu stems from the life philosophy of ‘shang wu jing shen’, or ‘upholding martial spirit’. Aches and pains are presented as mere tools to further strengthen the body and mind. If something starts to hurt, we are encouraged to divert our focus to the task at hand. I once asked Jacob if he should hold back on his running due to a shin problem. He nonchalantly said, “I guess the day I will stop running will be the day I can no longer walk.”
Such an attitude gets us acquainted very quickly with our strengths and weaknesses alike. It seems to be almost impossible to find out what we are individually good at, without first being frank to ourselves about our vulnerabilities. It is this superlative-driven environment that forces us to fully live out our dark moments – the moments where we are scared witless of the challenges at hand, when we surrender to our limits, when we let the rawest of emotions seize our dignity, like the day I broke down. It is in those moments that we really get to know ourselves, and regognise that there is no shame in that.
I am learning that kungfu school is not just about kicks, punches, jumps and rolls. I’m also learning to be honest about my humanness. It allows others to exercise their greatness towards me, allows me to be more constructive about negative thoughts, and for my fortitude to emerge from a much clearer place.
The human body is an uncanny machine, fragile yet capable of wondrous things. Half of those wondrous things are born out of the blind belief that they are indeed possible. It never stops being frightening, but amidst the abundant sweat, real blood and open tears, my classmates and I discover these new possibilities every single day. And it is one of the most illogically fun things in my life that I’ll ever have the honor of being a part of.
> The views expressed are entirely the writer's own.
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