You Can't Teach Heart

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.