A Small Taste of Kangeiko
By Michael Shane
Kangeiko (literally ‘cold training’ or ‘winter training’) is a common practice of many traditional Japanese martial arts and is a cousin of sorts to suigyo (cold water immersion) and takigyo (waterfall training), which are also practiced by many different groups, from Shinto sects to traditional martial arts ryuha. Within the context of budo, however, all practitioners of kangeiko generally share a common goal: the development of holistic physical, mental, and emotional flexibility and fortitude.
Last week in New York we had a record setting snowstorm, but today the weather was gorgeous and almost balmy at 46 degrees Fahrenheit. So we met for training as usual in the park. And for the last 15 minutes of class or so, we all removed our boots (or jikatabi in some cases) and finished our kata practice barefoot in the snow.
It’s important to note that actual takigyo and suigyo should not be attempted without proper training and supervision.
Our bare foot training is an inherently limited experience (perhaps it should even be called an experiment), and does not confer the same multi-faceted benefits of true cold water misogi or takigyo. In order to truly experience the benefits of this kind of training, the whole body must be exposed to cold, but our little excursion nonetheless offered interesting lessons.
As my feet grew colder, it felt like my connection through the tanden to my legs started to slip a little. I didn’t lose it entirely, but it was as if a blockage started to grow as time passed. It took significant mental and emotional energy for me to maintain what connection I could. In swordsmanship as we practice it, all power comes from the lower legs, so to feel that power draining away was disconcerting. For me, maintaining and exploring this connection under these unique circumstances was a wonderful training opportunity.
My breathing was also affected, and it gradually became more difficult to control my kiai and place them exactly where I wanted within my body. Swordsmanship is difficult enough on a comfortable mat inside of the dojo, but today was an entirely new physical, technical, and emotional challenge. Despite my significant effort, I also tried to quiet my mind and maintain zanshin—a sensation of ‘relaxed alertness’ that offers clarity and flexibility in stressful situations.
On the plus side, I was able to keep my upper body relaxed, and I was surprised by how quickly my feet warmed up when we were done, even inside cold, wet jikatabi. And the rush of energy afterwards was quite something! All of the fatigue from the class and from dealing with awkward footing on melting snow just sort of evaporated.
Suffice it to say I recognize that I have a long way to go. We all do.
This kind of training is not about feats of toughness, medical miracles, or gaining superpowers, but building the capability to control how your mind and body react to a circumstance of discomfort and distraction. Gaining the ability to maintain zanshin and access to the inner body under these circumstances is an essential aspect of studying the sword. It is as much an emotional practice as it is a physical exercise. But, most importantly, it is a lifelong pursuit.
