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T'ai-Chi: The Exercise for People Who Think They Hate Exercise
by Master T. T. Liang

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; so, too, does a voyage into the depths of an age-old method of exercise begin with one gentle turn of the body, one solitary flourish of an arm. And by the end of that voyage—during which the room is never left, no equipment is ever used, and perspiration is rarely produced—a person will have completed the performance of a well-engineered workout that loosened, strengthened and even aerobically conditioned. All at once, in simplicity ... and in silence.

Since the so-called "wild times" of prehistory, the Chinese people have practiced this quiet ritual. Today, tens (if not hundreds) of millions of them greet the morning—in parks, on street corners, in their backyards—by slowly gliding and twisting, pivoting and delicately gesturing, to prepare their minds and bodies for the day ahead. This activity sharpens them into alert individuals ready for the workaday world. At the same time it succeeds in calming them, so that they are ready for anything.

They don't call T'ai-Chi the "Supreme Ultimate" for nothing.

As the once-secret knowledge of T'ai-Chi moved from the monasteries and privileged chambers of China across the European continent and on to America, the words used to describe it badly missed the mark. It was not a dance, as some writers suggested, nor can it be construed to be shadow boxing. It is a series of 108 linked movements, each movement blending into the next, so that the entire half hour (more or less) of activity is one long, unified pattern. "Its essence," explains Sophia Delza, T'ai-Chi expert and author of Body and Mind in Harmony (David McKay, 1961), "is continuity of action where each movement evolves from and grows out of what it is joined to, which spurs on and motivates the oncoming movement. Each unit is composed of the ingredients of the whole."

T'ai-Chi Ch'uan (pronounced tie jee chwan, and usually referred to as T'ai-Chi for short) originated in the distant, unverifiable past as a routine of exercises and stretches first based on animal movements and then on martial arts actions. It later was codified and taught by the Taoist priest Chang San-Feng who, legend has it, developed its principles and present style after watching the give-and-take of a fight between a crane and a snake. This he related to the Oriental philosophical concept of yin (the passive energy of life), and of ch'i, the force of life that flows through all things. The yin/yang theory states that the active and the passive are not separate, but are in effect two faces of the same coin, and that some portion of one exists in the other. Yin/yang applies to all things, but especially to T'ai-Chi because each of the "forms" or movements of the T'ai-Chi routine consists of co-existent active/passive elements: "movement-stillness, motion-rest, straight-curved, expansion-contraction, inhalation-exhalation ... open- closed, right-left, forward-backward, float-settle ..."

So much for philosophy and history. In terms of pure, down-to-earth physical exercise, T'ai-Chi is deceptive. It looks so slow and easy, and yet a lot is going on. "It is the unique virtue of T'ai-Chi as a system of exercise that it makes use of the entire organism," says Edward Maisel in T'ai-Chi for Health (Prentice Hall, 1963). "Hands, shoulders, elbows, fists, palms and fingers, abdomen, hips, buttocks, feet, legs, knees, toes, sides of feet and soles—even the eyes—all are brought into play ... Just to hold any muscle in tension requires it to produce a force which is of an exercising nature. Thus it is perfectly possible for gentle movements to produce this kind of muscle stimulation and muscle exercise: We do not have to run up and down stairs or lift weights."

Sophia Delza agrees, "We in the West are apt to overexert ourselves in exercise and sports, believing that a hard and tense movement indicates strength and control, and that power comes from the ability to expand energy violently," she says, "With the technique of T'ai-Chi Ch'uan, true energy can be controlled, strength balanced and vitality increased, by using the body in such a way so as not to strain the muscles, not to over activate the heart, not to exert oneself excessively. T'ai-Chi develops energy by never allowing one to expend oneself in a gesture of finality.

"As an exercise that demands no physical strength to begin with," she adds, "it therefore is as good for the weak as for the well, for young and old ..." T'ai-Chi is exercise for people who think they hate exercise. Moreover, T'ai-Chi is often compared with yoga as a fitness and health system of physical stimulation. The difference, in the eyes of T'ai-Chi masters, is this: Yoga is internal activity and external quiet; T'ai-Chi is external activity which creates internal quiet.

T'ai-Chi is a slow exercise: Slow to learn to do well and slow to perform. In fact, T'ai-Chi is one of the few things in life that gets slower as you get better at it (and gets better as you get slower at it). A beginner might do the forms, or movements, in under 15 minutes (or less, if doing the so-called short form); an expert will take 30 minutes or more to go through the same string of flowing postures. The hallmarks of good T'ai-Chi, we are told, are slowness, evenness, clarity, balance and calmness.

But T'ai-Chi hasn't stuck around to these many centuries because it's slow and cute. Its benefits are numerous. T'ai-Chi is perhaps the most mental of physical activities. Through the learning and repetition of its many moves and gestures, T'ai-Chi improves memory and learning ability in general. T'ai-Chi focuses thought. "The immense variety of patterns keeps one mentally stimulated," explains Delza. "The mind cannot be anywhere but on the action since the variations and repetitions demand total attention.

"And yet, it is a mental sharpening that—in perfect yin/yang fashion—also softens and soothes. One is able to focus to the point of feeling tension and temper disappear. By going so much into yourself, you are taken out of yourself. You never lose yourself—you find contentment and intellectual calm in self-discovery by way of T'ai-Chi's repetitive soft movements."

T'ai-Chi has long been believed to cure many physical ailments, from indigestion to tuberculosis. There is no evidence that it does anything for the ills, other than by bestowing the general benefits exercise provides for overall well-being. What T'ai-Chi seems effective in doing is loosening up the flow of things—it gets the blood circulating, frees up joints, works the muscles—without exertion. That's why it is an excellent exercise for people with bad backs, and why it helps to strengthen those lower backs as well as soothe aching sciatica and sacroiliac problems. (In fact, one person we know turned to T'ai-Chi as a last resort when regular medical and physical therapy treatment didn't help to heal and strengthen his painful back, which had gone "pop" while he was lifting heavy crates from a truck. Today he not only has a strong, fine back—he is a T'ai-Chi master, teaching T'ai-Chi classes at a Seattle community college.) Furthermore, T'ai-Chi's slow, emancipating maneuvers are just what the doctor would order if he thought of it for women both during and immediately after pregnancy, and for patients recovering from surgery.

T'ai-Chi has not come under a lot of traditional scientific investigation. It's still—after being around for more centuries than Science has—considered a bit too way out for serious scrutiny. But two recent looks at T'ai-Chi have been rather interesting, if not downright exciting. Robert M. Giller, M.D., proposes that ch'i, the vital force that Oriental philosophy believes flows through all things, may actually exist. He suggests that what the ancients called ch'i and used as a basis for T'ai-Chi's benefits correlates with the bioelectric energy that scientists discovered flowing through us all, and which acupuncturists say they tap into with their needles.

In a more recent discovery, two researchers looked at the aerobic benefits and energy expenditures of T'ai-Chi. They found that T'ai-Chi "may be valuable for some development and maintenance of cardiovascular fitness when high intensity level of exercise is contraindicated." They also were surprised to see that even though everybody in the study performed the same routine, those with a great mastery—but no greater physical exertion—showed greater increase in aerobic capacity. The only way the researchers could explain this was to shelve science and defer to the ancient philosophers and their belief that T'ai-Chi masters perform unmeasurable "internal work."

To learn the ways of T'ai-Chi and how to float through the forms (alas, too numerous to list or illustrate here) head over to the library and read up on it. Then, if you are interested, find yourself a knowledgeable, patient instructor—check the local Y, adult education programs, and notices posted at health food stores or Oriental/nature food restaurants. Practice makes perfect (or as Vince Lombardi—a most un-T'ai-Chi character—once suggested, perfect practice makes perfect). So, do your T'ai-Chi at least once a day. Twice is better. Wear loose clothing or no clothes at all...unless, of course, you plan on doing it in your office. An office is a perfect, quiet, private place to make your moves—to alleviate the stresses of the day, to absorb yourself in the exquisite perpetual motion of T'ai-Chi and in the shapes you make in space.

(Reprinted from Executive Fitness Newsletter, Rodale Press, Inc., January 22, 1983, Vol. 14, No. 2.)

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