Praying Mantis Master

Alicia and Pei Pei led me to a run-down dormitory building, and we climbed the stairs. Except for the new hotels, none of the buildings in Taiyuan or Pingyao had elevators--Jindao (Mr. Chen's son) lived in an apartment that was six or seven stories up, and the Praying Mantis Kung Fu Master was staying in a room about three or four flights of stairs high. On the way to the teacher's room, I noticed the difference between the hotel where me and the other athletes were staying, and this dormitory. All of the people who were staying in this building were the judges for the competition, all martial arts experts and local Shanxi boxers. They were the forgotten generation, the unwanted, it seemed. Their arts and knowledge would be on display for a couple of weeks in this ancient city, and then it would be forgotten. Shanxi Province would go back to the business at hand, and the young men would not train in the martial arts of antiquity. Everywhere I looked in those cities, groups of boys would be playing basketball using the most beat-up balls, and crates lashed to trees and poles as baskets. Many of the younger kids I met only wanted to talk basketball with me:

"I like the NBA, I like Shaq"
"Do you know Jordan?"
I wanted to talk Chinese traditional martial arts, and they wanted to find out more about the NBA from me.
The Praying Mantis master was called Teacher Shu, and like all the others I met, his cigarette smoke-filled room was crowded with several other men. Teacher Shu was a compact man with a short haircut, probably in his early 30's. He had a friend (another mantis master) whose name I never got, he of the ever-present cigarette and watchful eye when I began learning tanglang quan (the Praying Mantis fist). Teacher Shu told me he had practiced a lot of tanglang quan and placed in national championships, but in the last three years hadn't trained very much. He felt that his mantis fist had slipped considerably but he would try to teach me what he could in the few weeks we had.
"But if you will practice tanglang quan every day for three years, the spirit of the praying mantis will come into you," he said, matter-of-factly. "So, when would you like to begin learning?"
"Any time" I responded, unprepared for his riposte.
"Okay, how about now?" Teacher Shu awaited my response, which I gave him while thinking about my air-conditioned hotel room and new bed.
"Yes, now would be great."

We went outside to the back of the dormitory, searching for a spot where a crowd would not gather to watch what I was doing. Of course this was impossible, and within minutes we had a very sizeable crowd of people who were standing, squatting or leaning to watch the spectacle. I had been a fast learner with Mr. Chen but tanglang quan was unlike anything I had seen. First Teacher Shu helped me into the basic stance (see photo above), easily the most grueling and painful position I've ever adopted in my training. With my front leg at a ninety-degree angle, the burning pain coursed through me like a nasty old friend. I had no energy left, but there was no way I was going to quit or complain--not after the xingyi boxers had complimented my biceps and physical appearance; I was ready for all of this, my chance to learn more. But I could not get the knack of the first and second movements of the mantis form, I kept doing it incorrecty. Each time I would screw it up, several of the onlookers would burst out laughing and commenting to each other in lively tones. I imagined their conversations to go something like this:

"Oh this is too funny! The gwailo (foreign devil) can never learn this--he's too old and clumsy to learn Chinese gung fu..."

About an hour into my first mantis training, I realized it was the most complicated and physically demanding thing I'd ever done. For the next two weeks I would get up at 6 a.m., walk to Teacher Shu's dormitory room (not many taxis at that hour), bang on his door to wake him up, go down into the alley and practice mantis until around 8. Then we would go to breakfast (my appetite was gradually diminishing), then the media interviews, competition events and evening mantis training again, before bed. Teacher Shu moved like no one I had ever seen in my life. The spirit of the mantis had seemingly transformed him, and his forms expressed and alternated between the lightness of a praying mantis perched on a thin branch and a burst of arms and legs that struck out violently from any and all directions before going inward while he crouched and rocked, head tilted and eyes wide open.

It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, and somehow (deep in my unconscious mind, perhaps?) I knew I'd have to visit death's door to even get a glimpse for myself. This was not ordinary kung fu, and a yeoman effort would be necessary on my part. Dehydration and insufficient nutrition would not get in my way--I was learning Northern Mantis Kung Fu!

Next: Opening Ceremony