New Year, New Peeps

It's that time of year again. When everyone's gotten bloated off of rib roasts,chocolate and alcohol and are ready to do something about it. You see it when you hit the gym right after the holidays. Not only is the regular crowd there, but you have a whole new crop of bodies signing up and every staff member is reporting for duty to earn their commissions. You're annoyed because your bank of treadmills are populated by strollers with brand new gear from Lululemon that you'll know they won't wear more than twice. You laugh at these new peeps using equipment incorrectly, the ones who stand around talking with their friends while guzzling down their water instead of actually working out. Give it a month, you think to yourself. The herd will thin out.

But since doing BJJ exclusively, my perspective on New Years resolutioners has changed considerably. I'm like a Mormon or a Jesuit missionary, that kid in high school who proudly passed around invites to his church youth group. Yes, I'm that guy. If you have turned your curiosity into action, if you have overcome your anxiety enough to drive to the gym, put on a gi and step on the mats, I make it my mission to ensure that your first visit is not your last and that it's a positive experience. I make sure to introduce you around, partner with you for drilling, clarify some of the basics and set you up for successful rolling.

I know that only a small percentage will sign up. I know a smaller percentage will make it to blue. And an even smaller percentage will make it past that. But I'll take what I can get. BJJ has that much to offer. Because I cannot forget what it's done for me.

If you're struggling with your weight and other activities haven't hooked you yet, consider the full body workout that is BJJ. If you've always worried about your ability to defend yourself, consider BJJ. If you are a lifelong UFC junkie but have never grappled, consider BJJ.

So if you train, spread the good word. Invite that friend of yours that has always been curious about joining (or who keeps saying next time). If you don't train, swing by and take a free intro class. I can't think of a gym that doesn't offer this. I have met many people who have expressed how they wished they started training years earlier. But I have never heard anyone express regret for having started.

See you in the new year... on the mats.

Three Years Later...

It was November 2013 when I grew a set and squeezed myself into a rash guard and tried out jiu jitsu for the first time. Three years, countless rolls, two competitions, a couple injuries (including the coveted cauliflower ear) and one belt promotion later, I thought I'd offer up some reflections and musings for the noobs out there looking to jump into the deep end (cause that's the only depth in BJJ). Enjoy.

1. Gis are both ridiculously dysfunctional and addictive - The first gi you buy will likely not fit  you. You'll fall into one of two camps. You'll either get the top of the line Hayabusa that retails for something like $200 on Amazon or you'll heed the advice of those who started way before you and got the generic one for less than $80 from Revgear or Sanabul. It really doesn't matter. You'll suck just the same in either one and they will come undone (if they covered your torso at all to begin with) before you even start drilling. Deal with it. Invest in a rashguard to wear below it if you're self-conscious. Over time, you'll figure out which brands and sizes actually fit you (I'm devoted to 93 Brand as I like the fit, design and durability -- the price is key; these guys offer the best bang for buck in my humble opinion). Since I started, I have bought seven gis in total, sold or gave away three of them and rotate through only three of them. And yet, it's not enough. I want another one. And that's fine. No matter what my wife thinks. 
2. Fight soap is where it's at - My coach recommended Defense Soap to combat the risk of skin infections that one might get from rolling around with dirty, sweaty adults night after night. After Googling staph infections and looking at pictures of what looked like bullet holes in people's bodies, I bought a couple bars and used it religiously. A cousin of mine gifted me with a variety pack from Armbar Soap Company out of Hawaii and now I'm hooked. Whatever concoction of organic, hippy shit they got in those bars gets rid of acne and everything. My wife and kids can't help using it, too.
3. Three times a week at minimum - Unless you're an aspiring Worlds/ADCC/EBI champion who's got time and money to train five to seven days a week, most of us are balancing work, school, family and significant others to make it to the mats more than once a week. And that's awesome. If you're getting there three times a week, it's clear you're making it a priority and have negotiated this time with your closest peeps who understand that this gentle art makes you a better person when you're not on the mats. It's hard. We know it. And there will be some weeks when you can only make it once or twice. Totally get it. But if you're consistently dropping in twice a month or once every two weeks, it's just not enough. At three times a week, my brain still struggles to retain the transitions from a failed armbar to omoplata (and if that fails, to a back take). At once a week or once every two weeks, you're bound to miss out some very important techniques. Not to mention, you'll miss out on some important relationship building -- with your teammates, with your coaches. Remember, the only thing that makes you better is time on the mats.
4. Good class vs. Meh class - it's almost never the coach's fault. Almost. They're only human so it's fair to say they'll have their off days when they don't want to be there or are preoccupied by the stresses of their families, jobs, the world, etc. But 99.9% of the time, if they're there, they're investing in you. So it's important that you show your respect by being fully present as well. And that means, participating in the entire class. Do the warm-ups and do them well. Listen to your coach when he/she is instructing. Ask the right questions and make sure they watch you and give the proper adjustments when you drill. When it's time to roll, make sure you are on the mats and sparring every round (unless you're truly injured and need to sit it out). I have seen folks come to class and then sit out for 20+ minutes of sparring. Peeps, WTF? Yes, you're likely working out harder than your friends in Zumba, but you're cheating yourself. This is why BJJ sings like no other. Every single class, from the first to your last, challenges you to apply your limited knowledge to real-time fights. And unlike drilling, live sparring requires total commitment, full investment in the moment. It's where everything else in your life, good and bad, falls away and you only exist in that moment-to-moment roll. If you're not in it, then you're not growing. So if you're going to pay the mat fees, if you're going to rock that $200 Gameness gi, then you owe it to yourself to get on the mats 2-3 times a week and roll every single chance you get. 
5. Your other belts don't mean shit - Ok, so they do. I love and respect all of the other martial arts out there. I studied Tay Son Kung Fu, Chun Do Kwon and Krav Maga and would love to one day study Okinawan Karate, Wing Chun and Jeet Kune Do -- but really, when all is said and done, it doesn't mean shit when I walk onto the mats at BJJ. If you've never fought from your back, if you've never been trapped underneath someone who outweighs you by 50+ pounds, then it just doesn't matter. So if you're new, avoid talking too much. Don't challenge your coach with questions like, "well, couldn't he just punch me in the nuts?" or "what if I just threw him like this?" Your coach will most likely roll his/her eyes and count the minutes until he/she never sees you again. If you're going to try out jiu jitsu, treat it like you would if you were visiting your best friend's church, mosque or synagogue. Or if that frame of reference is foreign to you, treat it like you were visiting his/her family for a holiday dinner. And if that's not something you'd understand, you don't have friends and that's just sad. But really -- listen, be hungry, be curious, but show respect. Try something before you challenge it. Usually, you'll figure out the why's and how's when you're actually in the motion of something. Trust me, the first time I was introduced to full guard, I had a whole bunch of questions. But over time, I've discovered a lot more of the reasoning behind these techniques by practicing them over and over again. 
6. Travel should not prohibit training - Even in my first year, I was eager to visit other gyms. Not because I was shopping for a new school or anything, but because I was that addicted. I couldn't imagine a week without getting at least one roll in. It started locally with dropping into a friend's gym for an open mat. Everyone was really generous with their time and didn't have any qualms about an outsider on their mats. After that positive experience, I never missed a chance to roll when I traveled. Cincinnati, New York, Annapolis, the Poconos... it doesn't matter. Think about it. Runners run when they can, whether it's at the hotel fitness room or around town. It should be the same for us. Pack a lightweight gi and make it happen. Some tips: don't surprise a gym by just showing up. Yes, people do it all the time. Especially at renowned gyms. But do your best to email or call a day or week ahead to let them know you're coming, how long you've been training and what school/lineage you come from. I always ask if they have a mat fee or rules about gi color (it's a good idea to have a white travel gi with no patches for this reason). Be open-minded. Some schools are very established and have their set rules and community. Be flattered they are allowing you join them for a day. Some are new start-ups. I've dropped in on some places that look straight out of Fight Club and others that look like friends' suburban basements. Again, respect the fact that they opened up their home to you and are willing to train an outsider. Don't say things like "oh, my coach does this better" or "hmmm, I do it differently." They don't give a fuck and they shouldn't. Unless they ask, it's best to be fully present with them and not have your head in your old gym. It's also best not to smash the people at the gym you're visiting. Most likely, they'll smash you for being an outsider. Don't let them, but also don't try to rep East Coast/West Coast. Roll and demonstrate that your technique is strong and match your speed and strength with theirs. And don't call out their coach. It's poor form. I have yet to visit a gym where they coach didn't invite me to roll with them. Always accept and do your best. The best compliment you can get at the end of a visiting session is to be encouraged to come back anytime. I'll admit there have been a couple that didn't express this to me and the reasons are listed above.
7. Be a jiu jitsu missionary - We all know this: when someone brings up jiu jitsu, all you want to do is talk about jiu jitsu. Until you see that their eyes have glazed over and they're doing that swaying thing that indicates that they stopped listening five minutes ago and are looking for an escape route. But every so often, you'll find someone who really wants to delve deeper and you can see that they're curious. And just like dating, just ask them out. Tell them that you'd love to have them at the gym, that you'd be game to host them, loan them a gi, pay their mat fee or whatever. Because remember when you started? Remember how your life changed? Remember how you always wish you had started years ago? Remember how there was no one that helped guide you into the deep end? Yeah, be that guy or girl. Invite that noob to the mats, give your coach a heads up and make sure to introduce your friend to your teammates -- like a mafioso, "he's a good guy, he's a friend of mine." Same goes for people you don't know, who wander into your gym and look the way you did when you first saw people struggle to breathe underneath a 300 pound behemoth. If you're not rolling, get up and shake their hand. Ask them how they found their way to the gym, if they already connected with your coach and offer to get them set-up with a waiver, loaner gi, etc. If you can, partner with them and as you drill, talk through any previous experience they might have had with BJJ. Talk about the gym, the coach, the hours, the culture. If they stay to roll and you're their first partner, flow roll until they push the speed/strength of the match -- which is also a good time to discuss concepts like tapping, breathing, position before submission, etc. Basically, treat noobs the way you would if you were looking to convert them to your religion. Make it a positive experience that they want to repeat. But just like a first date, play it cool. Don't come on too strong. Don't ask them to marry you right away. Let your coach do the sales pitch and trust that he/she will take it from there. Your job is to represent the best type of student the gym has to offer. Everything else is what it is.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Originally posted on July 13, 2016 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

When you experience that session when you're tapping your partners out more than they're tapping you out, that's a damn good night. And if you're lucky, you'll get a couple nights in a row like that. Your game is hot and it means you've improved. It's a BFD in your mind and you celebrate on the drive home by turning that dial to 11 and wailing along to Rage Against the Machine.

But the next class, you don't tap anyone. Not even the newer white belts. In fact, one of them was really fucking close to choking you out. It was a fist in the neck and he was heavy as all hell, but a tap is a tap. And what's worse? The next three nights of class when your performance sucks as bad or worse.

WTF? How is it that you're moving so well one day, connecting the dots, executing and maintaining healthy breath? And the other, you're a grappling dummy or spend the entire round trapped under his or her side control.

But you keep going. Cause you can't improve your game from the couch or the bar stool. It can only be done on the mats. So I guess while I suck, I should call out those peeps I know kick my ass. That way, I'm working harder. Don't get comfortable. Stay on top.

Are You Any Good?

Originally posted on January 8, 2016 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

A new co-worker started in my office this week and saw a couple photos of Anthony Bourdain training jiu jitsu on my wall. Curious, he inquired and I quickly explained that my crush on Bourdain began with food, but that it deepened when he and I simultaneously got bit by the jiu jitsu bug. After politely expressing interest in the fact that I trained in martial arts, my colleague inquired, “are you good?”

I had no answer. It’s weird because it’s not something that is often asked of me (if ever). It’s definitely not something jiu jiteiros ask one another on the mats. But it got me thinking – how does one assess that? How does one begin to answer that question?

If it was someone who was in the know, someone who practiced jiu jitsu or another martial arts, they probably wouldn’t have asked this question. Instead, they would probably inquire as to how many years I had been training or what belt/rank I was. But if a BJJ brother or sister asked if I was any good, I’d tell them flat-out, “nah, I suck.”

Most practitioners would accept and understand this answer and not feel like I just brushed them off. It’s true. I’m certainly not comparing myself to the prodigy white belts who come in with a wrestling background and know where each limb of their body is at all times and use their strength, leverage, agility and technique to dominate you. They are anomalies. I’m looking at how I stack up against your typical, slow and steady student that attends 2-3x a week. In that regard, I’m ok. Most nights, I can survive a half hour of rolling without getting tapped out by people who have been training as long as I have. On average, I get tapped out half a dozen times or so and maybe tap my partners out with the same frequency. But is that how one measures one’s ability or performance? Cause if so, I totally suck big donkey balls if you factor in competitions. My first competition saw two losses, I barely survived the clock on the first match, holding out while my opponent applied an expert collar choke on me, and survived the second one but allowed my opponent to rack up points on me. My second competition was even harsher with me losing twice to two different opponents to the same submission. Big suck.

But if you measured your prowess by looking at where you came from, it’s a very different assessment. When I started jiu jitsu, I was borderline obese. Warm-ups had me gassing out and I couldn’t shift my hips to save my life. When a training partner rolled with me and inevitably got me on my back, I’d lie flat, neck exposed to chokes and hips glued to the ground with no cardio or strength to opa. My submission vocabulary consisted of whatever we drilled that night, but more often than not, I smashed and smothered my partners when I could. Gain side control and drive all my weight onto them and keep him or her from moving me. This is not who I am today. Not only can I power through warm-ups, but I can usually endure a krav maga or crossfit class in addition to the 75 minutes of BJJ. While I haven’t mastered anything, I have a working vocabulary of passes, escapes, positions and submissions. I might not have my go-to game, but I land a fair share of armbars and collar chokes each week (and not just on the newbies). I have lost 25 pounds since starting jiu jitsu and always keep my breathing under control. One of the things I am most proud of is that I don't rush in for submissions. I can anticipate my opponent’s movements, respond accordingly, gain a better position and weigh my options. This does not mean that I avoid getting smashed and trapped under someone’s mount. Often (always, if I’m rolling with Coach), I realize my mistakes as I lie underneath someone’s sweaty body, cursing myself as oxygen and strength slowly escapes me. And that’s it – I realize my mistakes. Not only do I know what I did wrong, but I also know what the correct move is (or more accurately, moves – plural – cause there is always another option). The other success is that I look forward to class. My gym offers BJJ class three times a week and on the regular, that’s where you’ll find me. And on nights where there is no class? I’m home moping that there isn’t class. No matter how rundown I get during the day, no matter what mess is happening in my life, I trust in the fact that the healthiest thing I can do is get to the mats. There are times when I’ve made it and during warm-ups, my head will fill up with whatever drama is happening in the world outside and I start thinking I’ll check out early. But I don’t. I force myself to push through and by the time I’m rolling, I’m lost in it. In a seminar with Sensei Saulo Ribeiro, I was told by him that we should never give up in our training because that will teach your body that it’s okay to give up. Sounded like macho stuff to me at the time, but it makes complete sense to me now. Challenge yourself to overcome those walls and you will achieve so much more than you set out to. 

So given this, am I good? I stand by my original answer. “Nah, I suck.” But I didn’t tell my co-worker that. Because truth is I’m pretty confident that I can defend myself against everyone in my office building. Everyone. And if you’re really crazy and want to tackle me, I will most likely end up on your back with both hooks in, slowly squeezing the life out of you. But I won’t tell him that either. That’d be too much to explain to HR.

Dishing on my Exes (Martial Arts-wise)

Originally posted on October 6, 2015 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

I wish I could say that I came from a long line of martial artists, but I suck way too much for that to be true. It was definitely part of my upbringing (yes there's some truth to the stereotype) but none of my relatives had any formal training to give to me. Nope, I was taught by outsiders. 

Like many kids, I was bullied. And if I was being really honest, the actual incident that occurred on the school playground didn't really scare me that much but it definitely scared my mom enough for her to seek the help of a family friend and sifu of Tay Son Kung Fu. So at ten, I was enrolled in my first martial art which was damn cool. Karate Kid had come out only a few years prior and I was devouring Bruce Lee, Sho Kosugi and Hong Kong TVB so I was loving the idea of kicking some serious ass. Classes were held in a YMCA on Sundays. Sifu had quite a large class of students, all age ranges with several non-Asian students. The room was one of those multipurpose rooms used for everything from dance to gymnastics. But we worked it out on bare floors. My memory is that classes were two hours long, which looking back at it - damn that's a long time. Warm ups, stretches, tumbling, punches, kicks, forms and sparring. And there was always some form of exhibition. For example, we would spend the last fifteen minutes of class watching a section of people perform their forms. The upper belts got to perform forms with weapons. Badass. Swords, staff, spears - those giant swords with rings on the back of them. I was in heaven. Except that it hurt a lot. No pads on the ground took its toll of a fat boy's body. No pads in sparring meant a lot of black and blue marks. Practicing  horse stances while flexing my outstretched forearms for ten minutes at a time was ridiculously painful. And I admit I could do the full splits and throw some beautiful kicks. But I never felt afterwards that I could defend myself any better than I did before I went to class. I went up two belts before quitting it altogether. I don't remember the exact reason but I suspect it had more to do with my mom having a falling out with sifu than any disatisfaction I might have had with my training. We were tight. We regularly attended dinner at his house and went as a team to a public beach that was infested with jellyfish (oh my god, that's a blog entry on its own). But I remember one dinner party when sifu asked me to come over so he could show me something. He asked me to roll up my sleeve and then he raised his hand above my hand and with a fast peck, he pierced me with the tips of his fingers, so hard that he pierced a hole in my skin. I told my mom and she said that wasn't right. I don't know if that's what did it, but that definitely ended my trust in him.

It was a couple of years later when my dad decided to enroll me in tae kwon do. It was very odd cause there was no real discussion about it. He had passed a new Jhoon Rhee Karate school in a strip mall and took me in. We sat down with the teacher, whom I'll call Mr. B. He was Peruvian which struck me as odd (yes, I, too was guilty of stereotyping). After hashing out the financials, I started the following week. I was surprised that there was more formality than my kung fu classes. We had to bow before getting on and off the mats. We had to always address the teacher as Mr. B or sir. You had to face the back if you needed to fix your gi. All classes started with reciting a pledge about honor and stuff. And we always counted in Korean. It was a lot to take in, especially as a middle schooler who was taking a liking to punk rock. But the instruction was top notch. I thought kung fu hurt. Mr. B had my body twisting joints and muscles I hadn't realized I even had. Jumping round kicks along the perimeter of the gym (thank god it wa a small gym), wheel barrel races, side kicks against a teammate leaning their entire body weight against your foot and knuckle push ups. Mr. B perfected my sidekick and to this day, it's instilled in me (the pivot, the full torquing of the hip, the striking with the heel). Somewhere around the first year, Mr. B said he was leaving to start a new school to teach traditional Chun Do Kwan, under the banner of his own teacher, Master Lee. With the move, he was inviting me to go with him. Why not? My dad liked him and so did I. We moved to a Sport and Health  a block away. While adults and seniors were lifting weights, me and a small group of new students were learning traditional forms. We sparred more (not that I got any better at fighting). But I broke my first boards. It was quite surprising when it first happened. He brought a stack in one day like it was nothing and I was terrified. Mr. B held one up and told me it was all about focus and determination - that if I wanted to break it, I was going to break it. When my fist went through it and I heard the crack of the wood, I felt like a freaking superhero. I had never scored a touchdown, never hit a home run. So this was my moment. My baby brother joined me as well. Mr. B noticed that my dad would just leave him with me when I was dropped off and while I was getting my instruction, my brother would be off to the side doing the same moves. So Mr. B just had him join in with no fee assessed. It was under Mr. B that I competed for the first time. I didn't spar but I competed in forms and was note perfect until the final move. It required a jump kick coming out of a forward roll. I couldn't find enough room so I kept adjusting and starting over. The judges scored me low and I ended up with an honorable mention ribbon which I quickly tossed in a dark corner of my house. One of the biggest lessons I learned from Mr. B had nothing to do with technique. We were sparring and I walked into one of his back kicks that took me off my feet. I got the wind knocked out of me and I let out a quite audible, "oh fuck." People in the gym must have stopped to look at this sight of a grown man over a fallen kid whom he had just kicked cause his face was bright red. But he wasn't embarrassed; he was furious. He got down real close to me and asked, What's the big idea? Are you injured? Did I break you? Do you want people to think I hurt you?" And then we went on to something else. Something changed that day. I had violated his trust. I had sold him out. I wasn't honest. And because I was a punk teenager, I couldn't own up to it. So soon after I quit. I had studied with him for two years, attained three belts and I walked away. A few years later, I was with my brother Cheistmas shopping in a mall and I saw him. Mr. B was walking alone and I had the impulse to go over to him and say something. But I froze. I was still so embarrassed - not only by what I did all those years ago but also for abandoning my teacher. I knew that his school was no longer at Sport and Health. It would be years later that I'd reconnect with him on Facebook. He now studies Muay Thai in Florida and still throws mean sidekicks.

When the wife and I first moved back to the DC area, we tried out a Kim's Karate for a month. One of the biggest scams ever. The teacher even studied under the same teacher as Mr. B but his instruction and rigor was far inferior. He allowed sloppy kicks and sad excuses for punches. The coaches he would set us up with were lazy and split-focused. They had black belts around their waist but the passion of assembly line workers. Dissatisfied, we left before we ever really started.

Which brings us to the present. It would be years later before I found Krav Maga and jiu jitsu and a coach and team that could change my life. For the first eight months or so, I had a whole slew of rotating instructors, each with their own styles and preferences. There were some that stressed perfect technique, some that stressed the fitness aspect of it and some who stressed aggressiveness. Following my level one classes, I would see the jiu jitsu students gear up and start their laps. On Saturdays, it preceded my class which allowed me to see them grapple. Intrigued, I decided to try out a nogi day. I remember nervously sitting in a ridiculously tight sausage casing known as a rash guard and talking myself into staying. I had spent my entire life learning how to strike, but the idea of fighting on one's back, smothered below a 200 pound ball of sweat... That seemed crazy. But if the majority of fights ended on the ground, I was shit out of luck. I'll be honest, that first lesson sucked. I was doing everything wrong and I was gassed out in the first ten minutes of warm-ups. The instructor was a big military guy with an officious tone and demeanor. I got the sense that if I wasn't picking it up, I had no chance of catching up. And I was definitely drowning. Why I decided to come back, I don't know. I'm not a glutton for punishment, but I suppose krav had instilled in me a shame of giving up. Like all newbies, I spazzed and smashed. I still got tapped pretty regularly but every so often I would be able to take side control and keep it by driving all my 195 pounds onto that person's chest. But I'd be spent and the second that I got swept, my ass would be handed to me. A couple months in, the instructor left and our highest rank student and krav instructor took over. I'll call him Coach. Full disclosure, I totally thought he was your average douche. When he taught krav, it seemed like he just thought the whole lot of us sucked (which might be true). There was one day when he asked all of us to ground and pound on kick shields. We all complied and after ten seconds or so of watching us, he told us to stop. "This isn't LA Boxing! When I say ground and pound, I want you to smash and drop hammer fists." He straddled the shield and proceeded to rain hell on it. Typical MMA douche, I thought. Then in my first week of gi class with him at the helm, I hurt someone. Again working the few things I knew, I smashed my training partner in side control and held her there, trying to work an arm triangle. After 30 seconds or so, I heard her cry for me to get off. I quickly obliged and found her in tears. "You were suffocating me." I asked why she didn't tap and she told me it wasn't a submission but that I was just smashing her. Now in retrospect, she should have just tapped, real submission or not. There's no crying in BJJ! But I felt terrible. So I found Coach on Facebook messenger and told him that I had hurt someone and asked advice on how to make it right. I admit I didn't expect him to reply. I just wanted to make sure that I told someone and didn't want to hide it. Imagine my surprise when I got a reply within the hour. Coach: "Take it easy on yourself. We have a lot of white belts and we all train at different levels. We spar every class and it's a combat sport. We will all get hurt at some point." And with that, he won my trust and whole-hearted commitment to the discipline. Coach got what I was going through, addressed it and provided support and encouragement. As I continued in my journey, I took note of how he never gave up - on me or any of my peers who sucked. "We have all been there," he'd say time and time again. Because of this (and his relentless, un-PC, bro humor), the team grew significantly in size. When I first started BJJ, a large turnout would be maybe a dozen people. Nowadays, we are regularly double that. And every student gets the same support and attention. No matter what we were fucking up, he'd stay with us and patiently give notes to improve our game. And over time, it did. I lost twice in my first tournament with him coaching me in the corner. Both times I stepped off the mats, he made me feel like an action hero. In class, he'd make sure to check in with me and address my game - always direct, always honest and always supportive. Never dismissive, Coach would say things like, "we'll get there." And I felt that in spades when he rewarded me with a blue belt last summer. He had set that goal for me but I was still surprised that it had happened. I still suck big time but looking back, all I see is growth. Where I once gave up, I persevere. Where I once gassed out, I have stamina. Where I once tapped, I now survive. I'm down 25 pounds from when I started Krav Maga and can regularly choke people out. And as I continue on this journey of growth and self-realization, I have no doubt who will be in my corner. 

And that's ultimately it - if your life is not changing, if you're the same person you were before you underwent training, then why bother. The road is not at all easy, regardless of discipline. You will get hurt, you will get frustrated, you will lose more than you win. But that journey is made better when you have someone you trust at the wheel (and infinitely more enjoyable when he tells stripper jokes and blasts '90's hip hop along the way).

Oss to all my former and present teachers, my Coach and my teammates.

You Can't Teach Heart

Originally posted on May 15, 2015 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

When my wife volunteer coached a girls' soccer team at her elementary school, I tagged along to one of the games. Her little girls sucked. They couldn't dribble and didn't pass to one another. The opposing team quickly stacked up some points. At half-time, the principal called them to the bench and said to them, "Don't worry, girls. It's not about winning or losing. It's about having fun."

I remember thinking, "well, actually no - the point is to win. The point of competing is to win. Otherwise, why do it?"

And there's the rub. I am guilty of doing something with no point to it.

Don't get me wrong. I love jiu jitsu and there's certainly a point to it that has nothing to do with winning or losing. I do it for a myriad of reasons. Physically, I'm stronger than I have been my entire life. I move more efficiently and my cardiovascular system shows no proof of the eight-year nicotine habit that ruled my teens and 20s. From a self-defense angle, partnered with my foundation in krav maga, jiu jitsu has empowered me to walk down a street and not fear for my life. I know that if someone were to attack me, I could defend myself -- at least long enough until the cops come.

But I just competed in my second jiu jitsu tournament and was defeated twice (like the first time, but this time, both were via submission). These latest defeats hurt a lot more than the first time around because at no point in my training and preparation for Copa Nova did I anticipate winning. Even when I stepped on the mats and looked at my opponent, I had no intention of winning. And thus, I had been defeated long before either of my opponents submitted me that day. For weeks leading up to the fight, I attended every class I could. I drilled diligently and reviewed video footage of each night's exercise repeatedly before dozing off to bed. I ate right and cut weight safely and effectively. I practiced all of the tools I had in my wheelhouse:  open guard, arm bars, takedowns and collar chokes. And in my heart, I remained open to whatever outcome awaited me and would use the matches to point out areas I needed to improve upon. Competition is the best way to improve your game, I thought. But I was lying to myself. I wasn't open to whatever outcome. I had closed the door to winning. I welcomed victory, but I made a bed for defeat. All of this training I put in so that I could accept losing. "Win or learn," I kept telling myself. And because of this mindset, I never pushed myself harder than I had to. I grew comfortable responding to my opponent rather than imposing my own game. I grew comfortable on the bottom, slipping someone in my half-guard and stalling until the clock ran out. I grew comfortable on my ass, challenging them with my open guard. And because of this comfort, I left the door wide open for more aggressive challengers with better skill, with more agility, with more heart to dominate. Sure, Bruce Lee advised us to never anticipate the outcome of a fight, to stay in the moment, but that didn't mean he wasn't determined to kick the shit out his opponent.

This heart can't be taught, as the saying goes. It's not the responsiblity of my coach. I thank my lucky stars everyday that I fell into a group in which the culture is not built around championship medals and gearing up for world competition all the time. No one is yelling at me and no one is shaming me for sucking. I got off the mats and he assured me he was proud of me for showing up. And there was a lot to be proud of. Unlike my first performance at Copa Nova, I actually applied my game (fleeting moments, but present, nonetheless). I managed a few escapes and was able to play open-guard. I dropped nearly 20 pounds since my last competition, sliding into a new weight class. I felt lighter and healthier. But if there's something I learned after this weekend's losses, it's that heart that is the big game-changer. It will maximize every drill, every new technique, every in-class roll. I might not aspire to be a champion, but I don't have any business competing if I don't aim to win. And I can't get to that place where I think I can win until I up my game. And that means putting in the work. Drill like I mean to use it. Roll like the stakes are sky-high. Escape like my life depends on it. Aim for top position. Seek and submit. Never stay comfortable. 

Ronda Rousey talks about everything from the perspective of a winner. It's a foregone conclusion for her before the fans even say it. She doesn't entertain defeat. She thinks in terms of "when I beat her..." And when asked, "why," she doesn't point at the flaws of her opponent, but instead, she reminds people that she prepared to win, that she trains harder than her opponents do. And she says this with all the confidence in the world.

It's quite possible that I just suck at jiu jitsu. Or that my opponents had superior skill. But I know for a fact that I did not work as hard as they did and I did not believe in myself the way they did. And until I strengthen my heart, until I know I've put in the effort and roll with conviction, until I can say outloud, "I'm going to win this," I'm not stepping foot on that competition mat. 

Rolling with the Homies

Originally posted on April 7, 2015 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

Well before I had kids, I made peace with the fact that I didn't need anymore friends. Now before my friends start blowing up my inbox and hating on me, let me clarify. All throughout my adolescence, I struggled with serious insecurities. Every day of my life, I was reminded of how I different I was. I was not white in a school full of affluent white kids. I was too smart to be a badass and too stupid to be a nerd. I had no athletic abilities and I was too short and fat to be considered attractive to any of the girls I was attracted to. To my parents, I didn't garner enough high marks, awards or honors that their friends' kids. To my dad, I wasn't man enough - too soft spoken, too cowardly. I did drama for Christ's sake. Given all this, having friends meant the world to me. It provided me with a sense of worth and validation that I wasn't getting from life. In high school, I found theatre which not only championed my talent and potential but gave me a bevy of friends. But then life happens. You make that long, arduous transition from an invulnerable 18 year old to a real grown up with responsibilities and consequences. Friendships have come and gone and they're no longer the center of your world the way they once were. Your spouse and kids take that place and the gravity of being responsible to and for them is now your mission and calling. And where you once lamented this fact, you now accept it (if you even acknowledge it at all).

My wife used to say to me, "I wish you had some guy friends." That hole that I once filled with friends - that aching sense of loneliness and desire for acceptance was now satisfied by the immense responsibility to my family. And oddly enough I'm incredibly content with that. Their love is more than enough and I am often surprised how much they love me.

Don't get me wrong. I still keep in touch with some old friends from high school and college. But they're not the same friendships we once enjoyed. None of them are knocking on my window at night to sneak in a case of beer anymore. And I have some great friends I've made through work. But they're also not the same as friends whom you trust with secrets, fears and dreams. Doing so makes for very awkward balancing acts of work/life. Not everyone is mature enough to navigate it. And inevitably, when one of your friends leaves your place of work, that friendship will change drastically, if not disappearing altogether.

So this is where I find myself when I got involved with jiu jitsu. You read any blog about the benefits of jiu jitsu and amongst the health and fitness points, you'll always see mention of the newfound community of lifelong friends. Let me tell you something - that almost unsold me on the sport. I didn't want any part of it. I have come to value and protect the privacy I have for me and my family and the idea that I would be paying for martial arts lessons with a special add-on benefit of friends that I'd be obliged to care about seemed disingenuous and annoying. But seeing as I was an adult, I decided that you don't have to make friends if you didn't want to. No-brainer, right?

There's that saying amongst BJJ practitioners that if you don't roll, you don't know. Something about the journey connects everyone in a way that other arts don't. In my line of work, and I assume in many lines of work, there's a tendency to wave your achievements like a flag and remind newcomers of how much you know and how much you've done in your life. Pick up any program from a community theatre and read the actor bios. You would think that community theatres secretly host the world's most revered thespians. Jiu jitsu works differently. Because everyone has started from zero and remembers how steep that climb is in that first year of training, higher ranks have a tendency to reach out to newbies. There's a sense of recognition - a "been there and you can do this" type of connection. It doesn't always manifest itself as friendliness, though. It can be somewhat standoff-ish. Not because they think they're better than you (because they don't think that, they KNOW that). It's because they know that out of the few that start the journey, few have the stamina to continue it past blue belt. Some won't make it past a month. Why? Cause you suck. We all do. Like infants learning to crawl and then eventually walk. We all start from zero. And for some, that's just too frustrating a defeat to swallow. They've done their schooling and earned good grades and bought that car, that home, nailed that post or whatever. Why the hell should I subject myself to this and start from the bottom? And that's just it - those that drink the Kool-Aid, those that undergo the journey, they tear their ego down to the ground. When we hit the mats and put on the gi, you are not putting on a costume. You are actually taking it off. In a gi, you have stripped away all of the title, pretense and decoration that you don to make it outside in society. On the mats, however, none of that helps you. You cannot fake it. You cannot bullshit your skill level, your technique, your ability. And when you roll with the same group of people over the course of a month, a year, you know them in a way that is unlike other friendships you've had. If you asked me two years ago if I'd ever be friends with a Republican, a pro-gun, cop or a soldier, I'd laugh at you. But here I am. I have a Coach that gives so much of himself to his students, imparting knowledge and guidance that is transferable outside of jiu jitsu. His generosity of spirit and belief in his students' potential is inspiring. And my teammates - they take and dispense support and feedback without guile or judgement, without ambition or motive. It's like we are all scaling a wall that we'd never thought we could get over before - but because Coach told us we could and because everyone else will help us get there, we are doing it and with gusto.

No one joins jiu jitsu for the friends, but on any given night, once I get my daughter to bed and know that I've done my duty as a husband and dad, there's no other group of people I want to hang with than the crew I roll with.

Living in the Suck

Originally posted on June 5, 2014 on http://thevagabondhauschronicles.blogspot.com/

For the last 10 years, I watched my father get overtaken by a slew of health issues stemming from over 40 years of alcoholism and a two-pack-a-day nicotine habit. High blood pressure and diabetes led to a series of strokes and later to renal failure. After several years of dialysis, he passed away in April 2014.

In that decade, I had a lot of time to reflect and grow. In his years of illness, I formed a family of my own, marrying something fierce from the mountains of Pennsylvania and spawning an incredibly handsome boy and a cute-ass spark plug of a girl. Seeing your dad go forces you to meditate on your own life expectancy. What were my chances? How long do I get to enjoy this blessed life? Early on, after his first stroke, I gave up my chain-smoking habits and limited my drinking to a six-pack or less a week. But my father's demons were not mine to combat. My older body wasn't burning off the calories the way it used to and that extra weight has taken a toll on my mobility with arthritis in both ankles. While I love nothing more than following a dinner of pork fat and ice cream with some intense lounging, I was setting myself up for a shorter life span -- one in which I would not be able to run after my children, chase after a baseball or save my family from an impending zombie apocalypse.

If this outlook wasn't bleak enough, I had gotten mugged twice at gunpoint as an adult. The first time it happened, I was leaving a birthday party in a posh neighborhood, a block away from the theatre I worked at, when the guy came up to me and jabbed a hard object into my chest. While hindsight suggests that it was not a real pistol, this fat boy was not going to take any chances. After giving him the six dollars in my pocket, I took advantage of a passerby's presence to escape. The second attack took place in a hotel parking garage. I exited my car and saw three people approaching. Though I walked as fast as I could to the nearest exit, they caught up to me and shoved a gun in my face. While I gave them my wallet, I wasn't giving into their demands to lay down on the ground or taking the gun into my mouth so I prepared myself for a beat down. Luckily, a car came up the ramp and they scattered -- all of which was caught on a security camera.

So there I was. Growing fatter and slower while remaining ever so prone (and attractive) to prospective muggers. I am very aware that death is imminent -- that no one escapes it. But I didn't have to grease the skids. So at the ripe age of 35, I enrolled in krav maga. For those not in the know, this is the Israeli fighting system employed by their military known for both its efficiency and ruthlessness.

While I'm not a UFC addict (though I'm now a growing fan), I wasn't at all a stranger to the martial arts. After a bullying incident on the school playground, my mom signed me up for Vietnamese Tay Son kung fu. When I got bored of this, I moved onto Chung do Kwan-style Tae Kwon Do. I did well in both, learning to throw a mean sidekick and breaking a fair number of boards, but I stopped shy of acquiring a black belt in either discipline. But had I did, I'm not sure I would have had the skills to fight off those attackers (or the body fat).

Everything I had read and seen about krav maga told me it had the punishing rigor and practicality to address both life threats. And in the year that I've trained at my school, this has certainly turned out to be true. My first class had me gassing out fifteen minutes in, barely keeping up with the warm-up. I bloodied my unwrapped knuckles on their tombstone pads and did more sit-ups in an hour than I had in the previous year. But after six months of training, I tested into level two. The exam was the most challenging experience of my life and next to marriage and fatherhood, the most rewarding. No longer did I feel like a victim to the circumstances of my life. I was now in good enough shape and mindset to do something about it.

I wish I could say the same about BJJ. Get your minds out of the gutter - that stands for Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Somewhere between wrestling and judo, this art involves a lot of weight distribution, breathing and grappling technique to submit your partner via joint-locks, chokes and other uncomfortable positions. I've been rolling for roughly six months now and only consistently (two-three times a week) for the last three. And I suck at it... hard.  Stand-up striking is something I grew up understanding through experience and pop-culture, but ground fighting and grappling while on your back was a real mind-f*ck. By far, the most foreign thing I've tackled as an adult, BJJ is incredibly humbling. It's not like in other arts or pursuits where moderate success and encouragement breeds future achievement. Nope. In BJJ, I live in the suck. And it's not like I aspire to much. I made peace with the fact that I'm not there to win. The first month or so, I was tapping so much you would have thought I was starting a drum circle. But the good news is each time I go back, I suck less. And for whatever reason, that's enough encouragement to send me back to the mats week after week. I focus on controlling my breath and not letting out high pitch squeals when a heavy, bony knee digs into my ribs or thighs. I can roll longer without tapping and actually know what to do when I successfully pass my partner's guard. Where I once only knew side control, I now have other positions to rely upon. Not to mention that the Mrs. seems impressed by the (slightly) less chubby hubby coming home after each class, nursing his giant bruises and washing his body with something so masculine, it's called "defense soap." And despite the muscle soreness and pains, my ankles haven't given out in a long while having found renewed strength via shrimping and reverse hip escapes. But don't get me wrong, I still suck, a fact my peers are always ready to remind me of. I just embrace it now and look forward to a long life in pursuit of sucking a lot less.