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. 

Love for Krav

So while this blog has been primarily focused on my trials and tribulations in jiu jitsu, I would be remiss if I didn't speak about my love and appreciation for krav maga. As covered in an earlier post, I was not a stranger to the martial arts when I started studying krav maga. But like taking a few years off between undergrad and grad school (which I have quit numerous times so I'm still without an advanced degree), by the time I enrolled at Krav Maga NOVA, I already knew what I wanted from it. I didn't want any bullshit. I wanted a self-defense system without any of the fat. No formality. No tradition. No this-style-vs-that-style. Having gotten mugged twice by gunpoint, I wanted reflexes to avoid, assess and attack whatever threat was in front of me. And I found that in krav maga.

For those who have not heard of this, it's the fighting system adopted by the Israel Defense Forces. A lot of folks joke that it's basically 1,000 ways to kick someone in the balls. While that is hyperbole, it's not so far off from the truth. There's a lot of focus on soft targets. It's not pretty. It's efficient, hand-to-hand combat that incorporates kicks and strikes one might remember from childhood tae kwon do lessons, elbows and knees borrowed from muay thai and some limited ground fighting as well. And because we live in a world where the fight is not always fair, there's also techniques to disarm an aggressor of their firearm or knife.

The reason why krav maga made such an impression upon me and why I constantly recommend it for those who are new to martial arts and are looking strictly at self-defense is that it 1) conditions you to respond with force and aggression and 2) prepares you for multiple attackers. Years ago, I was mugged in a parking garage by three people, one bearing a firearm. The whole ordeal lasted about 5-7 minutes, which is pretty long. A lot of the altercation was non-physical as we were locked in argument and sizing each other up. The guy with the gun demanded I lay down on the ground. I didn't. I don't know why other than thinking that if I laid down, I'm giving up my will to live. But the entire time (in the moment) and even now, looking back (which I do often), I keep thinking of how I could have reacted faster - how many exits could I have made for myself, how much distance I could have closed, etc. I'm not saying anyone should go against a gun, but if you're cornered, there's got to be a better solution than giving it up to Jesus. And in krav maga, I found my solace. A year into training, I was quicker, more agile and aware of those around me. I drilled those techniques so much, I could strike, redirect attacks, claw off grips and take someone down at the drop of a hat. Not only that, but I learned to throw multiple strikes in rapid succession because one punch is not gonna work like the movies. I learned to absorb a punch or kick and keep moving forward. I now had strategies for fighting off more than one person -- learning to stack opponents. I gained immense confidence by pushing myself past my breaking point every night -- when my mind would give up and tell me I couldn't do anymore - but the fight wouldn't let off so I kept going. To this day, the hardest thing I have ever done was my test into level 2. It was three-plus hours of hellish combat-specific drills, sparring, etc. People puked. People whined. People got upset. But for those who kept going, it was a feeling like no other.

In no way am I saying that I can beat anyone who comes at me. I am not invulnerable against an armed attacker. But I can say that krav maga instilled in me the confidence that if the circumstance were to arise, I would fight and do some serious damage before I go down.

I'm a jiu jitsu guy now, exclusively. There's nothing that beats the mental, physical and emotional challenge I experience every session. Unlike krav maga, I knew zilch about fighting from your back and there's something thrilling about learning at this age. But there are times when I get an itch to kick someone in the balls a thousand different ways.

Motivation vs Discipline

At last month's promotions, I was upgraded from a one stripe blue belt to a four stripe blue belt. It was quite unexpected and immensely humbling. It means I'm on deck for purple belt next go around and that pressure alone is enough motivation to send me to the mats every night and spar with the hardest teammates.

I know that some folks go into promotions expecting something. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not how I'm wired. But if you've been working hard at something and every indicator tells you that you deserve a stripe or a new belt, more power to you. Maybe I'm more zen, but I just don't expect it. Most of the time, I'm focusing on where I fall short, where I can improve and what, if any, shortcuts I've taken. Basically, I am my harshest critic. And that compels me to hit the mats more. So when coach kept wrapping bands of tape on my belt, I took a deep breath because he saw something I didn't. He was acknowledging growth I didn't take into account and was commenting on potential that I was not tapping into. It was also a challenge. Because the four stripe white belts now have a new target. The blue belts who got their first stripe are eyeing me harder and ready to make a go of tapping me out. All of that means I can't slack.

It's an interesting thing, motivation. We don't always feel it or respond to it. There are mornings we wake up and all we want to do is throw that blanket over our heads and disappear for a while. Life has a way of messing up your plans, playing with your emotions and headspace. But in the same way, we suck it up, put on pants, brush our teeth and go to work like we care, discipline is what makes up for lack of motivation. I have quit a lot of things in my life and walked away from a lot that has scared me. I stopped pursuing a film career because the idea of working 20 hours a day for years with nothing to show for it overcame any dream of making it. I quit grad school, not once but three times, because the years of study and predicted debt outweighed the potential jobs that might come of an advanced degree. I've turned down job opportunities in different parts of the country because the change in environment was too big a challenge to overcome. But jiu jitsu... I have not quit. I make time for it. I shift things around for it. Because I love it. Not competing. Not dominating another person. Not even the camaraderie. It's because when I roll, I feel stronger and better than I did yesterday and see where I might go tomorrow. And when that vision gets blurry, I get in the car anyways and tell myself that stepping on the mats without a goal is better than staying off the mats with nothing but regret for not going. Motivation and discipline. And sometimes, when both fail you, your coach ups your rank and in doing so, challenges you to prove you deserve to wear it.

Kids: I love them, I hate them

Prior to the new gym's opening, I would bug my coach about kids' classes. My boy was at that time seven years old and his interest was peaked, seeing dad disappear at night and reappear the next morning, stronger with new bruises, but carrying less and less weight each time. I was anxious to instill him with not only some self-defense skills to help navigate adolescence, but also the confidence that I had regained - a perspective and self worth that I had lost along the way. To my delight, Coach unveiled a kids program running five days a week when the new space opened. I bought my kid a gi and got him enrolled.

Needless to say, it's been a work in progress for all involved. The program started with three or four kids, steadily growing into a robust class of 20-25 in each session. Coach had to develop a vocabulary that communicated the complexities of take-downs, positioning, escapes and sweeps in a way our youngest students could digest and retain. It's been almost a year since this program started and these junior samurai are inspiring to watch, dominating at local tournaments. More impressive is the way they relate to each other. When new students join up, the other students eagerly partner with them and ease up when they roll to allow the new students to work what little they know (it's a maturity I didn't expect of elementary-aged students).

My son was very much a fish out of water. Fumbling about instead of focusing on his drilling, tearing up and whining every time he was taken down. But man, he's grown so much. I've watched him acquire an amazing physical vocabulary, remembering all the Japanese names for judo throws, and his guard game is strong, impressing me with his sweeps and back takes.

My daughter, who is four, has been chomping at the bit. Accompanying the boys on many a gym session, she's begged us to train for a long while. Coach made her day a few weeks ago when he relented. You should have seen her excitement when she received her first gi. It was like she received a pony for Christmas. She's still drowning in the deep end and her attention lasts all of twenty minutes, but the journey begins somewhere.

All of this is incredibly rewarding, being able to share a life-giving passion with them. But damn, there are some nights where I really feel like I fucked up by inviting them onto my mats. Jiu jitsu class was like the man cave I never had (I live in a small townhome; the bathroom is my only sanctuary and even then...). The nights I stole away to roll with my teammates was my escape from everything - not necessarily my family, but from everything else - the day's work, the commute, the pressures of caring for your aging parents, the bills that you're putting off until the 1st of the month, the shitty attitude that colleague gave you during that meeting. We all know it. For that hour and a half where you're engaged in jiu jitsu, you shrug all that dirt off your shoulders and focus on what's immediately in front of you.

But nowadays, since my kids are at the gym, I'll be defending a rear naked choke from an overeager white belt when my girl's feet appear in front of my face and I hear her tell me that she has to go potty. Or Coach will be teaching us a not-so-easy modification to a very-much-not-so-easy berimbolo and my focus will be interrupted by a high-pitched scream from just off the mats and it's my son allowing himself to get pummeled by another kid half his age. After class, I'll discover toilet paper unrolled across the bathroom floor, uncapped water bottles on their side - spilling their contents throughout the changing room and on one particular night, my phone taken from my gym bag and hidden underneath the fridge.  On a regular basis, my drills and rolls are interrupted by occurrences like these, followed by arguments, admonishments and promises (that will inevitably be broken). It's great that my son's ground game has grown, but mine has undoubtedly suffered. It's hard to get better at tearing your opponent's head off when you're worried about the destruction your kids are doing to your gym. It's all of this that makes me Hulk-rage and wondering why the fuck I ever thought it wise to bring them into the fold. What drugs had I taken to make me think that bringing kids into my private club was a good idea?! Self-worth, confidence? Jesus. Sign them up for chess, piano, soccer, robotics camp. I don't give a shit. Just keep them off the mats so Daddy can get his fucking roll on without being interrupted to wipe your butt.

But we all know that those feelings are fleeting. I know that if I took them out, they'd suffer. And truth be told, so would I. The rewards far outweigh these growing pains. The ability to experience success as a child prepares you to achieve success as an adult. And the knowledge that your kids will be equipped with skills and confidence that can stand up to the threats and pressures that await them in the years to come is comforting. Those interruptions, those annoyances -- they might add a few more years to my journey towards black belt, but I am pretty confident they will also add a depth and richness to these years that will not only improve my game as a jiujiteiro, but also as a dad.

So we're in it for the long haul, kiddos. Just stay off the mats when I'm training or you'll be my next round and it won't be for points!

Dois Familias: Cheating on Jiu Jitsu… with my Wife

Once upon a time, mat time was me time.

And to be safe, I made sure that I did what I could to earn it. I rushed home promptly from work, whipped up dinner for the wife and kids, bathed them, tucked them in, grabbed my gi and headed out the door. Boom. For the next hour and a half, I got lost in chokes, scrambles and bro jokes. If I was really lucky, a team member or my coach would rally a few of us to grab a beer after class. Suddenly, Monday and Wednesday nights were something I looked forward to. Like Ed Norton in Fight Club, I’d go into work the next day with a few new bruises and a Mona Lisa smile because I knew my Wednesday night was way better than whatever my co-workers did.

Then the new gym opened. The schedule expanded from three sessions a week to five, not to mention the addition of a kids program and a fundamentals curriculum. Like others, I pitched in to help get the gym painted and set up, volunteering my time on weekends to help lay down mats and scrub the bathrooms. When we did open, I enrolled my kid into the juniors program, helping to grow the class size from an average of four of five that first month to nearly 40 on the roster. A teammate started a podcast around the same time and invited me to be part of that discussion. Suddenly, I was at the gym more nights than I was at home. And the Mrs. felt it and, rightfully, called me on it.

Of course, the night of, I was really confused. What was the harm? I was working out, getting really healthy and she always knew where I was. She knows all the people I roll with and we have had all of them over to the house on numerous occasions. I often brought the kids with me to the gym and it wasn’t like I was spending more money or anything (that was the prior two years when I picked up every gi under $100, every smartly designed BJJ shirt and every soap deal on BJJHQ). But after a week or two of curbing my addiction, (begrudgingly) dropping down to two or three times a week, I started to understand the reason for her being upset. Prior to jiu jitsu, I was a freaking poster boy for domestic bliss. I lived to pick up the kids, cook extravagant weeknight meals, bathe and tuck the kids into bed and then lounge with the Mrs. in front of the T.V. until we passed out. Wife and kids were the center of my world. But over time, my Instagram feed shifted from food and kid pics to selfies in a gi and kids doing judo throws. I shifted my home schedule to allow for more time on the mats. While I wasn’t running away from home to be with someone else, I was… well… well, I guess I really was running away from home to be with someone else. And while they’re great people, they are not my family.

And yet... they are. Not the same, but family nonetheless.

And there’s the rub.

When I cut down my time at the gym, the team noticed it. I’d get called out on the team’s Facebook page and when I came to class, some of my teammates would ask, “where’ve you been?” This was confusing, too. At the old gym, attending 2-3 times a week meant you were there all the time. But 2-3 times a week in a five day a week schedule meant I was only present half the time. Slacker!

At some point in your training, somewhere in your journey from newbie to blue belt, you’ll see people come and go. Some of the peeps you started with are no longer on the mats with you. You’ll see waves of new folks join. Some stick around, some leave. But when you become a constant, a fixture – your team takes notice. Your coach takes notice. You go from the end of the last line to the front line. Suddenly, you’re helping lead kids class and in your own classes, you help lead warm-ups and coach newbies to learn fundamental positions and submissions.  You’re no longer just a name on roll call. You’re part of the fabric and culture of the place. And just like your wife, your presence and lack of presence is felt.

After a few months of adjustment, I think I have figured out a balance and got my priorities straight. I communicate a lot more and make sure that I maximize my nights at home. I plan date nights and look at holidays for quick getaways. I cook family dinners, bathe the kids and put the phone down to engage in conversation with the Mrs. or enjoy something new together, stay connected, fully engaged in the moment.  If the wife works late, those are the nights I maximize my nights at the gym. I arrive early, check in with coach and assist with kids class. I chat offline with coach to give him a heads up of when I'll be in and check in with teammates, but balance it so I'm not taking time away from the wife and kids. In my own class, I drill intently and look to apply newly acquired techniques in my live rolls – staying connected, fully engaged in the moment. When class is through, I book it home to get the kids fed, bathed and tucked in.

And when there are opportunities to bring the two families together, I make it happen because both are essential. Both require care and attention. One family informs the other. There is no doubt which family matters more. My wife and kids are the reason I do everything. They are my rock, my inspiration. My sun rises and sets with them. And we are ride or die. There is no me without them. They are the reason why I started and why I will not quit jiu jitsu. Jiu jitsu gives me strength of mind and body, ridding me of the demons that are betting on me failing, urging me to give up and give in to vices that took down my dad and other would-be-great-people. Jiu jitsu restored my confidence, renewed my faith and has gifted me with a truly diverse community of people who have helped me become a better person. And for those reasons, it’s also ride or die… just carefully planned around family dinners. 

In the Moment: Jiu Jitsu from a Jazz Hands Perspective

Like so many of my peers, martial arts are not my profession. Off the mats, I help oversee a slew of education programs for a regional theatre, working with kids and adults, actors and non-actors, small community centers and government institutions and engaging them in the exploration of theatre arts. While I might joke that I only work to afford my jiu jitsu classes, I am actually very fortunate to have a job that spawned from a lifelong passion. And it’s earned me the nickname of “Jazz Hands” in our jiu jitsu club and the bro-y teasing that comes with it.

The interesting thing is that while my two passions could not be more different, they share similar concepts and principles with regards to personal improvement. In teaching both acting (to kids and adults) and jiu jitsu (to kids), I find myself using similar vocabulary and advancing similar philosophies.

What follows are some of my favorite overlaps:

Physical and Mental Instruments

I tell every acting student that my favorite thing about acting, what breathed new life into me when I was an awkward, funny looking teenager, was the fact that everything you need – the equipment – already resides inside of you. Your body, your voice and your imagination were the all the instruments you needed. Everything else was training. Everything else was about unlocking your potential and challenging yourself to maximize it.

In a good acting class, you learn full body awareness, paying attention to how you move, how others move in relation to you and what that communicates in terms of status, behavior, relationship, etc. You would learn voice – diction, tone, pitch, breath. And you would hopefully learn how to utilize your imagination – constantly digging for truth, asking yourself “what if” and devouring knowledge and information. Jiu jitsu is the same (though less voice and more breathing). You arrive to that first class with everything you need already there. I jumped into my first class in a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. But that was it. I did not know how to shrimp. I couldn’t control my breathing. And in those first couple of weeks, I’d tap whenever someone pinned a knee on my belly. What’s missing is the technique and acquiring that technique is a never-ending journey.

Now, obviously, I’m simplifying things. Just because you learn to speak, move and think doesn’t make you an amazing actor in the same way learning how to tie your belt and land an armbar against an unresisting opponent doesn’t mean you’re a champion. But when you distill it down, the raw ingredients are already there when you walk onto the stage/mats. Along the way, you need the drive and determination, courage and discipline to be successful. And that's really the big part of the mental game - the attitude and the discipline. If you tell yourself that you can't do something, it's very likely that you won't be able to. If you tell yourself that you just can't do Shakespeare, you will never attack it. If you tell yourself that you can't do anymore squats, then your body is not going to do them itself. If you say that you're too tired to go to class, you won't. Being good at jiu jitsu is hard. Being a good actor is hard. In many ways, both arts are designed to weed out the peeps that suck. But as a practitioner, you have to work against that. 

In the Moment

In acting, when a teacher or director coaches his/her actors to stay “in the moment,” he or she is encouraging the actor to stay actively engaged in what is going on – between him/herself and his/her scene partner, staying open and responsive to what is happening right now in this performance and not chasing after something brilliant that happened in a prior evening’s performance or in the rehearsal hall. This encouragement of the actor to stay in the moment is what ensures honest actions and responses and produces the air of spontaneity (when in actuality, everything is scripted and will be performed eight times a week).

In jiu jitsu, it is very similar. Staying in the moment is what allows us to survive and capitalize. It encourages the practitioner to stay attentive to allow for properly timed execution of carefully rehearsed techniques. But just like in acting, though one might rehearse these techniques over and over again, it does not mean that it will be performed the way you rehearsed it. Actor and jiu jiteiro alike, you must work with what is given to you at the moment it happens. On stage, an actor who fails to exist “in the moment” will reveal the artifice, destroying the illusion that everything is actually happening for the first time. On the mats, a grappler who is not staying “in the moment” will likely sacrifice a position or telegraph his/her move to the opponent.

No Easy Route to Success

Over the last 15 years, I have met countless students determined to make it as a professional actor. Some approach me for advice on how to break into films and TV. They swear up and down that they will never give up, that they have the passion for it, that they are willing to sacrifice for it and cannot imagine doing anything else. And I always greet them with the same poker face that hides my shade. I talked that same game as a teenager and while I still work in theatre, I’m not a professional director, actor or writer. Why not? Because it is one thing to say it and another thing to do it. And the road is not paved in diamonds. Rather, it is years (sometimes, decades) of failure, set-back and rejections. It is years of self-doubt and constantly redefining what success looks like. To be fair, along the way, there are numerous opportunities for growth and if one stays the course, there are rewards if one is open and receptive to them. You have to take the small, non-paying, non-speaking parts in that terrible play because you’ll meet that actor or writer who will help land your next project. You have to go to ten more auditions this week after losing out on the last ten parts you auditioned for because if you’re not in line, someone else will get the part that was meant for you. You have to shell out hard earned cash to attend that seminar with that legendary actor because he/she might share that one technique that will unlock your voice or reveal why you’ve been sucking at that one particular monologue.

Same for jiu jitsu. There might be the lucky douchebag prodigy that comes in and destroys everyone like he was born with superhero acai in his veins. But that’s a rarity. Most senior practitioners didn’t start out great. They didn’t earn those gold medals, black belts and run their own academies cause they wished for it to happen. More likely, they sacrificed time that would have gone to their families, rolled longer and harder than their bodies wanted to and swallowed insane amounts of pride after countless defeats.

We have all met those new white belts who ask you, “how long will it take for me to get my blue belt?” And every upper belt gives the same shade-hiding poker face to him/her. Because like acting, jiu jitsu just doesn’t work like that. There’s no schedule of when you’ll achieve success. There’s no deadline for when you’ll win gold at a competition. The only certainty is that you have to work for it. There’s no faking it. Like our most successful (and best) actors, they followed through with what they said they wanted and never gave up.

No Comparison

At the end of every promotion, my coach always counsels the team, whether it’s juniors or adults, that promotions are a reflection of your individual progression. It is not a comparison between you and anyone else. It is an assessment of where you are in your journey, taking into account where you started, how much you have grown and what your potential is. And yet, we are human and cannot help but compare ourselves to our teammates.

“Why did I only get one stripe and such and such got two?”

“How did that person get a blue belt when I have tapped them out so many times?”

“I competed three times since the last promotion and I don’t even get a stripe?”

These feelings  are valid. Not necessarily correct, but they are valid. Same goes for acting. Actors are ridiculously competitive and because of the nature of their work, mildly to severely narcissistic (I guess the same can be said for jiu jitsu, even though we are always taught to check your ego at the door). When you learn that a peer of yours was cast in something you were up for, it can be infuriating. Sometimes, I will attend a performance and judge an actor intensely, thinking to myself, “how the f-ck did this guy land the part? I can act circles around him.” And yet, I’m not. He’s getting paid to be on stage while I paid a lot to sit off stage. It sucks, but it’s unproductive to waste time thinking about it. The better response is to focus less on the other person and more on you. In no way am I advocating that you beat yourself up for whatever perceived shortcoming. Instead, it’s great time for self-reflection. If you felt like you deserved another stripe, what might be your coach’s reasoning to withhold it? Did you attend as many classes as you did in the past? Have you retained and applied the techniques in recent months the way you did when you were an eager white belt? Have you achieved the goals you set out for yourself since the last promotion? It’s unlikely that you’ll have solid answers, let alone a response if you were brave enough to approach your coach about them. Same goes for an actor inquiring the same feedback from a casting director (advice – don’t do it). Instead, take this reflection and add it as fuel to the fire. Let it inform you of your next set of goals. What is under your control? How can you improve to the point where that next casting director shouts, “hallelujah, thank god you walked into this audition room – I finally found the Stanley Kowalski I’ve been looking for”? How can you improve to the point where coach has no reason to deny you that next stripe or belt at the next promotion? 

Life Goals

My coach was awarded his black belt this past week. It was incredibly joyous and was a real high point in not only his journey, which has been marked by numerous peaks and valleys along the way, but also our journey as his students and teammates. For the last two years, I have been rooting for this man to get his well-deserved promotion. Not because we needed it for the gym (though having a black belt at the helm will undoubtedly attract the uninitiated), but because we have seen him work so hard towards this goal - opening a new gym with fumes in his financial gas tank, overcoming family strife to balance parenting duties with two jobs (one of which is being a full-time police officer), spending more time with the BJJ familia than his real familia, pushing through numerous IBJJF tournaments to medal despite torn knees and arms.  I cannot remember the last time I was so invested in the well-being and success of someone other than me or my family. 

So when Sensei Saulo Ribeiro tied that black belt around his waist, I felt strangely underwhelmed by the moment. I wanted pyrotechnics, confetti and t-shirt cannons. Instead, we all applauded, hugged our coach and gathered at a very generous teammate's house for drinks and food. Don't get me wrong -- all of that is fantastic and I'm sure he was emotionally moved. But somehow, the product didn't match the process. I know, I know - it's not supposed to. I work in theatre and that's certainly true -- sometimes, you can have a most amazing experience rehearsing a show, grow in all sorts of ways, meet your future spouse during the course of it and then opening night comes and your show is a hot mess (or vice versa). So I have always known that the journey will always outweigh the destination. But, but, but... oh, well, no t-shirt cannons.

Sensei Saulo prefaced the promotion with the quote, "a black belt is a white belt that never gave up." I have been chewing on that ever since. I started reflecting on my own goals in this whole jiu jitsu thing. Was it to become a black belt? Was it to become a fighter, capable of defending himself and those he loves? Was it to lose weight and get a chiseled bod? I walked away that evening with only one concrete goal:  to never quit. And once I clarified that, I felt electric and free. Because never quitting is not a destination, is it? It's on-going. And it's measurable. If I've been off the mats for more than a week and I'm no longer thinking about what I'm putting in my body, I'm failing at my goal. And on the flipside, if I don't compete ever again, but I'm on those mats three to four times a week consistently for the next five years, I'm on track to achieving my goal. 

"Does that mean that getting better is not a goal?"
Well, yeah. But that's a mini-goal. It's the daily, weekly, monthly, annual goal that will keep me motivated to stay on those mats. That's the mini-goal that will encourage me to cross-train, building up my cardio and strength, while rolling with the toughest teammates, keeping me focused, pushing me out of my comfort zone and revealing areas in need of improvement.

"Does that mean winning is not a goal?"
Define that. If it means having my hand raised at the end of a competition match, no. If it means not staying on bottom throughout a class, escaping and maintaining top position, scrambling to better positions to establish control and submit my opponents, YES. Trust me, if I enter into a competition again, I want to win. But that's the goal of that day, of that moment. But competition itself is just a small part of the overall journey for me.

"Does that mean promotion is not a goal?"
To be honest, not really. I hope that in the next fifteen years, I'll earn my black belt (have I already mentioned my love for t-shirt cannons), but I'm not focused on that. While I'm filled with immense pride when I get a stripe or a belt and enough reason for celebratory beers with the team (to be honest, it doesn't take much), it's not something I focus on. That said, I think promotion is a great motivator to stay at it. Knowing your coach has taken notice in your growth and improvement is very fulfilling. In fact, not getting a stripe or belt is a great motivator. It tells me that something in my game is not up to snuff. It means I've got areas (PLURAL) to improve upon and better get to it.

"So what does it really mean to never quit?"
Prior to training in jiu jitsu, I was overweight and suffered from gout, my ankles swelling up to the size of softballs every other month and forcing me to walk with a cane. The fact that I can run more than a mile without stopping, that I can practice ankle locks without wincing and maintain a regular training schedule is a big win for me. That I'm about to turn 40 and I'm in the best shape of my life... To that end, if I am still breathing, if I can still afford it, if I am within 20 miles of a gym, if my heart is still beating and my bones are still intact, even if I'm a ten stripe blue belt, I am going to be rolling. 

Oss.

Things (not people) I Continue to Grapple With

Three years into jiu jitsu and these are the things the keep me up at night...

- To compete or not to compete - I absolutely hate it. One of the reasons why I enrolled in Krav Maga originally was because the whole idea of competition was off the table. But the same cannot be said of jiu jitsu. There are plenty of people who thrive off competition and train specifically to compete. That person is not me. But there is a fact I cannot deny: competition makes me a stronger jiujiteiro. The discipline and training I undertake in preparation for competition simply would not happen unless I put down the money and threw my hat in the ring. And my losses revealed crystal clear the holes in my game and spawned my punch list of techniques and concepts I needed to focus and hone. Were it not for competition, I would still likely struggle to utilize my hips for escapes, pressure and submissions. Were it not for competition, I would still likely be frustrated by my weight instead of dropping a considerable amount through smart dieting and increased cardio (not to mention running the first mile of my life). My medal has yet to be earned, but I have grown considerable through competition. So why am I hesitating to enroll in the next one? Cause no matter how you slice it, the idea of losing sucks. You know what sucks more? Paying money that could go towards a seminar, a gi, another month of training in order to lose. It's a shitty attitude, I admit. But that's what I struggle with.

- Gym drama - in the beginning, like a new job, I can live above it. I can focus on my training and see only the positives. I absorb all advice and instruction like a sponge, greet every coach and teammate like family and roll with everyone without baggage or ego. But time is a bitch and as you put more time in at your gym, you grow tighter to some and form opinions, both good and bad, of others. Next thing you know, you start talking smack. And that sucks. Someone will talk shit about your boy or sister and then it's like high school cliques again. You start avoiding folks on the mat and if you socialize outside of class, you start checking who's going where so you can go elsewhere. And this is definitely a universal thing. I dropped into a gym while I was vacationing and overheard one regular explaining why he didn't invite another teammate to an outing because the guy wasn't putting in time on the mats. I don't know how you avoid it. For me, hanging out with teammates is a consequence of training so many hours together. I didn't join the gym to make friends. I joined to train jiu jitsu. On the flip side, I don't want to hang with everyone who I train with. People and people and no matter what you do, someone will get their feelings hurt. I'm loyal to my team and my coach, but at the end of the day, it's training I pay for. So get it and don't take home anymore shit than what you paid for.

- Home life vs. jits life - For a while there, jiu jitsu really seduced me. I've never had an affair and don't plan to. But I would liken my first couple years of training to something like that. I was content with my life until I started putting in regular time on the mats. And then all of a sudden, I couldn't get enough. I was feeling and looking better. I was socializing with people who weren't my family and didn't work with. And three times a week, we were all up on each other (no worries, clothes stayed on and no eye contact was made). But that level of bonding has a way of stealing focus. All I could think about was jiu jitsu. I would come home from training and watch old fights or training videos on YouTube. I would read about it and at night, I would dream about it if I wasn't texting with other teammates about it. Not all of this is unhealthy or abnormal. But it can be if you start neglecting the other priorities in your life. For me, that's my family. You can't always remind yourself of the reasons why you started training in the first place. It certainly wasn't to watch MMA at Hooters. I try and let go of shit now. It's about the art. It's not personal. Time on the mats is sacred. Like church, I owe it to myself to keep my mind pure. Stay in the moment. If I've negotiated for time away from those most important to me, make sure it's worth it. So it's a balancing act. I try to put in at least three sessions a week. If I'm training to compete, I'll look to increase my time on the mats, but keeping it real, three times a week is plenty. It's enough to retain content and keep my body conditioned and cardio in check.

- Somewhere between 50% and 80% - Like everyone else, in the beginning, I was gassing out because I had no technique so I'd push and pull at 100%. Took me months to realize that my opponents were easily keeping me at bay utilizing only 50% of their speed and power because they had technique. As time went on, I found that if I applied 80% speed and power to even my limited technique, I could do pretty well - not getting tapped and maybe tapping out a few white belts. And then about a year ago, I hit a wall. I found that I wasn't getting any better. I was just rinsing and repeating: doing the same moves with worse results. It occurred to me that the folks around me were getting better while I was staying at the same place. Why was this? Was it that they were putting in more time on the mats? Perhaps. But that was only true for one or two of them. What about the rest? And then I started taking note of the folks they rolled with. Everyone. They never turned down an invitation to roll. Over time I had figured out my favorites, my go-to people and I avoided the rest. Some because I just didn't like their style of rolling, others because I didn't like them personally for whatever reason. Terrible, right? Whatever the reason I had for avoiding them, it made me weaker. Perhaps in spirit and technique. The other thing I came to realize was that the percentage of speed and power I was applying was actually hampering my progress. Applying too much weight, power, speed allowed me to be lazy with technique and precision. So I landed fewer submissions. I couldn't escape mount or pass guard. I couldn't successfully sweep anyone. So the big game changer was to pull back and invest in technique, position and transitions. I set little benchmarks for myself and practiced certain principles such as isolating my opponent's hips, using my head pressure, increasing awareness of their limbs in relation to my body, etc. This has led to some major revelations for me and helped me overcome that blue belt blues (aka plateau). Don't get me wrong. I'm not tapping everyone out (in fact, I think I tap out fewer people now than I did a year ago) and I still get submitted a fair amount. But I am more confident and in much more control of my game than before and it's gratifying. And a huge part of that is due to me adjusting the ratio of power/speed to technique/precision.

There's obviously other stuff that I struggle with, but these are at the forefront of my mind. It's amazing. It really is a lifestyle, this jiu jitsu thing. Reflecting on the art informs things in my life and sometimes, vice versa. What a gift it is to train. Oss.

Me, the New Jiu Jitsu Parent

So it was inevitable that I'd enroll my boy into jiu jitsu when given the chance. Why wouldn't I? First off, he was interested from the moment I took him along to see me roll for the first time. He was fascinated by my gis and enjoyed talking UFC with me. Secondly, there are tremendous benefits to having young ones train in the martial arts. It's all of the same ones we feel as adults but for the kids, it's a huge boost to self-worth to know that you can handle yourself against aggression. So naturally, I was going to enroll him as soon as my gym started a kids program (and truth be told, I considered switching gyms for a hot minute solely for this reason). So far, my boy (he's 8) has been training for roughly four months and I have learned a lot about being a jiu jitsu parent - and almost all of the knowledge has to do with me being a parent. So below are some of the thoughts and revelations I have had as a new jiu jitsu parent that I thought were worth sharing:

1. Your kid is more important than jiu jitsu. It's obvious, right? But trust me, it's easy to lose sight of this. I help coach the kids classes and there are times when I see my boy slacking, talking instead of drilling, making excuses when he doesn't execute something correctly and I sigh a long sigh of "man, why isn't he working harder?" And it's when he bows before leaving the mats and looks at me that I come to. Before I enrolled my boy in jiu jitsu, he could do nothing wrong. Obviously, there are times when he would fuck up, but we would course correct and move on. He could burn down the house and I would still love him tremendously. So when he is in class, I need to remind myself of this. What does it matter that he doesn't have the eye of the tiger (I don't either)? What does it matter that he can't keep top position (I can't either)? What does it matter that he can't successfully escape from someone's mount (how many times am I trapped)?
2. It's not about winning. So back in the day, my wife coached a soccer team at her school (she was a teacher at the time). And the principal was also a coach. Well, I went to one of their games and it was a disaster. The team was terrible and gave up a ridiculous number of goals. At halftime, the principal joyously presented the team with a platter of oranges and proclaimed that they were doing awesome, that "winning doesn't matter. What matters is that you're having fun." What? What a crock of shit? But ok working with the kids, especially my son, it couldn't be more true. Yes, when you're rolling with your partner, go for the win. Seek top position and retain it. If you are competing, yes, winning matters. Get the grips, go for the takedown and stay on top. But if all I emphasized was winning, I would miss out on all the other successes that my kid experiences: his first competition (he lost. I was proud of him for doing two matches and not quitting), when the best grappler in class could not take him down (after weeks of regularly executing beautiful osoto gari and single legs on him), him adjusting his speed and strength to work with smaller, younger teammates (showing immense maturity and sensitivity). No, he might never be Keenan Cornelius, but neither will I. 
3. If I reflect honestly, I realize I'm just hard on myself. When I'm frustrated by my boy during class, I realize it has nothing to do with him. It's about me. I'm holding him to a standard that I rarely meet myself. How often do I win? How often do I get trapped and can't escape? How often do I get distracted? How steep is the climb for me? Why is this any different for him? Because I'm on the outside looking at his mistakes. But it's not fair. He's working at his pace and has his own goals and takeaways for doing this. And the truth is,  a huge part of his interest is rooted in his love for me. Every time he puts the gi on, he's proud that he's doing the same activity that his dad is doing.

So I find myself reminding myself of all of this quite often. Let him be. Encourage him, support him. Celebrate his successes, all of them. And talk through his challenges when he needs it. Jiu jitsu has a lot to offer and help him connect the dots. But understand that it only works, it only makes sense if he is having fun, if he is enjoying what he's doing. And if he doesn't, then seriously consider taking a break or trying something else out. Remember how hard BJJ is. Be honest and think about all the times you get discouraged. 

Besides, I got a daughter and she's been chomping at the bit. Hehehehe...