When I was 34 in 1987, I joined the Alan Lee Kung Fu Temple on West 27th Street for two years. I remember the year because many of the other students were 17, exactly half my age, and going to the toughest high schools in New York. Training consisted of one hour of exercise and one hour of lessons and fighting, or as we called it, playing. I was in good shape in those years. I stopped smoking and practiced my horse-riding stance while watching movies on TV. We conditioned our hands by pounding on bags of grain or beans, on concrete blocks and by breaking boards and bricks, which isn’t as difficult as it sounds.
