[Extreme Martial Arts] Eyes Closed Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg for Forty Minutes - Left Foot Challenge

Autor: Jeffi Chao Hui Wu

Fecha: 2025-8-13 Miércoles, 4:55 a.m.

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[Extreme Martial Arts] Eyes Closed, Golden Rooster Stands for Forty Minutes
Challenge with the Left Foot
Yesterday morning, I set a record of thirty-two minutes standing on my right foot with my eyes closed on the grass by the sea in Sydney. This morning, I returned to the same spot—Drew Dog's Rocks—this time standing on my left foot. The left foot is not my dominant foot; in daily activities, its stability and power are not as strong as my right foot. However, I have always timed myself using my breath, starting from the first inhalation to the last exhalation, without looking at the clock, relying solely on the rhythm of my breathing to gauge the time. For me, this is the most natural way and avoids any doubts from others about whether I checked the time during the challenge.
The morning air carried the humidity of the sea and the coolness of late winter. The temperature was only 9°C, with the sea breeze blowing gently from the left side, as if deliberately maintaining a steady rhythm. The grass beneath my feet was still damp with dew, and the coolness seeped through the soles of my shoes, reminding me that the ground today was slightly more slippery compared to yesterday. I was dressed in autumn attire, neither too thick nor too thin, just right to keep my body temperature stable in the low temperature. At 6:04:48, I closed my eyes, bent my right knee, lifted my right foot, and firmly planted my left foot on the grass—my first breath—the challenge began.
Once my eyes were closed, the world immediately quieted down. Without sight, my body seemed to enter another mode of operation, with all perceptions focused on balance, breathing, and subtle adjustments within my body. The vestibular system and proprioception took over complete control; between each breath, my foot would automatically make slight adjustments to my center of gravity, while my entire body remained completely relaxed, with no active participation from my leg or waist muscles. The feeling of support did not come from exertion but from a sense of stability being upheld.
My breathing was slow and deep, each breath resembling a steady wave, rising from my feet to the top of my head and then gently falling back. On average, each breath lasted over nine seconds, and by the 50th breath, my state had entered a stable zone. My movements and posture no longer required conscious maintenance; my body found the most effortless way to exist.
By the 128th breath, my sense of balance was entirely under the control of an automatic system. The frequency of adjustments beneath my feet decreased, as if my center of gravity had been locked within a very small range. The sound of the waves and my breathing intertwined into a rhythm of unity between the internal and external, with occasional bird calls blending into this rhythm. At that moment, I even felt that I was not actively maintaining balance but was being supported by the entire environment, with my breathing synchronized with the sea breeze, my heartbeat with the waves.
As my breathing continued, I felt sweat beginning to slowly seep from my arms, forehead, and the top of my head, but this was not due to tension or exertion; rather, my body maintained a stable circulation even in the low temperature. My hands and feet were warm, with no feelings of coldness or soreness. The temperature of the supporting foot was even, indicating smooth blood circulation, with no numbness or coldness typical of prolonged single-foot standing.
By the 191st breath, my state was more relaxed than at the same moment yesterday on my right foot. My breathing remained deep and steady, with no sense of urgency or fatigue in my heart. My body seemed fixed at an extremely effortless balance point, like a tree gently swaying in a light breeze yet never wavering. That sense of stability was not rigid but a stillness with a slight flow—like a leaf on the water's surface, both calm and subtly adjusting its position.
As my breathing continued to extend, my attention was not focused on "how long I could hold on" but was completely immersed in the dialogue between my breath and body. With each inhalation, my body slightly rose; with each exhalation, my body gently sank. This rhythm made the sense of time disappear, as if only the count of breaths was slowly accumulating.
When I reached the 255th breath and felt I was nearing my target, I slowly opened my eyes. The morning light had fully unfolded, the sea surface shimmering with golden light, and the waves sparkling in the sunlight. The numbers on my watch read 06:44:52, exactly forty minutes—eight minutes longer than the thirty-two minutes on my right foot yesterday, and accomplished on my non-dominant foot.
Throughout the entire process, I took 255 breaths, averaging 9.41 seconds per breath; yesterday, my thirty-two minutes on my right foot consisted of 223 breaths, averaging 8.61 seconds each. Compared to the average adult's breathing rate of every 4-5 seconds, my rhythm was more than twice as slow. This deep and stable breathing not only extended my endurance but also made my balance more stable and effortless.
This difference is not just a numerical increase but also proves several facts: first, balance ability does not rely on the dominant foot; through long-term training, the non-dominant foot can approach or even surpass the performance of the dominant foot in extreme challenges; second, the limit of standing on one foot with eyes closed is not merely muscle endurance but a comprehensive coordination of breathing, the nervous system, and mental state; third, timing with breath is not only my habit but also an important part of my balance training, allowing me to maintain rhythm and calmness in extremes.
Yesterday's thirty-two minutes was the limit for my right foot, while today's forty minutes is a breakthrough for my left foot. In both records, I stood with my eyes closed, without external support, and did not move my supporting foot throughout, relying solely on natural adjustments of my body to maintain balance. The extreme challenge of standing on one foot with eyes closed is not a rigid stillness but a deep dialogue synchronized with my breath.
This is not the limit, because I am not tired at all!

Source: https://www.australianwinner.com/AuWinner/viewtopic.php?t=697201