Tai One On for Me

For years I've toyed with the idea of doing tai chi. It's appealed to me ever since a visit to San Francisco in my pre-digital photo days when I noticed that scores of people in the city's parks were doing its synchronized, spiritual ballet. I thought that it was pretty cool that both old and young, Oriental and not, hefty and thin were caught up in this lovely exercise that seemed to honor both Nature and Self in a community based simply on like minds.

Perhaps the thing that has impeded me most is Senor's spastic imitation of Bruce Lee's fighting stance complete with mad rooster squawks. To wit this week:

"Hey, dear, I'm thinking of going to the beginning Tai Chi class."

"Wwaaaaaaaoaoaoaoaoaoaawwwwwwhhhhhhhh!!!!!"

His chin juts forward and his left hand jerks up to shield his face, claw-like and menacing, just as a needling, low-pitched scream emits from his throat.

He sounds like he's getting ready to hack up a particularly painful hair ball. Meanwhile the right paw is tracing an arc towards his right hip. Suddenly, he's in freeze-frame mode.

Then he relaxes and smirks, "How did I do?"

It would be funnier if I hadn't seen this show a thousand times. Although, truthfully, it's still pretty amusing.

Anyway, yesterday I showed up for the 7am early bird class at our local Taoist Tai Chi Society headquarters. I felt a little foolish and more than a little out of shape.

There were two of them to the one of me. And I was dressed all wrong except for the bowling shoes that haven't seen a lane since 2007. When I pulled them out of my bag, Chang and Eng nodded their approval. (Seriously, my instructors were two lovely Caucasians who had volunteered their time to teach neophytes like myself.) They were dressed in shades of black. I was blue and khaki.

My Master-ma'am gave a quick explanation of the style of tai chi, and the Master pointed out some of the artwork, including an inspirational portrait of Master Moy. Then both explained the manner in which I would learn the 108 movements that make up a cycle. 

108 movements! I felt the mental equivalent of a deer-in-the-headlights look. Heck, I can't remember where my glasses are even when they're on my face.

"Okay. We're going to show you the first 17 movements..."

It seemed like less than a minute and it was over. Visually stunning, they performed in total silence, not looking at one another, yet perfectly synchronized. I felt panic set in.

"When you master the first 17 movements, we'll give you a free tee-shirt." The Master was wearing this year's Rabbit. The Master-ma'am, she had a shirt from a tai chi convention.

I mentally winced, afraid I might be a particularly slow learner. Maybe I'll get a dragon - cool, 'cause I was born in a dragon year - or even a snake. That would be sad. My ex is a snake, in more ways than one.

The first thing I learned was the empty step. That was easy: Stepping while not putting weight on the forward foot.

Then we settled down to conquer the first movement. If I'd been a Looney Tunes cartoon there would have been steam coming out my ears. So much to think about!! Hands, feet, center of gravity, extension, fluidity... constant movement, constant changing direction, and constant awareness of where each body part was. Each movement had many parts and I was to learn three movements.

And so it went on - for 75 minutes. Two instructors and one totally inadequate me. It was humbling to be watched so closely. But fun, too. I comforted myself by thinking that Mini Moy must have had his moments, too, when he was a beginner.

At the end of class I felt perky and clumsy at the same time. And determined to practice... Compulsively.

I even downloaded Master Moy's video.

Did I mention I am a perfectionist?

"Wwaaaaaaaoaoaoaoaoaoaawwwwwwhhhhhhhh!!!!!"