Forcing Jiu Jitsu on the Rest of the Fam (Doesn't Work)

In an ideal world, my entire family would share the mats with me. We'd pack up our bags together, train together and grow together. Alas, this is not the case. And truth be told, I'm better for it.

To all my fellow practitioners who are able to achieve this dream, mazeltov! But it's not in the cards for me. My son has been training alongside me for almost two years and it's paid off in dividends. He's an eater and a gamer and if it weren't for the grappling gauntlet Coach puts him through 2-3 times a week, he'd be in terrible shape left to his own devices. But the Mrs. isn't game. The girl loves a good fight and has really terrific instincts (she's indulged me for several open mats) but she insists on the separation of church and state.

And then there's my little girl - a five year-old, fireball of sassy energy. In school, she has focus and attention issues, melting down when she's tasked with a challenging activity. At home, she loves tackling her older brother, landing a choke hold and demanding he tap out. And she loves the gym. Her bond with our head Coach is amazing and everyone knows and loves her. Thus my thinking to have her train with her brother, formally, as she'd learn that hard work and perseverance was the secret to success. She'd have an entire crew of coaches reinforcing that structure and discipline wasn't about control and power so much as it was about safety and communication. She'd learn that actions have consequences, that bullying is never a smart tactic to get what you want. And of course, she'd enjoy the companionship of her teammates. But after six or seven sessions, we are taking a break. Initially, she was excited by the prospect as she's watched numerous classes and has asked to train.  She loved putting on her gi and joining the rest of the team on the mats (as were her new teammates who had gotten to know her over time). The first couple of classes were full-on disasters; she couldn't stay in line, she'd wander the perimeter of the mats when everyone else was warming up, she'd talk through instruction and would freeze up when sparring. "Give it time," I'd tell myself. After all, jiu jitsu is hard for everyone at the start, adults and kids alike. But weeks went by and instead of looking forward to going to the gym, she started hating it. I'd burn up so much energy trying to get her to do the most simple things like listening and standing in line. I also realized that she was stealing attention I could give to other kids in class. Embarrassingly, I started bribing her with junk food and video games to get her on the mats and even then, her interest would wane. It was after one of these trying sessions, when I realized that she wasn't enjoying any of what was on the mats and only doing it to appease me, that I sat her down after class and said that it might be best for everyone to call it quits... at least for now.

Here's the thing:  jiu jitsu is good for you. I truly believe that. The benefits are undeniable. But unlike what many jiujiteiros spout, it's not for everyone. As much as I see the fire in her, as much as I think she'd take to this and that she could channel her aggressive energy into something like this - she just doesn't want to. And if she's not enjoying it, she'll grow to resent it and because it's totally connected to me, she'll end up resenting me. I'll be that sports dad -- the one that forces his kids to embrace the things he's into with no regard for his kids' individual interests or health. I don't want to be that. I want to champion my kids and help them realize their potential. On many occasions, I have told my son that he can quit when he's no longer having fun. Something as challenging as jiu jitsu is not worth it if your heart is not in it. Same goes for my girl. You want to play baseball, ride horses, climb ropes -- have at it. Just make sure it's something you enjoy doing and that it inspires you to get better at it. And when you're truly ready -- when you know what you're in for and you are game for the long journey ahead of you, Daddy will have a fresh gi ready.

(Still) Living in the Suck

So here I am, four years into this journey and I still suck. And in some ways, I suck worse than I did when I was a white belt. As a white belt, you're taking in so much knowledge that anyway you go, it's forward. You show up 3x a week, it's improvment. You nail an armbar or hold side control for 3 seconds, it's improvement. Folks talk a lot about the "blue belt blues" when you plateau in your progression. You doubt yourself because all the peeps you were used to tapping out are getting better and you're finding it harder to submit them or they are tapping you out now. The blue belts you used to give a hard time to aren't taking it easy on you anymore and are capitalizing on your lack of timing and holes in your skill set. But eventually, you hang in there long enough, you persist and at some point, you find your groove again. You make peace with being both hammer and nail, you coach up the newbies with increasing regularity, you achieve a balance between challenging yourself and confidence in your technique. Overall, jiu jitsu feels a lot more natural.

And then you get your purple belt.

I had never spoken to my teammates about how they felt after they received their purple belts. To be honest, some of them stopped attending as often (others not at all). But those that were around, I just didn't think anything of it other than they deserved it (they were obviously better than me). I would congratulate them, look up to them and learn from them, but it never occurred to me to ask them how it felt to progress in that new rank. My coaches have always said that purple belt is where you start to define your game. If so, I'm failing miserably. Am I a takedown guy? I don't think so. But am I a guard puller? Not with my current scramble (or lack thereof). Not only do I have no clue about what my game is, I feel like I've slipped in my progression. By now, I should be relying on instinct, responding spontaneously to my opponent's techniques and imposing my own control on the fight. Definitely not the case; often, I'm locked in self-doubt, over-thinking every position, falling into traps I should have seen coming, missing out on numerous opportunities because my timing is off, etc. And like success breeding success, doubt just wears you out. It's gotten to the point where I rely on discipline most nights to get myself on the mats whereas in the past, I practically skipped into class with an ear to ear grin. I find myself phoning it in during warm-ups and losing focus during drills. Rolling? I'm embarrassing. I rely on old tricks and habits. As my coach would say, I'm getting lazy. While I'm not getting tapped out a lot, I'm also not finishing the fights. I stall when I'm supposed to advance. I hold position more than attack. I execute individual moves instead of sequences. My guard gets passed more than it should. Attempts at sweeps fail far too often. I'm on bottom when I should be on top. I am too responsive and part of that is due to not having a strong picture of where I want the match to go. With this new rank, I feel like I overcame a steep climb and plateau only to find myself upside down with no idea what is on the other side of that hanging cliff.

And yet...

I still get on the mats. On average, I'm there three times a week. And prior to my class, I'm typically helping my coaches with kids classes. But regular attendance is not enough. Not at this point. At this point, I need to define what it is I'm chasing after. It's not a belt, that's for sure. And I'm not in any mindset to compete (though competition has a way of clarifying one's goals and lighting a fire under my ass). If this was writing a book or a play, I'd walk away from it, meditate and then come back when I've figured out my solution. But anyone who practices this art knows any time off the mats will only make it worse. Staying on the mats, I can at least maintain if I can't progress but there's no possibility for progression if I'm not regularly training. The other thing I remind myself is to cancel out the noise (ie. not comparing myself to others - below, at or above my rank). I got my expectations and those of my coaches and that's whom I've got room for. This is my journey and I need to own my successes and achievements as well as my failures and challenges.

So here I am, four years in, purple belt and still living in the suck. And unlike white belt me, I am no longer comfortable with that.

Hitting the Reset Button

I know, I know... you have a button, too, and it's bigger and more powerful than mine. 😆

But seriously, 2018 is upon us and with the new year comes the obligatory resolutions. This year, I am refraining from stating any real resolutions and instead just hitting the reset button.

Millions of people have signed up for gym memberships they'll likely use for the first three months but rest assured, they'll look fabulous in those three months with all the new Under Armour and Lululemon gear they applied their Christmas gift cards to. Despite my snark, I really am a cheerleader. I wish everyone the best of health - in love, in life. All I'm saying is that it takes work and that means serious discipline. Discipline comes into play when all of your friends on your group chat are inviting you out for karaoke where you're bound to consume multiple pitchers of cheap beer and partake in nachos and mozzarella sticks you're not sure who ordered. You have a decision to make. Hanging out with your friends will surely bring you happiness, but it will not bring you any closer to the health goals you have stated for yourself. And while you'll likely rock the mic to Humpty Dance or Baby's Got Back to the crowd's delight, the morning after, you'll be staring at your puffy belly and hating life. And at that point, the last thing you'll want to do is hit the treadmill. Instead, you'll think, "Whatever, I've already hit this low, why stop?" and next thing you know, you've ordered Domino's and cracked open another IPA.

Sound like you? It's definitely me around the holiday time. I dropped approximately 17 pounds for a competition in September and kept that competition weight all through Halloween. It wasn't until after Thanksgiving that I saw the scale creeping up. By Christmas, I had re-gained about 15 pounds. But unlike other go-arounds, I wasn't going to fret. I wasn't going to hate myself. On the flip side, i wasn't going to lie to myself and say that I would lose all of that in the new year. Instead, I was just going to reset.

So what's the difference? Well, for me - a resolution is usually a promise you make to yourself. And it usually addresses some perceived flaw or weakness -- an "area of improvement." Some folks might need that. I have. But this year is different. A reset is acknowledging that the me that lost the weight is the same me that gained it back. A reset doesn't abandon a path for a new one. A reset doesn't accept defeat when you hit a wall. Instead, it doubles down, refocuses and continues to pursue the life goals with renewed vigor -- much like me when I play Battlefront II with my son:  when I'm cut down, I respawn and get back at it -- not throw the remote at the TV and abandon all FPS games from here on out. They say success breeds success -- that having once achieved success, you're likely to do it again. I tend to agree with this. At least this year. Because I have done it before so I'm looking to rinse and repeat and hopefully, refine. When I lost my weight initially, I wasn't really heavier or unhealthier than I am now. That's just what I typically walk around at. But I learned that my body responds well to regular, rigorous exercise. Three times a week on the mats is what I aim for and each time, if I can roll like I mean it, I'm pushing my body and mind further than where it was when I arrived. I learned that my body also agrees with intermittent fasting. I felt more energetic, stronger and, yes, slimmer. Additionally, getting rid of junk like white flour and rice, desserts and, sadly, alcohol (so maybe I don't get rid of beer so much as drastically reducing my intake to two a week).

Now I totally understand that everyone is different. Some of us are starting from zero and need a solid declaration of their goal(s). I get that. But if so, then it doesn't matter a bit if there's no accountability. Who else knows about your goal? Who is holding you to that goal? What is the consequence if you don't achieve it? What's the time frame? Otherwise - it's just something you say like when I tell my wife I'll get around to cleaning out the basement or replacing the outlet covers. But if you're committed, patient and smart enough to achieve your goal, take note of what it took to get you there. Because that's what it'll take to maintain it. And when and if you slip, don't fret - just reset.

Promotion Day: Faixa Roxa

It's a running joke that you never know the size of your team until promotion day rolls around. The peeps who you haven't seen for the last six months roll up there in their pristine white gis and suddenly it's forty of you. Forty! Can you imagine if all forty showed up to class every night? You'd be so much better. They'd be so much better. But I digress...

At this December's promotions, my Coach presented me with my purple belt. Big deal. No, really, big FREAKING deal. Leading up to it, I really downplayed it. Teammates would ask whether I was expecting it or if I wanted it and I would give the very diplomatic response of - "nah, I'm in it for the long haul, regardless of what color is around my waist. I get it, awesome -- keep up the good work. I don't get it -- ok, work harder." That's the actual truth and I believe every word of it. But there's more to that, isn't there?

When I started jiu jitsu, I really had no idea how far I would go in this arduous, frustrating lifestyle. There were days I would sit in the car and talk myself into going into the gym. And then sometimes, during warm-ups, I would have an internal debate about whether or not I had the energy to make it through to the end. I've cut weight numerous times for competitions I would eventually lose. I have torn a finger, broken a toe and drained cauliflower ear four times. But four years later, here I am -- faixa roxa -- a rank I really didn't think I'd make it to. Not that I thought I'd quit before then, I just didn't see myself excelling at this. I still think I suck. There are days I will submit everyone I roll with, but more often, I'm the one tapping or giving everything I got so I don't get tapped out. But when I look around, I realize that of the five teammates that earned their blue belt at the same time as me, I am one of two that received their purple belt. And that speaks volumes. The discipline. All those nights I cooked dinner, tucked the kids in and got my ass to the mats. All the times I skipped out on work events, happy hours and other gigs to get my ass on the mats.

So as I stood there with this new belt around me, I took it all in. It's a lot of responsibility. When I joined the gym, we didn't have many purple belts on the mats -- maybe two I can recall. And I remember looking at them with so much admiration. And now I'm that guy. Which means I can't phone it in anymore. Show up. Eat right. Set a good example. Teach. Roll with the new peeps. Have your coaches' backs. Compete. Practice perfect technique. Improve timing. Never quit and always - Fight. Fight. Fight. All this - not because I am chasing after a brown belt (I'm in no rush). But because this is the expectation I have of myself, the club's newest purple belt.

Competition Training – A post-competition perspective

For a little more than three months there, I was hating life. I know, it’s total hyperbole. But it was a struggle and towards the end there, anxiety had replaced all the fun that I normally get out of training.

Early Registration

I registered for the IBJJF Open early for two reasons:  1) to qualify for the early registration discount and 2) to ensure that I wouldn’t chicken out. As I’ve mentioned copious times in previous posts, I hate competition so laying a sizeable amount of cash down that my boss… er, wife, doesn’t want me spending is insurance that I’ll follow through on the deposit. The other thing that early registration did for me was allow me the time to train with intention and cut weight in the healthiest way possible.

Weight Management

So the last time I competed, I did as high school wrestlers do and hyper-hydrated myself the week leading up to weigh-in, ate vegan and cut out carbs completely – and then starving those last two days, peeing and spitting out whatever was left in me. It wasn’t like I was eating totally normal the week prior, but I definitely changed it up that last week. The last 12-15 pounds came off in that last week. As anyone who’s done this can tell you, it’s no fun. And while I didn’t feel totally weak like some did, I wasn’t in good shape – strength-wise. This time around, I switched things up and adopted intermittent fasting. I know that some folks are fierce with this – going full days without eating and really regulating their intake of protein and carbs to gain muscle. For me, my goal was to burn fat, lose weight and preserve both energy and muscle. I cut myself off at 8pm on the nights I didn’t train and on the nights that I did, I would try and eat before 9pm. I wouldn’t eat again until 12 or 1pm the next day with only a cup of coffee and some almond milk in the morning. The first week was really rough, I must admit. Mornings weren’t so bad but I tend to graze after dinner, munching on anything from nuts to ice cream. So that was a tough habit to wean myself off of. In the first two weeks, I saw about five pounds come off. That was encouraging. Given that I had three months to prepare, this was a sign that I could manage a steady weight loss without sacrificing energy and better yet, train in the shape that I’d eventually be in for my match. I enjoyed a summer vacation, several date nights and a few summer backyard barbecues without feeling like a total party pooper. I pretty much ate like normal with a few exceptions (I refrained from breakfast, limited my alcohol intake and ate hot dogs and burgers without the bun). The last week before competition, I was extremely careful since the scale at the gym and my scale at home never agreed (who knew what the competition scale would say?). I kept my lunches limited to muesli and berries or vegan protein shakes and my dinners consisted of eggs and beans and carb-free. There was a lot of water and zero alcohol. When I weighed in, I came in at 176 with gi. This meant that all in all, I had lost 17 pounds in three months.

Cross Training

Unlike the last go around, I mixed it up because not everyone is Marcelo Garcia (I’m a lot closer to Jerry Garcia). I ran a lot more than I’m accustomed to. I would accompany my wife every week or so to her gym and hop on the treadmill for a mile or two and then work a circuit that included a variety of movement exercises such as rowing, medicine ball slams, punching bag, heavy ropes and box jumps. I also supplemented with some moderate weight-lifting. The result was that through the entire process, I felt strong and energetic – and this powered me through my work on the mats. And while I would eventually lose my match, my increased cardio allowed me to keep the pressure on while I attempted to pass my opponent’s guard – something I could not do a year ago.

Drills and Rolls

The first two months of training after registration were the best. I was incredibly focused and everything was filled with intention – especially drilling. I rediscovered details I had forgotten. In my rolling, I worked from and within sucky positions – which actually isn’t that tough since I often find myself on bottom. As weeks passed and game day got closer, I steadily increased the rigor and frequency of my rolls. I made a pact with my coach and a heavyweight wrestler to roll with them every single class and I kept to that, even when the energy and will left my body. I stayed for extra sessions and attended open mats, sneaking in additional rolls each week to get my body acclimated to the movements – so that I could respond, in the moment, come the day of the match. In the week leading up to the competition, I was present three days in a row, keeping my foot on the gas pedal, but neither accelerating nor coasting. The last thing I wanted to do was injure myself.

Hindsight is 20/20

So what would I do different – knowing that I would tap out to a rear-naked-choke in the last minute of the round? Outside of how I rolled in the weeks leading up, nothing. I was proud of how I trained and if there’s a true success to be celebrated, it was that I had become a stronger version of myself. I didn’t abuse my body and put in the work that I challenged myself to do. That said, there are many areas of improvement. With regards to training, though, it’s really about the way I rolled at the gym. Like my coach often reminds me, I’m too comfortable on the bottom. And while that might work at the gym, it doesn’t play out too well on the competition floor when my opponent is going 100%. Yes, work from the bottom and bad positions, but I should not be content with staying there when the clock runs out. If I haven’t escaped, re-established guard or obtained top position, it is a loss. My game will not change until I can nail that on the regular. And there it is – my tasks for the next months and year of training.

Oss.

A Work in Progress: Reflecting on IBJJF DC Open Performance

Losing is never fun. But as far as losses go, this one was the easiest one to accept. I trained hard, I ate right and on the day of, I played my game to the best of my ability. And while my opponent's jiu jitsu bested mine, I succeeded in not defeating myself mentally which had previously been my downfall and something I came seriously close to in the weeks leading up to this match.

Yes, it is true what they say. You learn from your losses. Of course you do. I reviewed my match on my phone while waiting for my participation medal (because I received a bye, despite my loss, I would be given a bronze). I saw that I had a lot of distance to close if I wanted to go for a takedown and didn't know how to narrow that gap. I saw that despite a lot of switching back and forth, I couldn't make the toreando pass stick. I grimaced when I saw the opportunity to re-establish guard was wasted because I was married to half guard (my crutch). And I learned the hard way what happens when you try to turtle up but still can't prevent your opponent from taking your back. It's a lot to absorb and a lot to work on. And that's a tremendous takeaway that will focus my training for the next couple of years.

But I walked away from this experience with my head held a little higher than previous losses because I had grown from my previous self. Here I was, just days shy of 40, competing in jiu jitsu's major league - perhaps the last time I'd compete (I loathe competition and the work and anxiety that goes into it). When I walked into the pen to weigh in, I readily introduced myself to my opponent and made fast friends (we have connected on social media now and have discussed plans to drop in at his gym in the future). There was no effort to get into his head or disarm the situation, just authentic acknowledgement that we were both adults looking to put our skills to the test. When my weight checked in five pounds under the max for my division, I felt like a champ. I had done it right this time around. No spitting and dehydrating in the last couple of days. I started months earlier, adopting intermittent fasting while keeping a consistent training schedule. My energy was steady and I gained, instead of lost, muscle. On the mats, I drilled and rolled with more intention, increasing my time on the mats with each week and making sure to roll with the strongest, fastest and heaviest people on my team. I worked from the bottom and sought to stay on top when I could. And while I came up short, the effort I put in made my jiu jitsu better and I am a stronger, healthier person for it.

But the biggest reason I felt like a champ was that I had a whole crew in my corner. As I walked from the scales to the mat I was assigned, all these hands reached out over the barricade. First there were the small hands of my son (who also trains with me) and then my coach's sons. I adore them and it was apparent that they loved me, too. Then there was my wife who loathes these events (if nothing else because they smell like jockstrap). But there she was, ringside. Surrounding them were half a dozen of my teammates - friends - and my Coach, my Mitch agi, my bruh. They all had my back. And when I lost and walked off the mats, their faces reflected my disappointment. They felt what I felt, the way family does when life deals you a sucky hand.

Don't get my wrong. I felt defeated - fully - in my heart and gut.  I wanted to go the distance and instead I tapped. I really wanted to have my hand raised in victory. I would trade in a medal for that privilege any day and feel dirty accepting something I didn't earn. But this time around, it was easier to accept and put into perspective. We can't all be victorious. In every match, there's always a loser. Throughout the rest of the day, I saw several other teammates lose. I also saw many of us win. And some won several matches and still walked away empty-handed. At the end of the day, you have to accept whatever happens on the mats because they don't lie. But on the flipside, you need to define what constitutes success for yourself. For some, it's a gold medal. For some, it might just be stepping on the mats. For others, it might be expectations from their coach or community hoisted upon them. For me? I just wanted to prove that I was a better grappler than I was the last go around and I think I can safely say I achieved that. And this is why I have come to understand why some folks compete regularly. I always assumed that they must be medal chasers or just enjoy fighting. But now I think that a good number of them are like me - out there testing their skills and techniques against other trained strangers to assess their continuing growth, seeing how much progress they are making towards their full potential - the way children constantly yearn for more knowledge and abilities.

So now it's time to hit the mats and get at those areas of improvement. With increased zeal, I want to get at more takedown drills, guard passes, weaning myself off of half guard dependency, strengthening my escapes and protecting my back. Like Shawshank, it's time to get busy livin' or get busy dyin'.

Oss.

Surrendering to Jiu Jitsu

For years, I have been trying to convince The Mrs. to train with me. And for years, she has adamantly turned me down. There are a myriad of reasons why. But on a couple of occasions she has indulged me, either at home or at an open mat or drop-in class. She’ll put on the gi and grapple for an hour or so, tops. But what I’ve noticed is that over the course of that hour, she will grow increasingly frustrated. She’ll be frustrated that she doesn’t know what to do. She’ll be frustrated when I explain what to do. She’ll be frustrated that she can’t escape. She’ll be frustrated if she is on top and can’t figure out how to capitalize. She’s frustrated when I pull back on strength or speed. She’s frustrated when I use my techniques. Basically, all the things that teammates and kids in our junior class love about me frustrate the hell out of her. In her words, she hates sucking at something. And sadly, that’s a lot of jiu jitsu. I tell her that everyone starts at zero. While there are a few out there who are naturals, most of us aren’t accustomed to fighting from our backs. So we all suck and if we keep at it, we suck less every time we step on those mats. But none of this comforts her. Sucking does not exist in her dojo. And I must respect that. You can’t force someone to love something – no matter how much you do. They will only come to resent you for it and that defeats the whole purpose. She’s a runner. She loves her trails. She loves her long distances. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to run any more than a mile without zombies chasing after me. So fair is fair.

For practitioners of the gentle art, we have seen it happen so many times. New folks who come into the school who try out one class and disappear after that. There are the military peeps who are straight-up trained killers who don’t come back for a second class after being mounted by a rooster weight and choked out. There are the returning martial artists, black belts in tae kwon do or tang soo do, who struggle through the warm-ups and sit out the sparring session before ghosting altogether. Heck, sometimes it’s fellow jiu jitsu practitioners who come from other gyms that don’t understand why their ass is being handed to them even though they have four stripes on their belt.

Why? I don’t know. But talking with a friend and fellow BJJ practitioner about my wife’s frustrations with this art we love so much, she confessed that she, too, felt similarly frustrated at the start.  She pointed out that compared to most other sports people practice, jiu jitsu does not grant the same type of reward or sense of gratification that folks are accustomed to. For example, in running, you chart your success in a variety of ways. That first day out, if you make it from point A to point B and then back again, that’s success. If you do it the next day and don’t pause to walk, it’s another success. Next time, it’s a little further. Day after that, it’s a little faster. You see your growth in a very tangible way. I imagine the same goes for crossfit – one day, you can only do this amount of weight or this number of reps. The next day, you are able to increase those numbers. In competitive team sports, you practice hard and game day shows you whether it was enough or not. Either you did enough work to win or the other team bested yours. You set a goal, you go for it, and at the end of the day, you know whether or not you achieved it.

But in jiu jitsu, it’s not clear-cut like that. Some folks are after that black belt from day one. Me? I just wanted to tie my belt correctly and not gas out during warm-ups. My first lesson was to remember to breathe. Next day, it’s about learning how to retain side control. Next month, it’s about executing an arm bar without being reminded on how to do it. Next year, it’s about hitting that perfect omoplata. Your goals shift over time.  You spend a whole lot of time on the bottom before you learn to get on top. And what makes it incredibly humbling is that you might learn how to do it correctly and you might land it correctly on that one partner, but in the same class, in another roll with another partner, you are once again on the bottom and no matter how much you remember and how hard you try, you stay on the bottom. And even worse, as you go up in rank, it will happen again and again. One class, you’ll celebrate because you survived an entire sparring session without tapping out once. In another class, you’ll celebrate because you tapped out more than one training partner. But then the next class, you’ll be submitted by a lower rank and wonder where the fuck your magic powers went. And unlike other sports – not everything points to competition. Yes, you might be a medal chaser and enter into every competition. But jiu jitsu is a marathon. Each competition is less a be-all-end-all in itself. Instead, they are assessments of where you are in a certain point in time.  Have you worked hard enough to fend off  an equally trained opponent? At one competition, you’re taking home gold in your division and at the next one, you’re eliminated in your first match. And forget about promotion day. The day that first stripe gets put on that black tab of your white belt is a great day. You’re part of the club now. Your coach and team rely on you to come back. But then the next promotion, you see folks who came up with you who are getting two or three stripes while you get a lonely one – or worse, they get a whole new color belt while you get your third or fourth stripe.

Jiu jitsu is not easy. That’s what a lot of people leave out when they say that BJJ is for everyone. It is for everyone… everyone that can surrender to it. It’s a reflective lifestyle that begs you to look at yourself and not blame the other guy or girl. It’s not about what they did, but what you didn’t do. It’s not about how big or strong they are, but about how lazy your technique is. You have to accept all that you don’t know and still aim to know a little more each time you put that gi on. There is no universal yardstick to measure progress. The former high school wrestler is going to come in with more abilities than you might have as a two stripe white belt and you’re just going to have to learn how to overcome that advantage. The girl who has been training for four years is going to submit you and you’re going to have to accept that. BJJ is a mind fuck that way. A total mental, physical and emotional rollercoaster. Some of us walk away from that because life is hard enough and who really needs to pay monthly gym fees to be reminded of what they suck most at. But others – like us – gravitate towards that challenge. Yes, that guy picked me up and slammed me like a rag doll – I’m going to learn how to do that or defend against it. Yes, that girl choked me out – I’m going to get better at defending my neck and keeping my chin tucked.

I’m almost four years into this game. I have yet to medal in competition. I’m never going to be an ADCC champion. The chances of me becoming a black belt by 50 is slim. But I am 20 pounds lighter than when I started. I can run more than a mile and have muscles where I used to have fat. I can defend myself against most people at my rank, and I can likely submit most of the folks who have trained with us for a year or less. I am so much more alive because I suck less than I did when I started. And while she might not join me on the mats for longer than an occasional open mat, she gets to reap the benefits of a healthier, happier and less chubby hubby.

Oss.