My Current Training Routine

 

Lately, my training has become a full-circle practice—rooted in martial arts, refined through nature, and expanded through inner awareness. I’m blending traditional disciplines with strength training and elemental work, tuning my body and mind to move as one system.

Tai Chi, Qi Gong, and Tai Chi Ruler
These arts are at the center of my practice. They slow me down just enough to feel the flow of energy—Qi—moving through every joint and tendon. The Tai Chi Ruler connects breath with spiral motion, helping me refine structure and intention. It’s meditative, but it’s also mechanical—retraining how I generate force and balance.

Microcosmic Orbit and Universal Alignment
I’ve been working on adjusting my mind to the universal consciousness—quieting the chatter of ego so I can sense the larger current. The Microcosmic Orbit is one of the ways I do that, circulating energy through the spine and the body’s meridians. It’s not only a meditation—it’s an expression of how the universe itself moves.

When I practice the Microcosmic Orbit, I’m not just visualizing energy; I’m participating in a cosmic pattern. The same underlying motion reveals itself in Tai Chi Ruler practice and even in chopping wood. The circular rhythm of breath, swing, and return mirrors the way galaxies spiral, seasons turn, and tides rise and fall. The Microcosmic Orbit is the structural pattern of the universe itself—the energetic blueprint that connects everything that moves. The goal of Tai Chi is to embody this pattern, to move in harmony with the greater design.

Developing Power and Durability
Alongside internal work, I’m increasing punch power and low-leg kicks through old-school conditioning—Iron Palm, impact training, and low-stance practice. I’m learning how to transfer energy from the ground up through relaxed, connected movement. My fingertip pushups and lifting sessions reinforce tendon strength and raw stability.

Training in Nature
I train outside as much as possible. The ground is uneven, the air changes, and that unpredictability keeps the senses sharp. Hiking long distances improves my cardio, but more importantly, it resets my rhythm. I swing tomahawks, throw them, and cut wood to build grip strength and coordination—all while staying connected to the land that teaches patience and resilience.

Mobility and Flow
Hip mobility training ties everything together. The hips are the gateway to rooted movement and powerful strikes. Every lift, kick, or turn of the waist depends on how well the hips can move without tension.

Each of these practices feeds the other. Whether I’m standing still, breathing through Qi Gong, or driving an axe through a log, I’m training for harmony—between body, mind, and the wider consciousness that holds them both.

What We Lost When We Stopped Sitting on the Ground

 

I think one of the biggest and saddest habits of modern living is that we’ve completely sworn off squatting or sitting on the ground.

I was on a hike recently and came across two people resting on a bench. They kindly offered me a spot, but I was perfectly comfortable sitting about fifty feet away — squatting down in the dirt, enjoying a quiet meditation. The woman looked surprised when I declined. She probably thought I was being polite, but the truth is: I prefer sitting close to the earth.

We’ve Forgotten How to Sit Like Humans

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that chairs were the civilized way to rest — as if comfort could only come from elevation and padding. But our bodies were built long before furniture existed. Humans squatted for thousands of years: to eat, to cook, to gather, to rest. It wasn’t a “workout,” it was just life.

Now, most people can’t squat at all without pain. I know folks in their 60s and 70s who literally can’t get up from the floor anymore. That’s not a small loss — it’s the gradual giving up of one of the most fundamental human movements.

The Body Forgets What It Doesn’t Practice

Chairs weaken the posterior chain — the muscles that support your spine and keep you upright. Over time, this leads to the back pain so many people accept as normal. Squatting and sitting on the floor stretch your hips, knees, and ankles, forcing your body to stay mobile and alive.

When you sit on the ground, you’re engaging small stabilizing muscles that chairs shut off. You’re reminding your joints that they still have work to do. And when you get up from the floor, you’re practicing strength and balance — two of the first things people lose with age.

Closer to the Ground, Closer to Life

There’s also something psychological about being on the ground. You literally lower yourself back to where life happens — closer to the dust, the plants, the energy that moves through the earth. People might say “eww, germs,” but that low-dose exposure is part of what keeps your immune system sharp.

We live in a world that has become too sanitized, too padded, too comfortable. And I think that “comfort” is quietly killing us.

Get Your Ass On The Ground

I’m not saying never sit in a chair again. But whenever you can, get down on the floor. Eat a meal there. Stretch. Meditate. Watch a movie sitting cross-legged. Build a relationship with gravity again.

Because every time you squat, you’re not just strengthening your body — you’re remembering what it means to be fully human.

Why I Will Do Tai Chi the Rest of My Life

I have practiced Tai Chi for most of my adult life, and while I could talk about its many well-known benefits—balance, flexibility, stress reduction, peaceful moving meditation—those are only part of why I keep returning to it.

The deeper reason is that Tai Chi helps me understand how I hold my body—and, by extension, how I carry the vibes of the world.

The Body as a Barometer

Right now, America feels tense. We are in a socially disturbed time. Every day, people on television talk about division and conflict, and it seeps into the air. You can feel it. It’s easy to walk around unconsciously bracing for impact, like we’re all waiting for something to explode.

I noticed this tension showing up in my own body. My shoulders, especially, were locked as if I were perpetually preparing to defend myself—to throw a punch, to block, to push back. I realized that even though I wasn’t in a fight, my nervous system thought I was.

Injury as a Message

Three-quarters of the way through 2025, as winter approaches, I developed a small shoulder injury. My acupuncturist believes it’s a rotator cuff issue—probably from overuse, overtraining, and years of holding tension in one arm.

That diagnosis was humbling. It wasn’t just a physical injury; it was a message. My body was reflecting how I’d been living—in a subtle, constant state of readiness.

Returning to the Practice

When I brought Tai Chi back into focus, I realized I’d been doing the movements but not fully inhabiting them. I’d been practicing in the mountains, surrounded by beauty, but I wasn’t bringing that softness, that awareness, back to the village—back to the everyday spaces where life actually happens.

Tai Chi reminded me that it’s not about escaping tension but about learning to accept it viscerally—to let the energy move through without freezing or collapsing around it.

The Daily Reset

That’s why Tai Chi isn’t just exercise for me. It’s a daily check-in, a way to notice how I’m interpreting reality—not mentally, but through the language of the body. Every session gives me feedback: Am I fighting the world today, or am I moving with it?

Tai Chi teaches me to re-enter life with less armor and more awareness.

And that is why I will do Tai Chi for the rest of my life.

Tai Chi The Missing Element in Bushcraft and Wilderness Survival

I believe Tai Chi is an essential element for the Bushcraft and wilderness survival community.

Most conversations around survival skills focus on physical conditioning, endurance, and toughness. And yes, it is true that the fitter and stronger your body, the better your chances of surviving a difficult situation. A body that can climb, hike, and carry under pressure clearly performs better in the wild.

But what often gets overlooked is the other side of that equation, relaxation, awareness, and injury prevention.

Relaxation as a Survival Skill

Bushcraft is not just about endurance or fighting the elements. It is also about sitting by a fire, carving a spoon, cooking, or making something with your hands. These moments of calm are psychologically grounding because they connect us to how humans have lived for thousands of years, working with nature, not against it.

The typical Bushcraft demographic tends to be men over forty. We love the outdoors, the gear, and the process. But at that age, we are also dealing with knee pain, tight backs, and shoulder stiffness. This is where Tai Chi becomes a perfect companion.

Injury Prevention and Healing

Tai Chi is not just slow movement; it is functional movement. It retrains the body to move with balance and coordination. For people with decades of habitual movement patterns, that is huge. The practice helps loosen old injuries, restore range of motion, and strengthen connective tissues gently.

When I am out in the field or camping, Tai Chi keeps me loose and mobile. At sixty, after thirty years of Tai Chi and twenty years of Bushcraft, I can say this with certainty: my recovery is faster, my movements are smoother, and I can camp and hike longer without pain.

Heightened Awareness and Perception

The second major benefit is awareness. Tai Chi opens up your senses. When you move with focus and controlled breathing, your vision and hearing expand rather than tunnel in. You shift from narrow task focused awareness to peripheral environmental awareness.

That is survival gold. When I am practicing Tai Chi in the wilderness, I notice birds, wind shifts, and subtle patterns I would usually miss. If I ever lose an item in camp, I will do a few minutes of Tai Chi before searching. It calms me down and helps me see what is actually there, not what I am panicking about.

Trail runners and hikers often miss this. They are moving fast, chasing performance. Tai Chi slows you down enough to truly connect with the environment.

Breaking Old Patterns

Most people do not realize how deeply their movement patterns are shaped by decades of habit. Tai Chi breaks those unhealthy loops. It teaches you to move with fluidity, not tension, and that translates directly into how you carry a pack, swing an axe, or gather wood.

Yes, the learning curve is slow. You will struggle with balance and coordination at first. But that struggle is the point. You are rewiring your nervous system to move the way humans were meant to move, efficiently, quietly, and with awareness.

Final Thought

Bushcraft is about more than surviving. It is about living well in nature. Tai Chi completes that circle. It builds a strong, supple, and relaxed body, a mind that is calm under pressure, and an awareness that tunes into the natural world.

For me, Tai Chi is not just a martial art. It is the missing link in wilderness living.

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The Shemagh: A Timeless Tool for Travel and Survival

 A shemagh is a large cotton bandana with a distinct Middle Eastern look. Traditionally worn across the Middle East and North Africa, it has recently gained popularity in the United States, especially among adventurers, outdoorsmen, and the survivalist crowd.

 

I first purchased mine before a trip to the Galapagos Islands and Machu Picchu. I knew I’d be moving through different climates, often in direct equatorial sunlight, and wanted something versatile for protection from the elements. The shemagh turned out to be one of the most useful items I packed.

From the Galapagos to Alaska

During my time in the Galapagos, we spent long days kayaking, hiking, and exploring the islands. The sun was fierce and the sea winds relentless. The shemagh shielded my neck and face, blocked the wind, and even helped keep my baseball cap from flying off during gusts.

Later, in Alaska, it served a whole new set of purposes. The mosquitoes there are notorious, aggressive and fast, and the shemagh kept them out of my face. It also provided warmth against the cold sea winds and kept my hat secure while motorboating. When temperatures dropped, it became an instant scarf. And yes, it doubled as a handy towel or tissue in a pinch—just make sure to wash it afterward.

After those experiences, I started carrying a shemagh as part of my everyday carry (EDC). I don’t use it daily, but it’s always there, ready when needed.

Desert Tested and Proven

In desert environments, the shemagh becomes indispensable. It keeps sand out of your eyes, nose, and mouth during windstorms and offers excellent protection from the sun. It can also help ward off bugs or serve as a light head covering for shade.

Even beyond survival situations, its usefulness makes it a must-have for travel, hiking, or any unpredictable outdoor conditions. Once you factor in its emergency applications, it’s hard not to see the shemagh as a no-brainer addition to your kit.

Survival Uses

A few examples of what this simple square of cloth can do:

• Improvised bandage

• Tourniquet (with a stick as a windlass)

• Weapon (by wrapping a rock in the center)

• Small blanket or wrap

• Sling for an injured arm

• Pouch for foraged plants or tinder

• Cordage if torn into strips

• Char cloth for fire-starting

Final Thoughts

I’ve carried my shemagh through Ecuador, Peru, New Mexico, and Alaska, on hikes, cruises, and sunny kayaking trips. It’s a small, lightweight item that proves its worth in every environment. Whether you’re traveling across the world or heading into the mountains for the weekend, it’s one of those simple pieces of gear that earns a permanent place in your pack.

Lessons from the Mountains: Why Movement Heals More Than Medicine

For thousands of years, people have searched for secret cures, the perfect combination of herbs, tonics, or rituals to bring strength and longevity. In ancient China, monks were often seen as the living embodiment of health and spiritual power. People admired the elixirs and herbal medicines they gathered in the mountains, assuming their vitality came from those rare roots and plants.

But I have often wondered if it was something simpler.
Maybe their health came not only from the herbs they consumed, but from the act of searching for them; climbing steep paths, crossing rivers, breathing mountain air, and moving through nature every day. The herbs may have healed, but it was the movement that truly made them strong.

Herbs are not bad, far from it. Nature’s medicine has real value and wisdom. But no herb, no supplement, no tonic can compare to the power of consistent movement. Exercise changes the entire body from the inside out: your lungs, heart, muscles, brain, mood, and even your immune system.

The Foundations of Health (Excluding Nutrition)

For me, true wellness comes from three interconnected elements:

1. Cardio – Expanding your VO₂ max, or your body’s ability to perform intense activity using oxygen efficiently. This builds endurance and resilience.

2. Strength – Weight training or body resistance work to keep bones dense, joints supported, and muscles active.

3. Mind Body Connection – The quiet, restorative side of practice, smoothing neural pathways, regulating tension, and allowing your body to recover.

Tai Chi fits beautifully into that third element. But I think many practitioners miss the full picture. In the past, daily life was cardio and strength work, people farmed, hunted, hauled, and walked everywhere. “Exercise” was not something they scheduled; it was how they survived.

My Own Practice

That is why I combine everything:

• Tai Chi for balance, focus, and internal strength

• Hiking in high elevations to challenge my lungs and heart

• Weightlifting to maintain structure and power

• Weapons training to refine coordination, precision, and the understanding of force

After decades of practice, I no longer need hour-long Tai Chi sessions every day. Instead, I integrate movement throughout life, flowing between stillness and exertion, effort and rest.

You can see my approach on my YouTube channel, where I practice in all kinds of weather and terrain:
Mountain Goat Tai Chi

Living close to high elevation gives me the perfect environment to test and strengthen my VO₂ max naturally. The mountains themselves have become my training ground, and I am convinced that movement, more than anything else, is the most powerful medicine we have.

How a simple vacation turned in the emergency preparedness training

When I planned my October 2025 trip, I thought it would be about recovery and reflection, hiking, tai chi, camping, and seeing parts of the Southwest that I’d always wanted to explore. However, it has evolved into something more: a real-time exercise in adaptability and emergency preparedness.

Earlier this year, after my wife and I divorced following thirty years together, I knew I needed to rebuild parts of myself I’d let go of, responsibility, self-direction, and confidence in making my own decisions. For decades, she handled much of the organization and planning. So I decided this trip would be my own kind of training; not just physical, but logistical and mental.

From Planning to Adaptation

I mapped out everything: routes to Chaco Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, and Acoma Sky City. I planned meals, campsites, fuel stops, and hiking distances. It was as much a test of organization as it was of endurance.

Then the government shut down, closing Chaco and disrupting half the plan. That was my first test: adapt. I pivoted quickly, with a coworker’s help, and rebuilt my route Mount Taylor, Acoma, and the lava fields of El Malpais National Monument.

That’s where the second test arrived Hurricane Priscilla. Moisture fronts, flash flood warnings, and unstable roads covered nearly the entire state of New Mexico. Suddenly, my vacation became a field course in real-world preparedness.

Training in Real Time

Every morning I’d spread out maps and weather updates, marking routes, fuel stops, and potential evacuation options. I studied topography to understand which areas were at risk for flash floods and where I could find high ground or paved exits in case of need.

I started thinking like a responder:

• What’s the safest direction if the roads wash out?
  
  

• How much fuel do I need in reserve?
  
  

• Where’s the nearest shelter or high-ground camping spot?
  
  

• How do I balance safety with still living the experience I came here for?
  
  

It became clear that preparedness isn’t paranoia — it’s awareness. It’s the difference between reacting and responding.

Lessons from the Field

This trip, now four days in, has been a reminder that no training is better than experience. I’ve learned how weather can change plans in an instant and how flexibility is one of the most important survival tools. I’ve learned to slow down and plan carefully, but hold those plans loosely.

Preparedness isn’t just about stockpiling gear; it’s about knowing how to think when things don’t go as expected. It’s the calm that comes from awareness and the confidence that comes from problem-solving under pressure.

At 60, I didn’t expect to be field-testing my own resilience on a “relaxing” solo road trip. But here I am part traveler, part student of circumstance,  learning that true preparedness is both practical and spiritual. It’s knowing how to move when the wind changes and how to stay grounded when everything else is shifting.