Side kick! Grab! Punch! The old man leaned against the wall for support. Now his body shuddered as he struggled to conceal his amusement. Suddenly his efforts failed, and his silent chuckles grew into loud roars of laughter.

BRUCE LEE is a registered trademark of Bruce Lee Enterprises LLC. The Bruce Lee name, image and likeness are intellectual property of Bruce Lee Enterprises LLC. All rights reserved.

Leung stopped his class, his face red with anger. “Hey, old man!” he snapped. “What are you laughing at?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replied. “Please continue. I’ll try not to disturb you further.”

Leung took a deep breath and paced across the room. He was still furious. “Look, old man, a few months ago we found you living out of garbage cans in Macao,” he said. “We brought you here to the Union Hall. We gave you a place to sleep and food to eat. The least you could do is show a little respect when I’m teaching.”

The old man perked up an ear. Had he heard the man say “respect”?

“Then the least you could do is show a little respect for the art that you teach,” the old man growled back. “All you do is have your students punch air.” He quickly moved through Leung’s technique: side kick, grab, punch. “But the air doesn’t hit back. What happens when you face an enemy who will?”

The old man shook his head. “If you are going to practice kung fu,” he said, “you should do so seriously — or not at all!”

“Look, old man,” bellowed master Leung, “if you think you know something, why don’t you come up here and teach me?”

With this challenge from Leung on that day in 1952, Yip Man officially opened the doors on his 20-year career as a martial arts instructor and patriarch of wing chun. Standing only 5 feet tall and weighing 120 pounds, Yip Man proceeded to throw the 6-foot, 200-pound bak mei master around the room with almost no effort. No matter how Leung attacked, he always found himself carefully deposited on the floor. When all was said and done, Leung had surrendered his kung fu class at the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall to Yip Man and had become Yip Man’s first disciple.

The Master’s Past

Yip Man did not happily accept his new role in life. Before World War II, he had been a member of a wealthy merchant family in the southern Chinese town of Fatshan, in Kwangtung province. He had owned a large manor house, a prosperous business and a farm, and he had enjoyed a life of relative ease with his wife and family.

Between 1937 and 1941, Yip Man served in the army during China’s valiant effort to repel the Japanese invasion. He returned to his family in Fatshan during the years of the Japanese occupation. Times were hard. His farm was ruined, and his wife became ill.

The end of the war brought little improvement. China needed to rebuild its ravaged cities and towns but found itself embroiled in civil war instead. The Nationalist Chinese government recruited Yip Man to the post of captain of the police patrols for Namhoi County. Although the government appointment helped the living conditions of the Yip Man homestead, it did not come in time to prevent the death of Yip Man’s wife from extended illness.

After the Communist triumph in 1949, Yip Man left his two grown sons in Fatshan and fled to Hong Kong. If he had remained, his position as police captain would have meant almost certain death at the hands of the Communists. Thus, at the age of 51, Yip Man was forced to start an entirely new life from scratch.

“When the Communists took over, he lost all his major tangible assets,” explains William Cheung, one of Yip Man’s most senior disciples. “But he still had whatever he could carry: money, gold bars, etc. But Fatshan was a very small town compared with Hong Kong and Macao. There were a lot of shrewd operators in the city. So he immediately lost some of his money through people cheating him.

“Then the heartbreak of losing his home and his wife and being separated from his family caught up with him. He became disillusioned and perhaps began to pity himself. Soon, the Chinese nobleman found himself destitute.

“Then Leung Sheung and a chap called Cheng Kao found him wandering around at the pier of Macao. He seemed to be homeless. They didn’t know that he was a martial artist. They were just being kind. They would have helped anyone they could. So they took him back to the premises of the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall. They let him stay there. When Yip Man started teaching at the Restaurant Union, he first taught Leung Sheung, Lok Yiu and Cheng Kao. Then there were a few others, like Tsui Sung Ting. Of course, Leung Sheung, being a kung fu master already before he studied wing chun, progressed much faster than the rest.

“A few months later the rest of us turned up.”

Yip Man quickly proved to be a most unusual instructor. For example, Cheung recalls that during the seven years he spent with his teacher, he never once saw Yip Man actually teach a wing chun class. Yip Man was usually present in the back of the room, supervising the assistant instructors and correcting his favorite students, but the actual tasks of instruction were left to Leung Sheung, Lok Yiu, Tsui Sung Ting, Wong Shun Leung and William Cheung.

“He never taught classes himself,” Cheung says. “Well, only in some situations … with the big clients, the ones who could pay very heavily for a private session. At those times, he would often take me along. Then, suppose he was going to teach a wooden-dummy technique, he would show the technique once. After that, I would help the person.” Yip Man’s regular classes generally consisted of forms practice, chi sao (trapping hands) drills, wooden-dummy techniques and free sparring. There was no set pattern to the sessions. Each assistant instructor was allowed to exercise some personal discretion.

At rare times, the grandmaster might touch hands with one of his favorite students in chi sao practice. But those occasions would last only for a few seconds at a time. Yip Man feared that by doing chi sao with a junior, his own technique would deteriorate. He would have to slow down to create openings for him.

Yip Man had a soft-spoken style that taught more by example and suggestion than by the spoken word. He urged his students not to bully people or to act in a rude or arrogant manner. And he tried to keep them from fighting in the street gangs of Hong Kong, though he did encourage organized competition.

Bruce Lee’s Memories

In Bruce Lee: The Man Only I Knew (Warner Books, 1975), Linda Lee quotes from an essay written by her husband for freshman English in 1961. The essay clearly illustrates the subtle tactics Yip Man would use to influence his students:

“After four years of hard training in the art of gung fu (kung fu), I began to understand and felt the principle of gentleness — the art of neutralizing the effect of the opponent’s effort and minimizing expenditure of one’s energy. All this must be done in calmness and without striving. It sounded simple, but in actual application it was difficult. The moment I engaged in combat with an opponent, my mind was completely perturbed and unstable. Especially after a series of exchanging blows and kicks, all my theory of gentleness was gone. My only thought left was somehow or another I must beat him and win.

“My instructor, Professor Yip Man, head of the wing chun school, would come up to me and say: ‘Relax and calm your mind. Forget about yourself and follow your opponent’s movement. Let your mind, the basic reality, do the countermovement without any interfering deliberation. Above all, learn the art of detachment.’

“That was it! I must relax. However, right here I had already done something contradictory, against my will. When I said I must relax, the demand for effort in ‘must’ was already inconsistent with the effortlessness in ‘relax.’ When my acute self-consciousness grew to what the psychologists call the ‘double-blind’ type, my instructor would again approach me and say: ‘Preserve yourself by following the natural bends of things and don’t interfere. Remember never to assert yourself against nature; never be in frontal opposition to any problem, but control it by swinging with it. Don’t practice this week. Go home and think about it.’

“The following week I stayed home. After spending many hours in meditation and practice, I gave up and went sailing alone in a junk. On the sea I thought of all my past training and got mad at myself and punched at the water. Right then at that moment, a thought suddenly struck me: Wasn’t this water, the very basic stuff, the essence of gung fu? Didn’t the common water illustrate to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it just now, but it did not suffer hurt. Again I stabbed it with all my might, yet it was not wounded. I then tried to grasp a handful of it but it was impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, could fit itself into any container. Although it seemed weak, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.”

Although Lee added a bit of his own genius to the events he related in this essay, it does indicate the intellectual as well as technical heights to which Yip Man inspired his students. But at the same time, the wing chun grandmaster also had a playful streak. He loved Lee’s practical jokes — which was probably tough to do when he would show up for class with itching powder, handshake vibrators and water-squirting cameras.

“Yip Man had a very good sense of humor,” Cheung says. “He liked to give his students nicknames, and he would take a long time to dream them up. Like Wong Shun Leung was called ‘Wong Ching Leung,’ which means that he’s like a bull. I was called ‘Big Husky Boy.’ And Bruce was nicknamed ‘Upstart.’”

Two years after Yip Man began teaching at the Restaurant Workers’ Union Hall, he was asked to leave. His classes had grown so large and included so many nonunion members that the hall had actually become a kung fu school. So Yip Man and his followers opened the first commercial wing chun school on Lei Dat Street in the Yaumatei District of Kowloon.

Although Yip Man was now a self-supporting member of society with a successful business, his life was still not a happy one.

“He remarried in 1954,” Cheung says. “He was about 56, and she was about 40. He met her in a restaurant, I think. Anyway, some people thought she didn’t have a very clean past. All his students sort of looked down at her, and this made Yip Man very upset.

“People do not realize that life changes. It moves in cycles. Sometimes it progresses, sometimes it transcends. So there are times that you have to forget about the past. The students were very narrow-minded. They just didn’t show any respect for their master. They even used to address him as ‘old man’ sometimes in a very disrespectful way.

“This was one of the reasons Yip Man never taught a class personally. And I don’t think he was doing the wrong thing by not teaching. Only after the fame of Bruce Lee did they realize that the master was so great and that the style was so great because they saw that it could produce practitioners like Bruce.”

According to Cheung, Yip Man’s difficulties with his students were further aggravated by his continued drug use. Sometimes the school rent would go unpaid. By 1956 Yip Man had been evicted from his first school in Yaumatei.

The wing chun clan then moved to an apartment in a government-supported housing project, where Yip Man lived and taught. His students formed a committee that collected the school tuition, paid the rent and left Yip Man with a living allowance.

Cheung recalls that during this period, his master would sometimes have to fight for survival — literally. “At the time we moved to the government house, there was a restriction on water,” he says.

“They only turned on the water once every four days for four hours, so you had to collect buckets of water to store until the next four days were over.

“Usually I did all the chores and organization around the apartment, but that morning, I was at the market and my master wanted to get some water. Now all the tenants had to get their water from the same government tap.

“The local gangsters got a hold of this tap and charged everybody 50 cents a bucket.

“Well, because it was so early in the morning, Yip Man didn’t have the humor to argue with these characters, so he challenged them.

“I had just gotten back to the apartment when I heard the commotion. I could see what was happening and I started running toward it. Yip Man was fighting at least six or seven. The thugs all had poles for carrying buckets. They probably used them to threaten people. Yip Man took away one of their poles, then he flattened them all within seconds. When I got there, they were all dragging their poles, holding their heads and running away.

“From then on, every morning — not just every four days, but every morning — two buckets of water were delivered to the apartment.”

As the years passed, Yip Man’s reputation as an instructor grew, and he was eventually able to afford better accommodations. In fact, by 1964 he was able to bring his two sons and their families out of mainland China. Three years later, due in part to the prosperity brought to him through Bruce Lee’s The Green Hornet fame, Yip Man made his final move to a large, well-equipped gymnasium.

Today, Yip Man’s martial arts legacy has been encased in mystery. Many wing chun instructors claim to be his direct disciple or the personal inheritor of some secret set of wing chun techniques. However, as Cheung confirms, “Probably fewer than six people in the whole wing chun clan were personally taught, or even partly taught, by Yip Man. Yip Man had to teach the first two so that the first two could teach the next six.”

“But Yip Man was so intelligent in the martial arts that he could not stand a slow student,” Cheung says. “He was very impatient with slow students. So he could not stand to teach more than a few. Also, he belonged to the old tradition, influenced by the Boxer Rebellion, which believed that the martial arts should not be passed on to Westerners. He even believed that wing chun should be just a household art.

“Yip Man was a well-educated man who never wanted to teach kung fu. His best loves were watching soccer and attending the Chinese opera. His strongest hatred was for ignorance. That’s why he did not like many martial artists. He was a man of perfection. He believed that there’s no halfway to doing anything.

“That’s why a lot of people did not understand him.”

In May 1970, Yip Man permanently closed the doors on his career as a martial arts instructor. He died from throat cancer on December 2, 1972. He was 79.

Despite his reputation as one of the UFC’s loudest stars, he doesn’t have a bad word to say about any martial art or training. We hope you’ll enjoy his interview with Lito Angeles, a Southern California-based police officer, mixed martial artist and author of Fight Night: The Thinking Fan’s Guide to Mixed Martial Arts.

—Jon Sattler

Lito Angeles: I read that you started wrestling at a very young age.

Chael Sonnen: I come from a family of wrestlers—my father, my uncles, my cousins were all very good. I begged my dad to get me into wrestling, but he wanted me to do karate or boxing. Finally, he let me wrestle when I was 9.

Angeles: Did you wind up doing any karate or boxing?

Sonnen: I got into boxing later, but not then.

Angeles: And you stayed with wrestling all the way to the collegiate level, right?

Sonnen: Yes. I wrestled through high school and got a scholarship to the University of Oregon. In 2001 I graduated from college and was working out at a gym in the back of a car lot. There was one mat and nothing else, but Randy Couture and Dan Henderson worked out there every day. It was an hour and a half from where I was living, and I made the drive every single day to wrestle with them. We were all trying to make the Olympic team. They let me in, and it was the three of us. After college, I went back to training with them, and they were wearing MMA gloves. I just put on a pair of gloves and continued practicing.

Angeles: Does that mean you recommend wrestling as the best foundation for MMA?

Sonnen: Well, it has to be some kind of grappling. There’s a statistic: 100 percent of fights start standing up, and 80 percent of them end up on the ground. Jiu-jitsu and wrestling have done really well in MMA, but I don’t know that any form of grappling has been proven to be better.

The grass always seems greener—I wish I knew more of other disciplines than wrestling, while other fighters probably wish they knew more wrestling. I wish more judo practitioners participated in MMA.

Angeles: Why?

Sonnen: Jiu-jitsu and catch wrestling are well-represented. All three styles of wrestling, from collegiate to Greco-Roman to freestyle, are, too. I know judo is a good, competitive sport. I wish there was more judo in MMA so I could see how it stacks up.

Angeles: After a student develops a grappling base, do you recommend muay Thai or boxing—or something else?

Sonnen: I’d say boxing. Muay Thai is good, bit it’s very hard to practice. There aren’t a lot of muay Thai guys around—it’s not in high schools or colleges or the Olympics—so it’s hard to find guys to practice with. Elbows are effective, but you can’t do them in practice without hurting someone. Same with knees. With boxing, however, you can put on the gear and find a partner, and it seems to do well in MMA.

Angeles: But then you give up kicks. …

Sonnen: Kicks aren’t as effective in fighting. If you land one, great. You can do good things with it. But kickboxing had to put in a rule that you had to kick a guy three times per round or you’d lose a point. The reason was, guys quit kicking. They just boxed because boxing is more effective. With that said, I spend the majority of my time doing kickboxing and muay Thai. But if I was mentoring a young fighter, I’d tell him to spend more time on boxing. That doesn’t mean I would ignore kickboxing—you still need to learn the defenses—but in stand-up, it’s hard to beat good, solid boxing.

Angeles: How is muay Thai boxing different from Western boxing?

Sonnen: The big difference is head movement. In muay Thai, there’s not a ton of head movement. You use your foot to get the guy off-line, then you step out and sweep his leg to off-balance him. In boxing, you just shift out of the way and use that momentum to come right in and attack. Head movement is so important, especially when you’ve got those little 4-ounce gloves on. If you just land one shot, you can break the guy’s nose, open a cut or knock him out.

Angeles: Does knowing wrestling and boxing cover all the bases with respect to technique, or should a person add other arts like karate or sambo?

Sonnen: I would never close the door. Sometimes it’s cool to poke fun at a martial art and say, “That would never work,” but that isn’t true. I don’t know arts like kung fu and aikido; maybe you’d be very effective if you took one thing from them and added it to your base. Same with karate—maybe you can grab one or two things, and if it works. … Don’t turn your nose up at anything.

Angeles: Lyoto Machida is a great example of that.

Sonnen: Yes. If I’d told you two years ago that a karate guy was going to be world champion, you’d have told me I was crazy. He took what he believed in and made it work.

Angeles: Let’s talk training methods. A lot of fighters claim they train six or eight hours a day, but you’ve said you don’t believe it.

Sonnen: Nobody trains for six, seven hours a day. A lot of people don’t know what training is. There’s a big difference between working out and training. A workout is playing a game of basketball or doing something that makes you break a sweat. Training is a whole other level of intensity that few MMA guys understand. I work out for 45 minutes to an hour in the morning, and afternoon practice is from an hour and 15 minutes to an hour and a half. That’s [the norm in] every gym, not just ours.

Angeles: What’s the breakdown of your workouts?

Sonnen: The morning workout is for strength and conditioning, but it doesn’t have to be. You can grab a partner and work on techniques and drills and stuff like that. I do everything from running to pushing sleds to running with parachutes to pulling things with ropes. We work really hard, then go home and rest up. In the afternoon, I go to Team Quest. That’s hands-on with a partner. We have a coach and a team. We do warm-ups and drills and work on techniques, then go live rounds and finish with some conditioning.

Angeles: What do you do for strength?

Sonnen: I do a lot of body-weight exercises, usually with a weighted vest on. I do squats while holding a 22-pound medicine ball, plus overheads, slamming and push-passes. I don’t know that it’s more effective than lifting weights. Lifting is my favorite workout; I just don’t do it now.

Angeles: Do you recommend any specific exercises for aspiring MMA fighters?

Sonnen: I encourage people to do the basics. There are a lot of fancy programs that are popular, but most of them are ways to get around hard work. Put on a pair of running shoes, open your front door and come back an hour later—nothing beats that. Same with a stair stepper. It’s annoying, it’s grueling, it’s effective. There’s a lot of business flipping tires or swinging a sledgehammer, but there’s no science behind a lot of it. You pick up a weight until you get tired, then put it down and go home. There’s something to be said for doing different things out of boredom, though—to break things up and keep workouts from becoming stale.

Angeles: For endurance, are you a proponent of running sprints or going long distance?

Sonnen: If you run one or two hours at a slow pace—120 beats per minute—they say you can build a better base than if you just do sprints. I tend to do sprints because they’re harder, and I feel like I get more out of them. I try to do three runs a week: a slow one with a partner, where you’re talking the whole time, for an hour or an hour and 20 minutes; a day of sprints; and a day of hills or stairs. But that’s only because somebody told me that would work.

Angeles: Do you follow any particular diet, or do you eat whatever you want in moderate amounts?

Sonnen: I don’t do anything in moderation. (laughs) If you have a fight coming up and you have to make weight, you have to make sure that your calorie output surpasses your input. There’s nothing more to losing weight than that. It’s calories in vs. calories out. The same stuff they taught your grandparents is what works today.

With that said, you should try to get the most bang for your buck, which usually takes you to fruits and vegetables so you can eat more. But you can eat Big Macs if you want to, as long as you make sure they contain fewer calories than you’re putting out.

Angeles: Is there anything martial artists should avoid?

Sonnen: I’ve never tasted alcohol in my life, but that’s not sports related. I don’t avoid anything.

Angeles: When you’re practicing technique, do you separate stand-up, clinch and ground work?

Sonnen: I combine them, but that’s just the gym I work out at. When I show up for practice, the only question is, big gloves or little gloves? If it’s little gloves, there’s going to be more emphasis on grappling, and the strikes will have less of an impact. With bigger gloves, you can strike harder.

Angeles: Do you do technique sequences, or is it more improvised?

Sonnen: The coach calls it out: “One, two,” which is jab, cross; “one, two, 10,” which is jab, cross, power leg; and so on. Even when we’re on our own doing “flowing” drills, it’s always a sequence: Lead with something, follow up with something and find an exit.

Angeles: Is there a theme to each workout—for example, getting out of a triangle choke?

Sonnen: There should be. If your coach doesn’t have one, you come up with one yourself. I used to live at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, and every day there was an emphasis written on the board. It’s a good mental drill to do it yourself sometimes.

Angeles: Do you have any favorite stand-up techniques that you’d recommend to readers?

Sonnen: When I was an amateur wrestler, I had favorite moves—there were only two or three things I scored with. In MMA, I can’t answer. There’s no position in which I go, “OK, good, this is where I wanted to be.” It’s a constant battle. I don’t have any specific things I’m looking for. I assumed that they would come over time, like they did in wrestling, but they haven’t. I don’t have anything I know will work anytime against any opponent. I’m searching for it.

Angeles: When it comes to techniques, do you think that less is more? Or do you think that more is better?

Sonnen: I like to know a lot of moves because it’s fun to know a lot of stuff. You’ll only score with two or three moves, and those two or three moves will have two or three setups. In competition, you throw everything out and zero in on scoring techniques. But you’re always looking for things to add because if you can increase those two or three moves to four moves, it will be great.

Want More?

Tap into Lito Angeles’ knowledge of MMA and the martial arts with Fight Night! The Thinking Fan’s Guide to Mixed Martial Arts. Structured like an encyclopedia, Fight Night! dissects the anatomy of more than 90 MMA techniques. Starting with the Americana choke and ending with the wrestling clinch, each entry contains a concise description of key characteristics that clearly identify each MMA technique; detailed photo sequences of common applications for easy visual reference and understanding; and entertaining and educational insights, such as common counters and notable executions by famous MMA fighters like Georges St. Pierre, Cung Le and B.J. Penn.

The fate of the technique was sealed in 2002 when Austin Powers executed his patented “judo chop” in Goldmember. Since then, it’s been called outdated, labeled ineffective or simply ignored. While most martial artists and self-defense enthusiasts have abandoned the move for Western-style closed-fist strikes, there’s still a group of steadfast practitioners who know the full story and understand how to correctly apply the technique that was described as “the most deadly blow without the aid of a weapon” by American close-combat pioneer Col. Rex Applegate.

To read about The Self Defense Company that author Damian Ross founded, grab a copy of the August 2011 issue of Black Belt magazine.

The Knife-Hand Strike: Tough

Despite the delicate bone structure of the appendage, the edge and heel of the hand are the only two places that can naturally take a lot of punishment while suffering a minimal amount of damage. That’s in stark contrast to the punch, which may appear formidable in the ring but, when delivered without the protection of hand wraps and gloves, frequently leads to shattered knuckles or dislocated fingers if a skull or elbow is hit.

To be effective with a punch, you must condition your hands—which can take months or even years. To be effective with the karate chop, however, you need only invest in a few weeks of training, after which you’ll be able to hit any target on your opponent’s body and inflict maximum damage with little or no injury to yourself.

The Knife-Hand Strike: Versatile

The blow can be used from any angle or position. On your feet, it enables you to protect the vital areas of your head and neck while you advance, keep your target off-balance and deliver a barrage of strikes.

From a rear-body grab or bear-hug position, the technique can be delivered as an elbow at extreme close range. As you create space using it in conjunction with head butts and stomps, you can inflict more damage with the edge of the hand.

On the ground, it’s also useful. From a dominant position—for example, the mount or guard—the edge of the hand is incredibly effective. If you try to punch a constantly moving target, you stand a good chance of shattering your knuckles on the ground if you miss. You also run the risk of breaking bones in your hand if you hit an elbow or head. Because the karate chop is delivered along an arcing path, it minimizes the chance of making contact with the ground. That empowers you to deliver a series of hard, fast strikes without the risk of sustaining an injury that might render you incapable of continuing.

The Knife-Hand Strike: Effective

Experts agree that when it comes to survival, you need to cause as much damage to your target as rapidly as possible while maintaining the integrity of your bone structure. The karate chop is the keystone of this concept. It enables you to strike anywhere with a sharp, powerful blow, the results of which can range from a stunning strike to a fight-ender. With a little training, an average person can develop good technique; that same amount of training will enable a martial artist to create an awesome strike that works in a variety of situations.
With the rise of reality-based fighting, the karate chop is making a comeback as more and more people are recognizing their need for no-nonsense self-defense techniques. It proved itself on the streets of Shanghai in 1910, and it’s every bit as effective in the deserts of Iraq—or the small towns of America—in 2011.

(Damian Ross is the CEO and chief instructor for the Self Defense Company. To learn more, call (866) 585-8878.)

Black Belt: You started in boxing and catch wrestling before moving to isshin-ryu karate, but from the beginning your focus has been on fighting. When did you find out your path was different from that of other traditional practitioners?
Kelly Worden: Almost immediately. I was undisciplined. There were six children in our family. My father was a disabled veteran from World War II, and much of his time was spent in a veteran’s hospital. I found myself running the streets early on and getting into a lot of fights. I enjoyed fighting, but that attitude created other problems and issues, and I left home when I was 15. Traditional isshin-ryu karate tempered my spirit and offered structured learning and self-discipline. At best, I was an aggressive, mediocre karate practitioner, but I persevered by training in different arts. Fighting was always the core of [my] approach.

As Bruce Lee would say, Use what works. Download our FREE weapons guide today—Ninja Gear: Master Modern Self-Defense Weapons With Ninjutsu Training

Black Belt: What changed you from a fighter to a teacher?
Kelly Worden: I was frustrated with trying to fit into the mold of what a martial artist was supposed to be. In 1980, after receiving my instructor status in yao mun kung fu, I opened my own gym. It was geared primarily for weapons training and PKA/WKA full-contact fighting. Very little stimulated my creativity as far as structured style, and I preferred to focus on fighting. The jeet kune do approach was beginning to grow, and articles published at the time professed the most rational street-effective path for personal development. I had been exposed to a myriad of arts: isshin-ryu, yao mun kung fu, pa kua, tai chi, taekwondo, goju-ryu, kajukenbo, escrima, shito-ryu, boxing, kickboxing and catch wrestling. Blending different fighting arts seemed to be the natural path.

Black Belt: Did you ruffle any feathers along the way?
Kelly Worden: Coming from a fighting background, I found it hard to respect authority. The traditional instructor/student relationship seemed a little weird. I only wanted to absorb what was useful. We were fighters, but our fights were in the streets, not at tournaments. For 20 years, I maintained an open-gym fight policy. Our no-cup-no-mouthpiece-no-control policy was a little off-base, but it seemed right at the time.

Black Belt: When did arnis enter the picture?
Kelly Worden: In 1980 I met J. Cui Brocka, a U.S. Army Ranger stationed at Ft. Lewis, Washington, who was directly under Ernesto Presas. I respected Cui Brocka and became intrigued with his combat-arnis system. To train in it, he required me to join his shotokan karate program. I wanted to learn combat arnis, so I reluctantly complied. It was then that I began my transformation into a decent martial arts instructor. I reverted to a structured format for entry-level students but maintained the emphasis on fighting.

Black Belt: When did you get involved with Remy Presas?
Kelly Worden: In 1981 Remy Presas presented a seminar in Tacoma, Washington. I learned some great variations to integrate into combat arnis. Later, I was reprimanded by Cui Brocka for deviating from the structured format of his system. He claimed I needed to be respectful of his art and not divert from the curriculum he had established. In 1983 I broke away from him and became a direct student of Remy Presas. His teaching methodology [enabled me] to grow individually as a fighter and a teacher, literally to absorb what was useful. He opened my eyes and heart so I could truly understand modern arnis as the “art within your art.”

Black Belt: Remy Presas was obviously confident in your skills. When did he appoint you a datu?
Kelly Worden: In 1988. I was the first non-Filipino to be promoted to the rank of datu in modern arnis, second in secession of his perceived “10 Datu Leaders of Modern Arnis.” He taught specific people individually. If you possessed a fighting spirit, he took pride in refining your skills to enhance your natural attributes. This approach allowed him to fine-tune your close-quarters sparring and keep your personal-defense skills deadly effective.

Through his example I was able to distinguish the value of cultivating leaders, not followers. In the final days of his life, Professor Presas, Roland Dantes and I formed a pact of brotherhood. Professor Presas asked Roland and I to swear our commitment and dedication to continue the propagation of modern arnis. He said we were no longer his students, but his brothers.

Black Belt: Who else was instrumental in the development of your art?
Kelly Worden: I have been guided and inspired by many dynamic leaders of the martial arts. First let me [state something] I have learned: If you choose to be a leader, do not become anyone’s boy. A little harsh, but a bottom-line truth. Seek associates who can guide or counsel you, not control your direction or destiny. In that regard, one principle will always stand true: Don’t violate trust and always give credit where credit is due.

Without question, Bruce Lee impacted the martial arts world, and his death created a void with much confusion about the ideals and intent of JKD. My choice was to approach Jesse Glover, Bruce’s first student and friend. Jesse established early on that he himself was not a follower. His path was and still is one of independence. That was true even while Bruce was living. Jesse sought his own truth yet maintained the connection to Bruce’s original teachings.

Jesse took the role of a friend and mentor who shared his insight while allowing me to evolve naturally. His teaching concepts of non-classical gung fu are extremely functional; without hesitation, I incorporated them into my Natural Spirit curriculum. It was not only the physical techniques that were of value; his personal guidance, compassion and ability to lead me to self-awareness were gifts few others shared.

Black Belt: How did you formulate “renegade JKD”?
Kelly Worden: In the early 1980s, I realized JKD was becoming a buyer’s market. I jokingly called my version “poor-boy JKD” because of the political and financial posturing for status within the art. I sought out only the simplicity of what JKD professed—what I and others found was a restricted and dictated path. Personal knowledge did not seem to be enough. It was more important to be certified by instructor A or B. Having read so much about Bruce Lee’s desire to shed the classical mess, I found it difficult to buy into a superficial path of collecting certificates in an effort to seek freedom of expression. Thus, I established renegade JKD as a path of adaptability to connect the systems and [avoid] accumulation and style glorification.

This is nothing new. JKD has flourished worldwide in backyard or underground groups that far outnumber those who seek to control the freedom [it espouses]. We all need guidance, but unless we are drones, shouldn’t the guidance allow for personal transformation into self-realization? If all the words written by Bruce Lee and those who profess leadership status in JKD are true, self-realization is more important than stylized structure. Personal development cannot be restricted to someone else’s structural guidelines. Freedom of expression must be cultivated as each practitioner’s tactical efficiency is refined. Otherwise, the true value of JKD is lost, and it becomes nothing more than the classical mess.

Many people have walked away because of the politics and confusion about what is truth in JKD. Bruce Lee has been cheated out of his legacy. People now refer to self-expression as cross-training. JKD has become an exclusive club of certified practitioners bound by structured guidelines of what is and what isn’t JKD.

Black Belt: Who else in jeet kune do circles have you worked with?
Kelly Worden: JKD exponent Leonard Trigg and I have been friends for over 24 years. His knowledge base is immeasurable. In 1993 he introduced me to the late JKD legend Ted Lucay. Disturbed about JKD politics, Ted had become somewhat reclusive, yet we immediately hit it off. From 1994, both Ted and Leonard became featured instructors at my annual Water and Steel training camps. Ted’s connection with [us] and the camp brought him back into a motivational phase of progression in his own art. He possessed a great depth of classical training and the ability to seamlessly extract concepts while cross-referencing different systems. His blade-to-boxing theory, as well as his stick-boxing curriculum, embraced the true simplicity of JKD. His approach opened [everyone’s] eyes to [the value of] refining attributes and seeking personal progression by comprehending the parallels in movement, not the dissimilarities.

(George Hoover is a freelance writer and martial artist.)

This new edition of the landmark book gives martial arts enthusiasts and collectors exactly what they want: more Bruce Lee.

In addition to the master’s insightful explanations on gung fu, this book features digitally enhanced photography, previously unpublished Bruce Lee pictures with the Little Dragon’s original handwritten notes, a brand-new front and back cover, and introductions by widow Linda Lee Cadwell and daughter Shannon Lee.

This new modern edition of the 1963 classic preserves the authority and charm of Lee’s original language. This official reproduction––as sanctioned by Shannon Lee and Bruce Lee Enterprises––features Chinese characters written by the author and painstakingly scanned for this project as well as vintage photographs from Bruce Lee’s personal collections.

Explore the history behind Bruce Lee’s art with our FREE guide—Bruce Lee’s Biography and the Birth of Tao of Jeet Kune Do.

In addition, Chinese Gung Fu includes the testimonials from the first edition by James Y. Lee, the legendary Ed Parker, and jujutsu icon Wally Jay as well as contemporary introductions by Linda Lee Cadwell and Shannon Lee to help contextualize this iconic work.

Recently discovered pictures from a lost photo session, which are described by Lee in his own handwriting, round out this new edition of Chinese Gung Fu.

We thoroughly enjoyed recreating this timeless classic by one of the greatest masters in martial arts. Your financial support provides us with the opportunity to pursue projects like this one, so if you’re interested in Bruce Lee or kung fu, please spend a few moments checking out Chinese Gung Fu at our martial arts shop.

In February 2006, Jet Li said: “I stepped into the martial arts movie market when I was only 16. I think I have proved my ability in this field, and it won’t make sense for me to continue for another five or 10 years. Huo Yuan Jia is a conclusion to my life as a martial arts star.”

Learn more about classic kung fu films with our FREE guide—Our Bruce Lee Movies List: Little-Known Trivia From Bruce Lee’s Pictures.

Jet Li’s other renditions of real-life heroes began with his first movie, when he played one of the heroic Shaolin monks that rescued emperor-to-be Li Shimin from his father’s enemies in The Shaolin Temple (1982). In 1991 Tsui Hark cast Jet Li as one of China’s all-time favorite cinematic and true-life heroes, Huang Fei-hong (Cantonese: Wong Fei-hung), in Once Upon a Time in China. Although the franchise enjoyed a run of five sequels, Jet Li starred in part two (1992), part three (1993) and the final installment, Once Upon a Time in China and America (1997). In Kung Fu Cult Master (1993), Jet Li was the top student of the founder of tai chi and the wudang school of martial arts, former Shaolin monk Zhang San-feng.

Jet Li magnificently portrayed Zhang San-feng again in The Tai Chi Master (1993), directed by Yuen Woo-ping. He continued his portrayal of true-life heroic characters with two of China’s most fabled Shaolin heroes, member of the 10 Tigers of Shaolin, Fang Shi-yu (Fong Sai Yuk I and II, both in 1993), and Hong Xi-guan (The New Legend of Shaolin, 1994), all of which were directed by Corey Yuen.

“Because of their stories, these men are real and famous in our history,” Jet Li said. “Yet nobody knows their real life and in many cases what they look like. Like Huang Fei-hong—there are over 100 movies about him, and each film tells [that] he’s a master, [that he] has a good heart and he’s not just about beating or killing people. But I have my own vision about making films about some of the 10 Tigers of Shaolin.

“So we try to create them and end up putting our philosophy into them the way that we think. This way, we can get to know them so we can make the character seem real and work. My films about the old heroes of China represent that younger generation of Chinese. I don’t think my characters actually did that in real life. We create them, and by doing that we can learn something through them.”

Which brings us back to the real Huo Yuan Jia. Born in 1868 in Tianjin, China, he was forbidden to learn kung fu from his father because he had jaundice. His father feared that the boy’s illness would make him a weak fighter and bring dishonor to the family’s school. However, refusing to heed his father’s wishes, Huo dug a hole into the training area and for 10 years watched how his dad trained his students.

In 1890, when a stranger defeated his kung fu brother, Huo showed his abilities by subsequently beating the stranger. It was Huo that brought mi zong chuen (“lost trail” fist, a Shaolin style of kung fu based on deception) into prominence. This part of Huo’s history was brought to life in Yuen’s Legend of a Fighter (1982), which starred Liang Chia-ren, a non-martial artist who gave an outstanding performance. The movie also reflected Huo’s true martial spirit.

Back to history: While Huo was working as a bodyguard with his father and escorting a group of religious men, a bandit with an army of 1,600 threatened to attack them. Huo took on the gang leader and broke his arms, causing the outlaws to disperse. His reputation grew further when he answered the challenge of a Russian wrestler who claimed he was unbeatable in China. However, according to the records of the Chin Woo School in Hong Kong, when Huo showed up at the designated place in Xi Yuan Park, the Russian was taken aback by Huo’s unyielding spirit and backed out of the brawl.

A similar scenario took place in 1909, when Huo answered the challenge of a British boxer who continually issued derogatory statements about the Chinese. The anticlimax occurred when the boxer failed to show up at the prescribed meeting place.

Based on the disappointment that stemmed from a fellow Chinese martial artist who had never learned the meaning of humility, Huo established the Chin Woo Physical Training School in 1909. His credo was that martial artists should try to do their best and diligently train their minds and bodies in an effort to perfect their spirituality.

By late 1909, because Huo was losing his bout with jaundice, he sought help from a Japanese doctor—the only local medicine man familiar with the disease. Through the doctor, word of Huo’s fighting prowess spread to local Japanese martial arts schools, which inevitably lead to a confrontation between Huo and Japan’s top judo teacher in Shanghai. Because of Huo’s ailing health, his senior student Liu Zheng-sheng took the challenge and won.

In shame, 10 Japanese students charged Huo. Even in his poor health, Huo defeated the upstarts, including the teacher, by breaking their hands. It’s believed that perhaps in a fit of revenge, either by choice or under orders, the Japanese doctor poisoned Huo while administering medication. However, the exact circumstances were never determined.

It wasn’t until Bruce Lee played Huo’s student, Liu Zheng-sheng, in Chinese Connection (1972) that many Chinese nationals and Westerners finally caught wind of what Huo stood for in the martial arts world. The movie focused on the “sick men of Asia” theme and that it was a Japanese cook at their kung fu school who poisoned Huo. Jet Li’s Fist of Legend (1994), directed by Yuen Woo-ping, was a remake of Bruce Lee’s film, in which Jet Li played Liu with a tad more spiritual content and appreciation for the brotherhood of all martial artists.

In Fearless, Huo dreams of continuing the legacy his father established as a world-class fighter in China. After reaching his goal, a personal tragedy causes him to disappear for several years—until September 14, 1910. On that day, Huo resurfaces to defend the honor of China at an international fighting tournament. It happens at a time when Chinese morale is plummeting. From the one-on-one battles, the country’s pride soars, and Huo becomes a symbol for Chinese nationalism. In fact, he’s regarded with reverence.

So just how real is the story?

Apparently, not real enough. The great-grandson of Huo, 81-year-old Huo Shou-jin, filed a lawsuit on March 7, 2006, claiming that the movie dishonors Huo Yuan Jia by fabricating information about his life and portraying him as a wealthy man who killed many innocent people.

Huo Shou-jin was quoted in China Daily News as saying: “There have been a lot of films and TV [shows] about my great-grandfather. My family can understand and accept the fiction part in these works for the sake of art, but that is under the premise that these works respect the true spirit of my great-grandfather and are at least 70-percent true. But some plots in this movie are too inconsistent with the facts.”

Huo Shou-jin learned about the movie from a newspaper that reported on Jet Li’s plans for the film and was disappointed when no production personnel asked for his family’s input. The family’s lawyer stated that because the film depicted Huo’s family being murdered, it would make people suspicious of Huo Shou-jin and his clan’s claim to be Huo Yuan Jia’s direct descendants.

“I couldn’t believe they would make up stories like that,” Huo Shou-jin said. “According to their story, Huo’s sons were all killed and left no offspring. Actually, he has seven grandsons and 11 great-grandsons, including me. We’re a big family.”

Huo Shou-jin wanted an apology from Jet Li and the producer and asked the studio to clear up the mistakes.

“This movie is less a story about Huo Yuan Jia the man than it is an expression of his spiritual path,” Jet Li contended. “Much of the movie’s plot is fiction, although the setting and time periods are based on fact. Our aim was to tell a convincing story in which Huo is portrayed as a human and not a god.”

Ten years in the making, the film started production in 2003—around the same time Jet Li discovered that 280,000 people in China commit suicide every year. Jet Li said he hopes the movie encourages those who’ve lost faith in life to be strong again. “Huo’s attitudes toward life, the world and the martial arts depicted in the movie are similar to mine,” Jet Li said. “He died at age 42; I made the film at 42. I’ve tried to reflect the philosophies of people my age in the movie, and the main message I hope to convey is, Live your life positively.”

Directed by Ronny Yu (The Bride With White Hair, Warriors of Virtue, Freddy vs. Jason), the motion picture was shot in Shanghai. To maintain an action-packed pace, it was cut from its original 143 minutes to just 103 minutes, which involved omitting scenes involving Somluck Kamsing, a Thai fighter and former Olympic featherweight boxing champ, as well as all the scenes with Michelle Yeoh.

“In Fearless, the audience will recognize that Jet is the person who brought the martial arts to the contemporary world,” Yu said. “Jet is, therefore, in a sense a modern-day Huo Yuan Jia.”

When the producer showed Ronny Yu the script, at first Ronny Yu couldn’t see any reason for making the film. He admitted that there would have been great fight scenes and that Huo was an interesting historical character, but at the end of the day, it had all been done before. “The story needed something that spoke to the contemporary audience,” Ronny Yu said. “It needed soul.”

After Jet Li told Ronny Yu how he was troubled by the number of suicides in China and that it was his contention that the nation’s youth had lost belief in themselves, Yu had a change in attitude.

“I was deeply affected by what Li said,” Ronny Yu admitted. “All of a sudden, I began to see the potential in Huo’s story. Huo was a patriotic figurehead in Chinese history because he united all the schools of martial arts under one roof and introduced China to the virtue of sportsmanship. He gave hope to his people at a time when China’s national morale was at an all-time low. I also thought that with the Beijing Olympics coming up, it was a good time to examine the concept of sportsmanship. So I was adamant that our film should speak to everybody and that the story should be about Huo Yuan Jia the man, an ordinary fighter whose pride and arrogance nearly destroy him. Yet he finds redemption when he learns that marital arts is a spiritual challenge and not a physical one.

“Plus, since martial arts is a discipline that promotes peace and not violence, it sits at the very heart of our story.”

(Dr. Craig D. Reid is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer and fight choreographer with more than 20 years in the business. For more martial arts movie wisdom, check out his book, The Ultimate Guide to Martial Arts Movies of the 1970s: 500+ Films Loaded With Action, Weapons and Warriors).

When faced with diminishing speed, power and strength, many people cease training altogether. Others seek out alternative methods. Note that use of the word “alternative” confers no hint of settling for second best even though many people enter this phase in their journey with exactly that feeling. The fact is, these alternatives often prove superior to the way we did things before. That’s because the methods we followed in our early days were, relatively speaking, simpler and easier to assimilate—which is precisely why they are taught first.

Lacking the depth of experience that comes only with time, beginners are capable of digesting only small amounts of all that the martial arts have to offer. Still, even at that early level, we enjoy what we learn, develop skill in it and perfect that skill to the best of our ability. However, because everyone else in our peer group is practicing and playing with basically the same tools, there is little incentive to try anything else. Enter injury and aging. Although viewed as rusty, jagged edges of the same double-edged sword, they are really our allies, not our enemies.

I hate those nagging injuries as much as the next person because they keep me from reaching higher levels of physical skill. I feel the same way about aging, and I still fight it tooth and nail, but I am—at least at this point in my training—beginning to taste and appreciate lemonade.

What do I mean? Well, there’s an old saying that goes something like this: “When you’re stuck with lemons, you can either put on a sour face, or you can make lemonade.” Here, then, are our lemons:

• If you train seriously, injuries are inescapable
• If you breathe, then so is aging

Since no one likes a sourpuss, you might as well try to make lemonade from your lemons. The following is an old Chinese recipe.

Traditional Taoist Martial Arts

Although there are hundreds of Chinese martial arts, all of them grew from two traditions: Buddhist (or Shaolin) and Taoist. Of the two, the Shaolin family tree has more distinguishable branches. Divided many times over—into northern/southern, grappling/ striking and so on—the Shaolin arts have numerous recognizable names, including praying mantis, white crane, hung gar and wing chun. The Taoist arts, on the other hand, number only three: hsing-i, pa kua chang chang and tai chi chuan.

Many Taoist martial artists hold that the best course to study self-defense is to begin with hsing-i, intern in pa kua chang changand graduate with an advanced degree in tai chi. Not everyone subscribes to this style-switching progression, believing that each one includes all the necessary elements. But even among those who delve into only one of them, there often exists a similar, albeit less obvious, progression within that art.

The late Jou Tsung Hwa, a renowned tai chi master, believed that his art could be divided into at least three phases. He claimed that the three major tai chi systems—Chen, Yang and Wu—are actually best taught in a progression because they build on and complement one another. As he saw it, the Chen style (the oldest known tai chi system and one that bears marked similarities to hsing-i) should be learned first, since it is half yang and half yin, half hard and half soft. It should be followed with the Yang style (the most popular form and the one that most folks recognize as tai chi), which is 75-percent soft. Finally, one should take up the Wu style, which is considered the most internal of the three with its small, subtle movements.

The progression from hsing-i to pa kua chang to tai chi runs counter to common Western experience in which tai chi by itself is often pursued strictly for its health benefits rather than its martial potential. Unfortunately, this leads to some erroneous conclusions about the effectiveness of tai chi as a means of self-defense.

That aside, there remains something notable about this Taoist progression: It closely parallels and complements us as we grow, age and mature in our practice of the arts.

Tai Chi Chuan Style Overview

The most linear of the three, hsing-i frequently has us advancing in a straight line, turning and advancing again. Strength is opposed mainly by strength, and this style’s rapid-fire punches remind us of modern wing chun. Granted, this is a generalization.

There is much we can say to mitigate and expand upon some of these impressions, but they are accurate as far as they go and, as such, useful for this discussion. Hsing-i, then, is rigorous, conditioning, strengthening and especially effective when we have the speed and strength of youth. Technically more precise, sophisticated and smoother than hsing-i, pa kua chang chang requires less effort and strength.

Whereas hsing-i is more linear, pa kua chang is circular. The two arts are extremely effective in and of themselves, and many practitioners spend their lives studying just one of them. However, it is when we work through hsing-i and progress well into pa kua chang chang that our combat effectiveness soars. In The Way of the Warrior, Howard Reid and Michael Croucher quote a master named Hung I-hsiang: “In pa kua, the emphasis is on tricks and subtle evasive action. Unlike hsing-i, it does not require one to face the opponent directly. In hsing-i, 1,000 kilos of strength is met with 1,000 kilos. In pa kua, one tries to move in circles to avoid direct confrontation, thereby permitting one to deflect and overturn 1,000 kilos of strength with only 100 grams. Hsing-i is direct and linear, pa kua chang is indirect and circular. Tai chi works in all directions.”

Tai chi represents the crème de la crème of the Taoist martial arts. As the last step in a progressive martial arts training program, it demands still less effort and strength, for the physical conditioning and toughening of hsing-i have paved the way for the technical excellence developed in pa kua. That, in turn, yields to a complete blending with the opponent that is so perfect it uses his energy to effect his destruction.

Taoist Martial Arts’ Natural Progression

Armed with a general understanding of hsing-i, pa kua chang and tai chi, we can now draw a parallel between this traditional Taoist progression and lifelong martial arts training. Besides providing an effective method of self-defense, hsing-i serves to condition, toughen and prepare us when we’re young. With youthful vigor and strength, we are more than capable of fighting fire with fire, of facing force with force. But as we enter middle age, old injuries take their toll and strength begins to wane. No amount of additional training can overcome the injury-imposed limitations or halt the decline.

What were once punishing blows and blocks now become painful, even harmful to us. Techniques that were possible are now impractical. Recovery times lengthen, and decreased stamina makes prolonged conflict even less desirable. This stage is the first point of discouragement, and many of us simply acquiesce here and cease martial arts training altogether. However, this is unnecessary, and the Taoist arts show us how to adjust.

Moving into pa kua, we learn new methods that enhance our technical skill, allowing us to overcome an adversary using sophisticated, largely circular movements in place of raw speed and strength. Challenged once again, we discover that there is still more to learn. Equally important, our need for self-defense is still satisfied. Now, however, the training and fighting progress without the collateral damage to us. All this is unthinkable to younger students, for they have neither developed sufficiently in the basics nor do they possess the necessary wisdom of years to recognize the need to try something else. Athletes who are strong and in great shape almost despite their years will probably not pursue different avenues until pain overrules any gain received from their current training methods. But even the seasoned practitioner cannot remain forever in this middle-age category, for time marches on. This brings us to tai chi, the “grand ultimate fist.”

In our advanced years, even if we are a hard stylist we find that our art’s focus and training methods are “softening.” Whether by conscious decision or subconscious evolution, our body resists repeated hard martial arts training. For example, those who have witnessed the development of tang soo do claim that the methods that were part of the founder’s curriculum have changed with every decade of his life, softening considerably in later years. In this vein, tai chi offers us the grand, ultimate destination in the Taoist progression. We may be less virile in appearance, but once we have mastered hsing-i, pa kua chang and tai chi, we will seldom be challenged successfully. We will remain a formidable player, largely because our skill is based on a natural progression and on the years of experience that such a progression demands.

Taoist Martial Arts: A Lifelong Study

Even if we do not study the Taoist martial arts, that kind of progression is still possible. The specific martial arts training we choose are less important than their philosophies, methods and principles.

We can substitute any number of hard styles for hsing-i, for instance. Likewise, there are many arts from China and Southeast Asia that can stand in quite nicely for pa kua chang chang. What is important is our willingness to embrace the changes forced on us by injury and aging, not merely accept their consequences. If that means switching arts to learn new principles, so be it.

At the beginning of this article, I stated that seeking alternative methods of martial arts training does not mean settling for second best and that injury and aging can actually be our allies. Believe it or not, at age 56 my technique is more effective than it was when I was younger and stronger. Obviously, having trained for 30-plus years has a lot to do with that, but more important is the fact that my strength no longer hampers my ability to relax while moving—and relaxation is the key to unlocking speed and power. Despite not being as strong as I was decades ago, I am significantly faster. I hit harder than ever, but without the effort and the damage to myself.

I would never have improved so much had my body remained whole and my strength remained as it was 30 years ago. The transition was also possible because the arts I study are amenable to “softer” execution of their techniques. In fact, beyond the beginner’s level, every technique and principle in the arts I study actually improves in efficiency when executed with less strength. And therein lies the challenge: How do you train to use less strength in an endeavor that may someday be needed to save your life? Less strength and relaxed execution seem counterintuitive when you’re learning potentially life-saving skills.

Good News for Your Martial Arts Training

There is no easy way to surmount that obstacle. Perhaps the best advice is to train smarter, not harder. We must listen to our bodies. As martial artists, we’re supposed to be in tune with ourselves. When we find that meeting 1,000 pounds of force with 1,000 pounds of resistance is getting harder, we must step back and reevaluate our martial arts training. If our martial art’s answer is to train still harder, we should seriously consider looking elsewhere. I have many taekwondo friends, for example, who now augment their martial arts training with tai chi—not just for health, but for continuing growth in their martial skills.

For some of us, our own discipline and determination prevent us from looking elsewhere. We try harder (not smarter) until something breaks. Only then do we look elsewhere. I know— been there, done that. A bad back and subsequent operation forced me to lower my kicking height. But instead of settling for less, I found that kicking low was not only more effective but also more challenging than I’d thought. And as arthritis made punching hard targets more painful, my recognition of the greater vulnerability of other targets, such as joints and limbs, soared. At the same time, my appreciation for my other weapons—knees, elbows, open hands and so on—grew significantly.

The nature of this article requires a perspective that only age and experience can bring. Whether you see that as fortunate or unfortunate may foretell how you will continue to grow in the martial arts as your injury toll and age climb and your physical abilities sink. Even if you are still young and vigorous, this article applies to you, for it is a harbinger of things to come. Heed it, and your knowledge, skill and pleasure in the arts will continue for many years. Skip it, and enjoy to the fullest the few youthful years you have left, for they will be brief.

(Bob Orlando is a freelance writer and martial artist based in Colorado. He has trained for more than 30 years and holds instructor-level rank in kuntao and pentjak silat.)

The concepts of the five animals is thought to have originated early in the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) at Shaolin Temple, located on Song mountain in China’s Henan province, says Black Belt Hall of Fame member Eric Lee. “The animals of Shaolin made a huge impact on the development of kung fu and are still doing so today. That’s because the animals, like nature, offer the same insights today as they did centuries ago.

“In the beginning, the old masters studied the animals and adopted many of their habits. Those habits included how they rested, how they gathered and released their chi (internal energy), how they stalked their prey and how they fought. The five animals were chosen for their superior attributes for fighting and defense and for other mannerisms that contribute positively to human life.”

Practicing kung fu with the attitude of one of the five animals can help you see things more clearly, says Eric Lee, who began teaching the Chinese arts in Oakland, California, in 1970.“You’ll be more aware, and you’ll be more in balance internally and externally. The animals help you express yourself wholeheartedly in any direction. They’ll help you know what it’s like to be anything you want to be. If you let nature be your teacher, good things happen.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Snake Form

Full-body awareness gives the snake a heightened sensitivity, and that allows it to use all its resources to accomplish its goals. The animal coils its body for speed and power, then strikes without hesitation or fear. It’s a relentless hunter that uses every muscle to push, slide, penetrate, wrap and eventually control its prey. The snake is a natural ground fighter— which is why grapplers often find its movements to their liking.

The snake hand, in which all four fingers are extended to strike like a spear, is the primary weapon. “You can move the snake hand up, down or from side to side using it or your arm to block, then you can strike your opponent’s throat or another vital area with the same hand,” Eric Lee says. “When doing snake moves, you can strike and lock simultaneously. Offense becomes defense, and defense becomes offense.”

A useful snake technique entails raising your hand like a cobra lifting its head, then relaxing your arm and shooting it out and back for a lightning- fast strike, Eric Lee says. In super-tight quarters, he adds, you can increase your effectiveness by switching to the snake tongue: Extend your index and middle fingers and hold them together as you jab them into a pressure point.

Shaolin Kung Fu: Crane Form

The crane epitomizes yin and yang as it passively stands on one leg for hours yet maintains its ability to kill in a heartbeat. When it springs into action, it’s the embodiment of subtlety and grace. The movements of its wings create hollow contours, allowing it to move with seeming effortlessness. It can adapt to harsh weather and fly through the severest of storms. In a battle on the ground, it uses its wings to deflect attacks and propel its body along a circular path. That, augmented by the animal’s long legs, enables it to use evasion techniques to create distance between itself and its adversary.

When an enemy is within range, the crane will slap with its wings and stomp with its feet, thereby creating openings for impeccably timed beak strikes. Its long, flexible neck enhances its attacks.

Crane training boosts your concentration and balance, Eric Lee says. “The crane style teaches you to lift one leg and use it for blocking or deflection. Then you can execute a fast snap kick out and back with the same leg.” You form the crane beak by extending your thumb, index finger and middle finger and hitting with their tips. It’s perfect for short- to medium-range strikes to pressure points and other vital areas, he says.

A variation of the fighting method uses dual crane beaks. After striking with one, it becomes a hook that pulls your opponent close. Then you attack with your other hand. Eric Lee recites an old kung fu adage: One beak lies while the other tells the truth. Your enemy never knows which hand you’ll use for offense and which for defense.

The crane style also teaches an esoteric vibrating technique. It’s effected by first attacking with a crane beak, then turning the beak like a corkscrew with a sudden release of inward energy before backing it out with a reversed twist, releasing the energy again as you withdraw, Eric Lee says. A lot of Chinese stylists joke about the technique, he adds, but done right, it can be extremely effective.

Shaolin Kung Fu: Tiger Form

A ferocious meat eater with strong bones and muscles, the tiger is physically gifted for combat. It boasts thick legs, huge paws with sharp claws, and an enormous head with razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaws. Its sturdy mid-section, back and neck help it generate maximum ripping and tearing energy. It hunts with great stealth, instinctively using ninja-type tactics to hit its prey from behind. The tiger’s speed comes from relaxed muscles; the more relaxed they are, the more quickly and silently it can move. Filled with pure power, its thunderous roar induces shock and fear in its enemies. The Chinese regard it as the king of all beasts.

Since the tiger is representative of the external, training in tiger kung fu involves lots of push-ups, sit-ups, calisthenics and sparring. “It’s important to strengthen your body, liven up your chi and get your blood flowing,” Eric Lee says. “Don’t forget the jing (chi-energized muscles) and shin (spirit), but especially the jing.”

The tiger claw is the primary weapon. Forming your hands into claws involves spreading your digits and bending them slightly. “Strong stances that create stable, grounded positioning contribute to the effectiveness of tiger strikes,” he says. “Circular arm motions with the tiger claws executed while changing from one stance to another result in maximum torque and power for deflecting an incoming blow—or for taking someone to the ground. It’s effective at tearing up muscles in the arms, legs and body of your opponent, or it can be used to press, push and drive him away.”

When you attack, you may want to adopt the roar of the tiger. Your opponent will react with fear, and his hesitation might give you the opening you need to deliver a decisive strike to a sensitive spot. “The roar is also used to develop your internal energy,” Eric Lee says. “When the tiger roars, it breathes out a huge amount of carbon dioxide, then replaces it with fresh energy, giving it more stamina and spirit.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Leopard Form

This big cat is a magnificent creature that exudes speed and danger. It can move like the wind to chase its prey or escape from an enemy. It is ultra-efficient, resting as it observes and calculates, then exploding into a blur of tooth and nail. At other times, it may choose to rely on stealth tactics to close the distance with a victim.

After that, it’s relentless. The feline will run its dinner to exhaustion, then tear into its vital areas.The leopard fist, which utilizes the second knuckles of the four fingers, is seen in a number of martial arts—and for good reason. Flexing the fingers makes the hand rigid and strong. Since the knuckles form a smaller striking surface, the shock of a strike is not spread over a large area. And the thinness of the leopard fist allows you to insert it into narrow openings to hit soft targets.

“Strikes to the armpits, neck, spine and temples are easily done with the leopard fist, as are pressure-point techniques aimed at the legs or between the ribs,” Eric Lee says. “The strike usually begins from a relaxed position, then goes out and back quickly to make contact with the knuckles. You can also whip it out like a back-fist.”

Shaolin Kung Fu: Dragon Form

Representing internal and spiritual training, the dragon may live in the ocean or fly down from the heavens to provide the elemental benefits of water, metal, wood, earth and fire. Its mission is larger than life, always noble and full of wisdom. It bestows insight toward the infinite while accomplishing the impossible.

The dragon claw is the most formidable weapon of the style. “It uses the thumb and fingers like a tiger claw, but the fingers are bent less and the palm is flatter,” Eric Lee says. “If you try to grab a basketball, your hand will form a shape much like a dragon claw. The tiger claw is more like holding a baseball.”

You can use the dragon claw to grab, pull and lock your opponent or throw him to the ground. If you use the palm to attack his head or body, you should do it in a soft/hard manner, Eric Lee says. “Be relaxed and wait until you make contact to emit the power, then be soft again. That saves energy.”

The dragon also teaches you to be unpredictable and to use the insubstantial against the substantial, he says. “If you’re pushed, don’t use force against force. Just go with it and let your opponent fall. Or you can fall and use the tail of the dragon—your rear leg—to sweep him to the ground. Then you disappear into the night, leaving him wondering what just happened.”

Fighting like a dragon means being smart, calm and fearless, Eric Lee insists.
“Always think ahead, and lead your opponent away from your vulnerabilities or into the abyss of your power. Take the obvious and reverse it. With the spirit of the dragon, you will always rise to fight another day.”

(Floyd Burk is a freelance writer and martial arts instructor based in San Diego. )