This isn't a mudhole....

The lighting is dramatic, but if our scale is right, I've lost over 10 pounds the past two months. Unintentionally.

EVERYBODY’S BITCH

I started taking Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in July, 2004. I’ve wanted to write about it more, but I didn’t know where to begin. So I’ll start with an ending.

It was Grey’s last day. I liked him. He’d been taking Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for four years, and had become an informal mentor to me, a three-month newbie. The intensity of practice can be a little intimidating when you’re new, so it was a comfort to have a friendly mentor.

He had just finished college. He was pale, tall, and thin as a rail. Big dark eyes, a beakish nose, and a wild dusty mane reminded me of some skinny hawk man.

This is a place called J*ck's Hardware. During the summer we actually trained down here.
(The stairway to the basement we trained in.)

At the end of one particular practice, in that hardware store basement we used during the summer, normally quiet-spoken Grey spoke up,

“Hey guys, just wanted to say it was great rolling with you. I got a job out of state, so I won’t be coming around much anymore. Just wanted to say thanks.”

“Uh uh,” Bouncer said after initial shock, “You just drop this on me after four years and expect me to let you walk on out? I don’t think so.”

Bouncer had worked through his college years as a bouncer. He had a lot of practical fighting experience which he admitted with affected shame that didn’t match his tank-like frame. Bouncer was a web designer now and an interim instructor some days. Every man has two sides.

“Sorry, Bo’ but it’s no big deal, man. You’ve been awesome,” Grey nodded.

“I had to see about a girl but she’ll have to wait. You roll with us one more time,” Bouncer schemed, “All of us, one after another, no rest, until it’s just you and me.”

Bouncer smiled seriously. Grey was doubtful at first, but then said, “You’ve gotta be kidding. Fine, let’s do it.”

By video game rules, Grey’s first opponent should have been the least skilled one – um, me. Bouncer made me generic noob villain number two instead, thankfully. The first opponent was a two-year Japanese member, Ichi the Silent. He never talks. He just smiles and breaks you down.

Grey’s long limbs toppled Ichi to the ground (where 95% of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu takes place). One of the Corean guys, Spaz, called out wisecracks. Spaz was a funny guy but rolling with him made me nervous. He was too quick, and by “too quick” I mean he’d spin out to do an armbar on you, miss it, and accidentally whack you in the face and/or the nuts. (If I wanted to be kicked in the head, I would have taken Tae Kwon Do).

“That’s it Ichi! You got him, man! Take his arm!” Spaz cheered with us underdogs.

I had mixed feelings about it all. On one hand, Grey was the friendliest person to me in the club. On the other hand, it was either him or me, and my chance to see what I could do against his best. I knew I was a lot stronger than him, but that was it.

“Aw, tough luck Ichi. Way to respect your elders,” Spaz joked as Ichi tapped out after being choked with his own arm.

The eighth and ninth rules of Fight Club are cut your hair and clip your nails.

Bouncer gave me the nod. I faced Grey without looking into his large bird-like eyes. Once the match begins, I actually avoid eye contact. I watch the chest and hands. I’m just going to try to dismantle you. Nothing personal.

Grey entangled an arm and tried tripping me. I did what came naturally, and looped my other arm around his neck and crunched - the basic guillotine choke – aptly named because it’s a killer finishing move. We fell to the ground like pagan statues during an earthquake. Part of me couldn’t believe I got his neck already. The other part roared, “FINISH HIM!” An inch of chin made the difference between escape and threat of unconsciousness; he slipped his head out. Inches and degrees make all the difference in jiu jitsu.

Somehow Grey ended up on his back with his legs vice-gripping my waist (the guard position). Even though I was on top, I knew I was in a very dangerous position.

I remembered what Grey himself had told me in practice. Maintain good posture. Elbows inside, sit up straight. Don’t let your opponent grab your --

WHUMP! Grey pulled my triceps forward and slammed my chest to his. Man, I wish people would wear T-shirts under their dobokes (or gi’s/uniforms), I thought, as my face squished against bare sweaty chest. At least he showered. I appreciate cologne much more now too.

My favorite page in Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns.
(Batman knows Jiu Jitsu. Pictures from Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns, 1986.)

I powered myself back out and viciously dropped my forearm into his throat sinking all my weight into it. Damn, I never tried that before. His labored breaths cooled my neck.

Physical aggression. Fighting. This is freedom. This is what civilization doesn’t want you to do. Instead, it has to channel those territorial genes, pent-up hormones and inappropriate instincts into chasing after a silly ball or being Employee of the Month, when you really want to go for the throat and take someone’s head off. Er, figuratively speaking of course.

Grey grabbed my forearm, rolled me onto my back, and straddled me (the mount position) like every bad guy does to every good guy in every other action movie. I don't know who was the good guy this time but my position was certainly bad.

Grey tried to force one of my arms down to the mat for a shoulder (or key) lock. We struggled like that for what seemed like a minute. This was it – if he got my arm down, he’d twist it back like a chicken wing and I’d have to tap out. My opposite arm came to the rescue of the desperate arm in distress.

But as any smart villain (or dark knight) knows, the damsel is just a distraction. It’s the rescuer he’s after.

I love this scene.
(Batman setting up for a knee bar.)

The next thing I knew Grey had spun around with one leg over my face, and my rescuing arm trapped between his legs, being forced to bend in an unnatural and painful direction. I tried powering myself out of the armbar but to no avail. It was either give up the match or give up functional arm use. I tapped out in submission. This is what submission grappling is all about. For every move, there’s a counter-move. But in the end, there’s a definite winner and a definite loser.

My favorite line in any comic book ever. Remebered it from high school.
(Batman - the ultimate Ultimate Fighter)

As Grey moved to his next opponent, Bouncer acknowledged me in a new way, shaking my hand with a firm nod of approval. I sat with the rest of the team, relieved that I didn’t get tapped out in the first minute, and glad that I was beaten by a better fighter and a good person. Welcome to the world of physical aggression.

I never had a chance against Grey but going into a third match without rest was wearing him down. You could see it as he went onto his next opponent, Little Nikky. Nikky was a brutal short Russian student with a compact strong body.

“Come on Nikky! He’s almost gassed out, you got him!” Spaz cheered.

I remember Little Nikky's favorite position was putting his knee (along with his entire body weight) on my abdomen. I had burning reflux for three days after he did that to me. I make it a point to never eat two hours before practice anymore.

“Way to tire him out Nikky! Someone stop him before he gets to me!” Spaz was making us all laugh.

Nikky was a mean competitor, but Grey won that match and then just barely beat Spaz.

By the time he got to Smiley, it was over before it began. Smiley was another funny guy. He talked to you while you rolled with him. “You thought I was going for the other arm, didn’t you?” he’d say. He had the unfortunate habit of bleeding from the gums during a match though. Afterwards, he’d still be smiling, just with pink teeth.

The group sentiment changed at that point. Grey was at that level of exhaustion where not just your skin sweats, but your eyes and sinuses and nose start running with tears and sweat and mucus in a desperate effort to decrease body temperature even more. Grey was now the underdog and he was hurting. He’s proven enough, this should stop.

Bouncer showed pity and asked if he wanted to continue. Grey couldn’t speak or look up. He just nodded “yes” and flipped Bouncer off.

Grey was “gassed” (as in “out of gas”) and lost the next match and then the final one to Bouncer, which looked like a stick figure wrestling with a bowling ball with about equivalent results. But he fought to the end.

I like how I am out of focus while the wall outlet behind me is clear as day.

“Man I can’t believe you did that,” Bouncer consoled Grey in his own way, and then he spoke to the rest of us,

“What you all witnessed here was amazing. Grey demonstrated perfect technique even into the last match. Most guys will be flailing like animals or just become limp when they get tired.

“Four years ago, heck even two years ago, this skinny unathletic kid was getting beat by everybody. He was E.B. – Everybody’s Bitch. Yep, that was his name.”

“Fuck you, Bo’...,” Grey snarled wiping mucus from his nose, “… you could have …. fought me first … you lazy fuck.”

“Yeah, I could have,” Bouncer chuckled, “but then I might have lost. Let’s get a beer. My girl’s pissed at me now anyways."

“Damn,” Spaz whispered to me and another guy, “I’m not telling anyone when I’m leaving.”

Grey’s last words to me were, “Stick with this. You’ll be good. I’ve been in other clubs and this one is the best. Sure beats having some old Japanese guy yelling at you with a stick.” Then he left to start his civilized life in the corporate world.

When I got to my car, my bicep tendons reminded me they were on fire. My aching finger joints made me wonder if this is what my rheumatoid arthritis patients feel like. The moonlight seemed to pull the adrenaline tides from my blood, reverse lycanthropy in action, replacing it with calm waters and a clear horizon. Welcome back, Dr. Jeckyl, Dr. Banner, or that Edward Norton character only known as Narrator.

I'm guessing they saw the movie too.

My heartbeat murmured, “It’s the struggle that makes you feel alive.”

Every man is a prisoner in two cages, whether you are ruled by society’s rules or by your own senseless instincts. Freedom is the ability to pass from one cage to the other without being locked into either one.

With my inner beast sated, I just wanted to go home and hug my sweet little boy.

Spaz quietly moved away a couple of weeks later.

Took this pic today. Sun Su can play DDR without even watching the TV screen.
(My sweet Sun Su playing DanceDanceRevolution his way.)