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.
