A Shaolin monastery monk reveals the secret of true warriors – Łukasz Duszak

This is the 'external' hardening training. He describes it as separate from the once-a-week Power Training. The objective is to condition the body so that you can receive hits without injury, ultimately being able to break hard objects. It's not just about physical toughness; it's also about mental fortitude — learning to control the pain response. The process is gradual and dangerous if rushed.

This is the most intense part of the physical curriculum. The format is described as a prolonged HIIT workout where you go from one exercise to the next without stopping for hours. He mentions running up stairs on hands, then descending on hands, then going up again on hands, and jumping off. It's designed to break through mental barriers as much as physical ones. He credits this type of training with making his body strong enough to survive a near-fatal thigh cut.

Duszak emphasizes that qigong is fundamentally breath work. Many people overcomplicate it, but the foundational practice is simply sitting and breathing with awareness. He contrasts this with those who think that qigong alone will grant longevity — in Shaolin, it must be paired with physical exercise, diet, and sleep. He uses the metaphor of energy needing to be expelled and renewed, not just accumulated. For the average listener, he says to start by sitting in a chair and consciously breathing deeply, allowing the body to relax. This is a direct counterpoint to the high-octane Power Training.

This protocol addresses the common Western mistake of training the same way at 40 as at 20. Duszak explains that traditional Shaolin wisdom recognizes that younger practitioners need more external work, while older ones should tilt toward qigong, tai chi-like practices. The theory is that internal energy naturally circulates better in youth, so hard training isn't as draining. Later in life, the body needs more repair, and the gentle internal exercises are more efficient for maintaining vitality and longevity. He ties this to the general Chinese medicine principle of prevention.

Duszak describes the typical day for a foreign student: morning ceremony at 5:30, then breakfast in silence (vegan, sometimes eggs/milk), then the first long training block, followed by lunch and a break for laundry or rest, then another training block. Monks eat no evening meal; warriors can eat later but informally. After the evening ceremony at 5pm, the day is yours for meditation or personal practice. Weekends have no training but meals and ceremonies remain the same. He notes that he personally goes to sleep at 8pm to manage the physical demands. The whole routine is designed to minimize distractions and maximize the kung fu practice.

This is one of the more shocking revelations. Duszak explains that it's cheaper for parents to send a child to a Kung Fu school than to feed them at home. Tens of thousands of kids are enrolled annually. They are cared for by masters and older students, but the lack of direct parental bonding is acknowledged as negative, especially later when some of these kids leave for Europe. Only a tiny fraction of these students make it to the warrior monk corps, which is now a performance-oriented group rather than actual combat defenders. He contrasts this with his own later start at 18-19, noting that masters told him age wasn't a barrier, but the traditional path begins very early.

He explains that according to traditional Chinese medicine, the world's yang energy rises at dawn, and by waking with it, one taps into that growing vitality. This is not just about discipline but about energetic alignment. In the monastery, the morning might begin with a Buddhist ceremony (optional for foreign students), followed by training. The idea is to be in harmony with nature's rhythm rather than fighting it, which leads to better health and energy levels throughout the day. He also notes that not all warrior monks eagerly attend ceremonies — sometimes they have to be pushed, adding a human, relatable detail.

He says that nobody gives you a ready technique; it's about self-discipline and discovering your own way. The monastery environment helps — it's structured, you are surrounded by others with the same goal, and there are no parties or social temptations. When urges arose, he would go train immediately, refocusing the energy into physical practice. However, he also notes that it's easier in China than in Warsaw, because in regular life there are far more distractions and less communal support. This frames celibacy not as a mystical feat but as a practical discipline reinforced by setting.

He says that when you clean the temple, you clean your heart — a poetic yet functional statement. The practice is about immersion in the present moment. He contrasts this with the Western habit of escaping through gaming or Netflix, which only postpones problems. Real meditation is facing your life directly, not fleeing. He also notes that many people want to go to a monastery to find peace, but true mastery is finding that peace in the chaos of daily life. The monastery just removes external distractions; the real work begins when you return to the city.