Three days a week (actually, one morning and two evenings) I make a 12-mile trip to an unremarkable business park in Centennial, Colorado. The dojo space is simple and not very large: a scuffed, painted concrete floor, dingy white walls covered with a variety of plaques, Asian-inspired pictures, portraits of Wing Chun masters and official certificates issued our teachers. There is a work, wooden practice dummy and other pieces of equipment.
For the most part, no one in my life outside of those walls knows, let alone would understand why I took up a martial art in my late-70s. Each class seems to cause me more embarrassment. I might add that I practice every day, either in a quiet aerobics room of my health club or in my garage. My garage, as the dojo, has a wall bag filled with rice. Some nights I punch the bag for a half-hour at a time. My old hands have developed callouses, knicks and bruises.
I recently had a physical. The primary care physician wondered at my workout regimen. He is a man who fills out forms (Kaiser Permanente, bless their souls, allows him but 7-minutes per patient). He blurted, “weights and cardio,” answering his own question. Of course, weights and cardio. I added “Wing Chun.” He smiled his doctor smile, then glazed over. I did not check his expected box. No matter. He didn’t choose to hear me. He didn’t choose to see me. Such, my friends, is ageism in America.
I have no illusion of mastery.
It has been about 14-months since I took up the study of this Chinese fighting art form. I am often joined by other old men, plus Gen-Xers, Millennials and Gen-Z folks. I am more regular in my study than the others. It is not a judgment. I write for a living and my hours are more flexible. Then again the other old men you see in the featured photo (unlike me) have black belts in other disciplines. They are kind and decent people who will easily surprise anyone dumb enough to try to mug them. They do not look like movie stars, they do not have high-powered jobs, they are only trying to be better versions of themselves.
As to Wing Chun (or in the Cantonese, Ving Tsun) I have no illusion of mastery. After 14-months, I remain a “white shirt.” The white shirt has grayed and the lettering has faded. It has stretched. I am told that I will soon test for the intermediate gray shirt level. Fair enough. I could be an intermediate level student for the rest of my days. Even those who achieve black shirt level have years to go beyond that point until they can claim to be masters. I am comforted by that. When we give up ego, we become free to grow. White, gray, black, we are all students and we must always learn.
My Sifu, my master instructor, is nearly 25-years my junior. He is still my Sifu. He has never laughed at me.
We live in an age of instant experts with fake credentials and AI-driven posturing. Social media is great (I use it all of the time), but it allows statistics without sources, information without research and credentials without study. Wing Chun or any martial art won’t allow for that kind of nonsense. I am used to being humiliated, used to “the smell of my brain re-wiring,” used to my place in the dojo pecking order.
The “used to” part means my Wing Chun learning space will never be crowded with wanna-be’s. There’s a lot of turnover in the martial arts when students discover they have to work to advance. When I’m on social media and I run across an outrageous fact, I ask: “Source?” So far, I have yet to receive an answer. Martial arts are like that too. When a student believes they are a know-it-all, someone might come along asking them to prove it. It is generally a rude awakening.
My writing and Wing Chun
My writing has benefitted from Wing Chun. I have honed my editing skills. I try to focus on the work at hand. Most of all, I can make no excuses. A poorly written sentence is just that. I no longer apologize for a position, a thought, a way of saying things. It is called authenticity.
That said, I believe it is important for “older people” to take a stance. I cannot help my age, but I can help feeling sorry for myself, and for trying to explain to the dense why (at my age) I exercise, write and study an ancient Chinese art. I seek no one’s approval, I long for no one’s pat on the head.
I will write as best I can and for as long as I can. I will enter the bare Wing Chun dojo and work to get just a bit better each time I bow-in for practice. I hope that some day, I can appreciate my courage for showing up.
