(un)tangled thoughts

So, it's that time of the year. January hits, and it feels like a giant load is finally off my shoulders. While I love all the things going on in December, it's a lot, and it definitely feels like an annual marathon or more like an obstacle course I choose to enroll in every year. January to February is THE time to slow down, reflect, prepare, and renew. I find myself finally having some space to think and process, but it's also the time I have to make all the big decisions about my priorities for the upcoming 12 months. My business requires me to apply for all major events in the first couple of months each year. This has been a bit of a challenge for a few years now, partially because I like jumping into all kinds of new and exciting adventures, especially when it seems like there is limitless time to prepare. The problem is planning ahead in a way that keeps my year sustainable in all areas of my life.  In January 2026, I'm facing another major planning consideration...

Last night’s I Ho Chuan meeting was a bit of a shocker. We have have had several changes and adjustments announced in the past, but this one felt very different and even though „nothing“ changes , it genuinely surprised me. I’m using this blog to figure out how it actually affects me and how I feel about it. So please take it with a grain of salt, it’s still fresh and a little raw. I understand where our master instructors are coming from. I don’t know all the background details, but even in my few years on the team I’ve seen what they’re talking about. The levels of engagement vary a lot, and I can’t pretend I’m above that. When I first joined three years ago, it felt like a mountain to climb. The requirements terrified me, and I’ve never met them all, not even close. But every year has been a little better than the one before. It’s been uphill battle the whole way, but it is progress and for me the direction matters more than the numbers. I’ve only ever known this team as...

Yesterday’s breakathon felt like a milestone for me. For the first time, I broke ten wooden boards. I was definitely worried, as I knew this meant no wiggle room in terms of difficulty level.  But I did it and it showed me in the most tangible way how much I have grown. Compared to previous years, the difference was significant, and it felt really good to finally see progress that sometimes seems invisible to me.  Before heading to class last night, I wanted to feel a bit more prepared. I decided to test one break at home even though we are usually told not to practice on wooden boards. I had been working on a four-technique combination, which I knew was way over my head but I was curious. Out of those four moves, the knife hand worried me the most and I wanted to see if I could break the board without the pressure of an audience. So I set it up with Leon, took one clean shot with my weaker left hand, and to my surprise, the board just broke. That moment had an enormous effect...

I’ve been practicing with an invisible opponent more often lately, and a few really cool things started happening.   First, when I picture someone actually in front of me, my heart rate seems to kick up a notch, almost like a mini adrenaline rush. And that in turn appears to create more snap in my strikes and I get the sense of some extra speed in my forms.   Second, I had a lightbulb moment with my distancing. In Da mu Hsing 4, I realized my ridge hand was way too close to my shoulder. Imagineing to impact an opponent’s neck forced me to reach further, and suddenly the strike made sense. Without my invisible partner, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.   And third, directions! Blocking or striking while actually picturing where the attack is coming from makes me look, line up, and commit in a way I just don’t do when I’m „just“ going through the motions.   It’s funny how even „nobody“ makes a great trainings partner and mentor!

Last week I wrote about trusting myself when something felt powerful, even if it wasn’t the way most people were doing it. That was a big step for me, giving myself permission to experiment. But of course, that just presented me with another challenge. What  happens after I get excited? Lately in my  training , I find myself wandering off the main trail more often. Moves taught to me step by step do not always click, so I try little variations, sometimes out of curiosity and sometimes from suggestions. And every  now and then something really clicks. It might be more snap, more hip engagement, or more power. Whatever it is, it can feel so good that going back to the version I initially learned seems almost unreasonable. And I find myself asking, but why? Let me give you an example from this week. In Lau Gar, when we come out of an elongated bow stance with tiger claws, we step into an open X blocking behind us. From there, we untwist into a left leading bow with a ri...

Last week in class we went over some footwork in Lau Gar, specifically moving from a horse stance into a bow. This sequence shows up in quite a few places, and the general consensus seems to be to kick the back leg out first. The issue is that as the heel comes down, it often creates a backward shift. Sihing pointed out that the intention should be the opposite, we are supposed to hold our ground and drive our power forward. I started playing around with this, questioning how I was doing it, and eventually I noticed something exciting. When I moved my front leg first, my hip seemed to snap around more easily and gave me extra whip and momentum. I brought this up in my one-on-one this week, and the initial feedback was still that the back leg should move first. But the longer we talked through what I was feeling, the less black and white it became. When I mentioned the intensity of my hip snap, the answer shifted to: do what generates the most power for you, because it’s not the same fo...