The daily training
The days followed each other, getting up every morning at five o'clock, first we went to the morning service, the monks meditated, sang the O mi to Fo, prayed, went into themselves, I was more a silent observer, absorbed the impressions. At that time of day it was bitterly cold, the bones and joints ached from sitting. The meditation cushion was more like an anthill, sitting still was torture for me.
After that we always went to the temple canteen, a large room with a huge pot of rice and a smaller pot of vegetables (in sauce) hanging over the fire, we warmed up together with the other monks at large tables (similar to beer benches), then we went to our (now it was our) hermitage, did the morning toilet, drank woo long tea, started talking, with computers, hands and feet, but communication worked well between us.
Then the training began, every day with fixed rituals, always first the "warm-ups", after which I was already hopelessly served, but giving up was out of the question, I had made it this far, now I wanted to continue, by no means cross the flag.
Almost all exercises took place in positions just above the ground, for untrained observers it doesn't look really strenuous, but those who have held such positions before know how difficult this can be for a normal Central European.
From such a position, Shi Yan Zi then repeatedly shot upwards as fast as an arrow, came into an attack position, was in "no time at all" right in front of my nose, just a moment ago he was still on the ground, now he was literally floating above the earth, I was deeply impressed.
More and more my legs burned, especially my thighs, which had to carry my considerable weight (at that time about 90 kg), holding the unusual positions, the movements were absolutely unfamiliar to me, looked (at first glance) also strange, then made sense in the movement sequence. But it is just a difference whether a trained fighter practices, or whether an affluent European thinks to have to give here the temple fighter. Constant repetitions of only a few, always the same exercises, the muscles burned, the strength decreased, a seemingly endless drudgery, so I had not imagined, rather hoped for the "magic pill", actually I no longer know what I had really hoped for.
But now here I was, pulled through, no matter what the cost. Constant shifts of body weight (just above the ground) from one leg to the other, the leg with the weight bent wide, the buttocks on the ground, the other leg stretched out in a half splits, so I practiced hour after hour.
Again and again the monk ordered a break, he smiled, surely he thought his piece about the condition of the Westerners. To get up again from the position on the ground was incredibly effortful, I also had the elegance of an elephant, with Yan Zi it all looked so much easier. But things were looking up, after a few days I got used to the strain, my legs were burning like fire, but I didn't even notice it anymore.
I was proud, I was in the Shaolin Temple, I was training here, I was part of the community, I had made it this far. Eight hours of training every day, four in the morning, then several hours of lunch break, then another four hours of training, that's how the days passed.
There didn't seem to be any other exercises, although I saw the monks in the courtyard practicing all kinds of movements, my master barking his orders to himself, "Yī'èrsānsì" (one, two, three, four), over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, the whole thing had something very meditative. Always during the breaks there was the beloved tea, now sometimes "Mòlìhuā-Chá" (jasmine tea), also a delicacy.