Weather 
Crouching lion, hidden dragon.
It’s 4 p.m. on a Friday at the New York Chinese Freemasons Athletic Club on Canal Street, where 20-25 performers, who make up one of Chinatown’s oldest lion dancing troupes, dating back nearly 70 years, are gathered for their weekly training session.
Clad in a tight black T-shirt, the nonprofit’s president, Brandon Lee, is pacing up and down the room like a drill instructor, barking commands as trainees perform a series of endless, complex calisthenics to whip these young lions into shape for the upcoming Lunar New Year parade.
Out of curiosity — or perhaps poor judgment — I joined part of the class to learn what goes into being a lion dancer. I quickly learned that this wasn’t some glorified cat cosplay — it was part ballet, part “Cobra Kai,” as there are weapons on the wall in ode to the 5,000-year-old pastime’s martial arts roots.
“On the count of three, we’re going to do the next stance,” commanded Lee, as I arrhythmically tried to imitate the intricate dance steps, lunges, and five minutes’ worth of squats that the rest of the group carried out with ease.
Soon, these cadets will have to execute these complex sequences they’ve been practicing all yearwhile wearing a 10-15 pound papier-mache lion head — one performer operating the snapping, blinking head while another helms the shimmering fabric train.
Just a few minutes into the routine, my quads were burning. I’m not ashamed — at 36, I’m a senior citizen in a class of 12 to 29-year-olds. Thankfully, I was mercifully spared the mandatory 70 pushups.
“It’s a lot harder than the looks,” said Lee, noting that it probably takes three years to
mold Chinatown’s official maned mascot. “We look for a fierce lion dancer,” he said. “A strong player, confident. That’s why everybody actually knows our style.”
Lee would know. Following in the footsteps of his father and uncle, who performed in the 1990s, the young lion began dancing himself before becoming a team leader. Now, he acts as both president and treasurer — all while holding down a 9-to-5 gig in IT.
In fact, the bootcamp-like vibe belies the fact that the Freemasons is all volunteer-run. Members include high-schoolers and professionals alike, who cram in rehearsals between classes and day jobs.
Contrary to what one might assume, auditions aren’t required to be a lion dancer, as all are welcome. However, the strongest participants are usually the ones to operate the head, while the others will operate as more of a supporting role in the performance, such as banging a bong.
“It’s a side hustle,” said David Jiang, 22, who started the hobby when he was 16. “It’s hard to make it [a lion dancer’ in a year and a half because [the first year] is just mostly foundation. Unless you’re really good, you’re very talented.”
It took Jiang eight to ten months to land his first lion dancing spot — an achievement that required him to train outside the allotted time, juggling rehearsals with class and school.
While certainly difficult, he said it’s all worth it as my “team kind of needs me. So I’m trying to be here as much as I can.”
In addition, he claims that the grind has made him a “better individual.”
“When you go into endurance workouts, you have to train your mindset,” he said. “I think that’s the biggest thing that this club has offered.”
“It’s a lot more than just line dancing, right?” he said. “Passing on the culture, teaching the new generation, all that.”
That being said, a position in the belly of the beast is no participation trophy.
Along with impressive upper-body and leg strength, it’s essential to be able to move in unison with your dance partner — think “Saturday Night Fever” combined with a Broadway suit performer.
A good litmus test of this is “freestyle,” where the head is “making up the moves as he’s going,” Lee explained to The Post. He said, “The guy in the tail has to kind of pay more attention and see what he’s doing and look at his feet to kind of follow along.”
Watching them practice, I learned to admire the dedication despite not being allowed anywhere near a lion suit.
It’s essential preparation given the club’s grueling slate of 70 shows a year, including birthdays, weddings, business openings and more. The Freemasons even performed at the Knicks’ halftime show at Madison Square Garden for the last three years, and are returning this year.
“If I can do the Knick shows I can do anything,” said Jiang.
The biggest test will be the Lunar New Year festival on March 1 which will usher in the Year of the Horse with firecrackers and confetti during parades that can last from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
While the Freemasons will have 40 to 50 representatives at the parades, only around five will do the actual lion dance due to the skill required. Others will bang gongs, cymbals and drums.
“That’s parading the whole Chinatown all day,” said Lee. “So it takes a lot of manpower. It takes a lot to keep it running.”
Across town, rival Young Lions — which founder Brian Tom claims is the “largest” group in Manhattan, founded in 1972 — meanwhile, will have as many as 150 performers.
Although “depending upon where you are in the skillsets, there’s only certain streets that you can play,” he said, noting that only the most “experienced” lion dancers can work the offering table with fruit and veggies on strings.
Whatever you do, don’t drop the head, which can cost up to $1,500. “You never want to do that….that’s a major loss of face,” warned Tom. “There’s a conversation usually with that person, and they’re usually probably not touching the lion head for a little while.”
If it happens, you’ll get “half a dozen guys jumping on a grenade” to pick it up, the Young Lions Patriarch said.
It’s a sign of reverence dating back to the Tang Dynasty (or third century for Westerners). Origin stories vary, but most trace back to a monster Nian that terrorized the beast, using firecrackers and drums or, in some versions, a costume facsimile of the monster.
It then evolved into an annual performance used to ward off evil spirits and bring prosperity to the community.
These days, the seemingly frozen-in-amber art definitely shows more influences from the modern world as well as NY’s multicultural bouillabaisse. While they are still predominantly Chinese, the China Community Young Lions has seen increased participation from African-Americans, Italians and Japanese members, according to Tom.
“Folks within the Chinatown area would call us the United Nations because we had representation pretty much from everybody,” he said.
Meanwhile, clubs struggle with maintaining lion dancing’s integrity in the social media age. Tom noted the scourge of videos on the platform depicting people in lion costumes “dancing to rap music” — a trend he dubbed “not cool.”
“The more that happens, the less traditional aspects of it, the less respect for the actual art of dancing, less about the foundational understanding of why you do it,” he said.
The younger Lee sees both sides, noting that while some of the culture gets lost, it also can help popularize the pastime and even improve skills.
“We have our own social media and we can video the performances and share it online,” he said. “Another way it helps is actually, the guys like to watch their own performance back and see what they can do better.”
Ultimately, he believes that you have to adapt or you’re going to get left behind, explaining that the methods he learned are “a little different from how I’m teaching the new guys.”
Just don’t drop the lion’s head.
