My BJJ life

I’ll start at the age of 25 with my introduction to Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) when I was stationed on an Air Force base in southern New Jersey. A friend that I had recently made was casually speaking about going to the gym as he called it, when the term getting beat up took on a new meaning. Now anyone that has visited any gym will agree that you do beat yourself up in there, but you seldom say “man I got beat up at the gym.” That phrase prompted my response of “What style do you study?” A question like that would always invoke an unconscious look; just like the one that preceded his smile. I study Muay Thai and BJJ… BJJ, what’s that? I asked. It’s a form of submission wrestling; you should come with me one day and give it a try. See, growing up I was home instructed in Japanese Wadoo, and Kenpo from an uncle of mine who was a fourth degree black belt in both styles; man when we’d train he was relentless. As he put it that is the way of Martial Arts—learn how it hurts so you can know when to stop. As you can tell my friends’ invitation was one that I could not turn down; judging by the way he spoke of the school it was right up my ally.

The next day after work I was waiting for him in the parking lot of the dorms wondering if I’ve got the right workout gear for this. That was just a distraction because my mind kept flashing back to my childhood years of having to fight off my uncle at a doorway as we’d train. The speed of his hands, his loud screams, that hissing sound he’d make when a blow would land and the sting it left behind. Nostalgically I’d smile, then go straight back to my thoughts of; shorts, extra t-shirts, water, is there anything I’m forgetting? Oddly enough before that could be answered I was right back to thinking about the old lessons. In a very large and outspoken way I was hoping that this school would be the same. “You learn how it hurts so you can know when to stop.” Now-a-days you’ll be hard pressed to find a school that trains that way. Lawsuits will take the art out of Martial Arts very fast and turn it into a business where people promote because they’ve learned how to tie a belt. Just as I was forcing myself back into my checklist a loud bang shook the car.

“Yo son! Are you ready for this!!!!” John was yelling this at the top of his lungs as he jumped up and down on the rear bumper of my 1988 VW Jetta. He was hands down the most fight prone Asian I’ve ever met in my life. A military brat he was born in the U.S which subsequently never had even a hint of a Korean accent; so anyone expecting a heavy, barely understandable Korean twang was treated to a well grounded New York vernacular. It wasn’t only his “accent” that would skew peoples brow, but the tone at which it came out, his voice was so low you’d think he was at least a whole foot taller, and many many pounds heavier than he was. I guess that’s why we got a long so great he was a tried and true fighter, and I was searching for a path of inner-peace with fighting as a vehicle.

We spoke about work, music, past fights, and future fighting goals as we drove the 45 minutes into Philadelphia. Once there, a turn here, go straight turn again, then out of the clear blue, find a place to park, we’re here. As soon as he said we’ve arrived I could feel my heart begin to race and everything from that moment on was being instantly burned into my memory. The emotion, sights, and smells are still as vivid today as they were at that very moment. I don’t remember hearing anything other then the sound of blood rushing past my ear drums as I walked with John to this tan building which looked like oddly placed stand alone two story buildings erected on the old vacant lot between lines of row houses. The silence was interrupted when I laughingly said to John, “How convenient; a doctor’s office right here… Nice.” What I wasn’t expecting was for the entrance to be right next to that very clinic.

As the door opened I was in disbelief; this couldn’t be the place. There was a couch, carpet, coffee table, book stand, and a futon on this single room floor. In fact the only thing that gave the slightest hint of this being a place where you’d find someone who knew Muay Thai were the photos of this surfer looking guy with low cut platinum blond hair kicking some unknown person in the ribs. As I was walking up the stairs the smell of carpet cleaner was slowly yielding to the sweet smell of sweat, leather, and rubber mats. Each step caused my heart to race more and more, and the grip on my gym bag to get tighter and tighter. As we reached the top of the stairs and made our 180 degree turn the smile I was holding back broke free. Picture a group of men trying to hold back a calf, and that calf breaking loose. It’s that moment when the fingers of the last falling human leave the tip of the last stand of hair on that beast; that expression of freedom in its eye, that explosion of power, an almost impossible emotion to contain, it was that which was now on my face.

¾ of the entire second floor were covered with blue and red mats; the other ¼ was an office we passed on the way to the mats. Standing in the doorway my mind was overloaded with; what’s that, how soft are these mats, when can I hit that, and is this place going to be any good? I could really see my uncle training in a place like this, from the old wood paneling, the row of assorted sized punching bags, the pads for kicking, jump ropes, the shelves of equipment, and no luxuries of AC. As my first foot touched the mat I felt a surge of energy, like a movie flash scene when the person sees everyone that’s ever past through this one space, but the only person I saw was myself, beat up, sweaty and hunched in a corned with a smile from cheek to cheek. Not even one second on the mat and I knew this is something that would own a large place in my life from this moment on.

Brad! Hey are you here!? Yeah, come in! We made it about half way in by the time Brad walked out of the back office and toward us wearing a sweat shirt and Muay Thai shorts with the same smile I had not more then a few seconds ago. I swear it was like looking at my uncle. He stood about 5’7” to 5’9” and built like a pit-bull, not a muscular gym rat, but definitely stronger then the average man of his height, and the walk of a fighter. There is a confidence that comes from the knowledge they’ve obtained, and years sacrificed. That walk is the result of proper lifting, kicking, and punching, adapted to keep a balance, all put together in something we all do daily.

How bout you guys get geared up, everyone should be showing up soon, you’re early. Shit, John, early, which one of you drove… Brad said as he laughed and smacked John on the shoulder.

As I changed it was hard to keep my hands from shacking. Part of it was fear, I knew that this was a place where bonds are tight, and honor wouldn’t allow malice so the training was going to be intense. This was truly going to be a throw back to my early years of martial arts. I must have look like a giddy little five year old sitting on the floor stretching. Everyone that walked in was happy to be showing up for training, and introduced themselves to the new guy before we were all called to line up. Brad started what he called a warm up, which turned out to be more like a full on exercise session. I was getting to the point of mentally giving up; when he yelled out, half way there, stay with me. Half way was he kidding!?! No, no he wasn’t kidding. After the exhaustive workout I followed the group of fellow sweat drippers to the pads, and took a pair of what everyone else was getting. After being shown how to hold the pads, I was allowed to get back into the class and practice the technique that was being shown while I was learning how to hold pads. One hour later class was done, and I was also cooked, but my night wasn’t over, BJJ class was next.

Between classes we had a 10-15 minute rest period, this time was generally for changing into the Gi, which I of course didn’t have, but there was no need for one that night, so we just caught out breath and hydrated. Alright, let’s warm up! What! Any warmer and I’d be a matchstick. It was with that thought I stood up and began to jog behind the person in front of me. Since there was only one or two faces for this class that weren’t in the earlier on our warm up wasn’t as brutal, although it was completely different. The focus was loosening the joints, and not building the heart rate, not to mention the amount of coordination it took to do them. Lay on your back keep your knees in place while rotating your ankles, but let your hips move. Yeah, that wasn’t happening with me. I looked like I had that Suzan Summers thing attached to my thighs and set to epileptic fit. Class started when Brad paired himself up with someone else and began the explanation a Kimura.

The lesson was done, the practice was complete, and now it was time to spar. I thought to myself, sparring, already, man I love this place. That love was short lived; I was a fish in a tank at a sushi restaurant with the chefs’ hands around my body. I could wiggle all I wanted, but it did nothing to stop the choke. Tap, lights getting brighter, stars starting to form, and voices coming back into audible range. Did you pass out John said. I don’t think so; I tapped at the last moment. He laughed then smacked my shoulder; ready to go again? Yeah, yeah, lets’ go. We slapped hands and I found myself again being put into a funky situation. Our five minute ended and a new person sat in front of me, sadly to the same result. I was getting demolished, but I loved every second of it. I was home, this was just like training with my uncle, the sweat, the internal struggle to push on, the losing, but learning more as a result, and most important the trust.

I signed up that night, and returned religiously every night for the next year until I had to deploy for training. Four to Five days a week from 6pm until midnight or later I was on the mats. My wife and I were going through an extremely rough time that led to an eventual separation and I’m sure my training didn’t help us to understand why we were moving further apart. There were plenty of nights were the schools phone would ring and sparring matches would be stopped so I can answer it. More often then not it was her asking when I’d be coming home. Later she admitted that she thought I was having an affair and calling the school was her way of trying to catch me in the act of lying. Truth be told, I was having an affair. I was cheating on her with Martial Arts; the time that she should have owned was now given to something else, but it kept us from arguing round the clock, so I we were happy to have it.

When I’d return home, she’d greet me with a snarl, or a smile depending on the color of my bruises. More often then not she’d shake her head and say, I see you had a good time. I give her a lot of credit for sleeping in the same bed as me because there were plenty of times when she’d wake me up with a swift kick to the back because I elbowed her while dreaming of fighting. She even told me about a time I punched my son in the eye. Poor kid, he was maybe two years old and already having his chin tested. Eventually the dreams stopped, but I’d still go through the motions. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu really shows you the easiest way to move while lying down and there were plenty of nights I’d rise myself because of how easy I moved from my back to my side, or vise-versa. I can recall dragging my wife and son to class with me once. That was a special day, more special than any other before because my family was now a part of the other side of my life. My son and I rolled around, and he hurt himself up jumping into a punching bag, but it was a great day. My wife chuckled at us playing in the gym, and me pretending to get tapped out by a kid the size of my shin.

After deploying it would be almost a year before I returned to the mats. I tried schools where I was stationed, but the vibe wasn’t there, it wasn’t Philly, it wasn’t home. When I finally did start training again my wife and I had gone our separate ways and I was forced to choose between Muay Thai, and BJJ. Seeing as how I felt like the stand up was so much better then the ground work, and the fact that I wasn’t getting my shin almost broken nightly BJJ was the one to go with. The choice wasn’t easy and I still tell myself I’ll return to Muay Thai some day, but I’m happy I chose BJJ. I ended up training with a fourth degree black belt off and on for a year in a half. Within that time my wife and I reconciled, which meant moving again. Six months later, a chance encounter brought me to meet another fighter while working on my car in the base auto shop.

Brian introduced me to the organization that I’d be associated with for the next two years. Although I never competed as a member of their fight team I trained just as hard. Julius, a friend of Brad was just as relentless. There were plenty of already hot summer nights where he’d crank the heat in the 6,000 square foot warehouse space as high as he could. Afterwards he’d have us do crossfit exercises, running, climbing this ridiculously hard to grip rope, or sprinting until we’d drop mid run. Those were great nights of training. When I started training again I was close to if not more then 200lbs at 5’11” the heaviest I’ve ever been, and I swear it was Julius’ personal goal to get me down to half that. A Cornell graduate, Julius taught with detail I wasn’t exposed to prior, which gave me a greater understanding on the application of a submission.

Missing home and having a new child my wife and I decided to pack up the family and move back to NJ, which scared me to the core. Where was I going to train, would there be another school on the same level as Julius and Brad, how much more would it cost? All questions that had scary answers; answers I didn’t want to know, but needed to. Moving to Northern Jersey you’d think there would be Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu schools right next to all the Chinese restaurant, but they were far and few between. One school stands out the most. Thought that I’d found a top notch person because of who he trained under, I drove to The Heights in Jersey City with my wife looking for the dojo.

Ok babe you look for the numbers while I drive.

There it is, you just pasted it!

Where?

There, the house with the garage.

No, no this isn’t the place, can’t be.

I double parked the car and ran to the house, it sure was the place. Upon closer inspection I notice a sign. Brazilian Jit-Jitsu: Sorry the school is no longer open. Relieved I walked back to the car and laughed with my wife. The laughter was more of disappointment; I had left a great school, only to find nothing. It wasn’t until a few months, and a few schools later that I found the place I’d spend the next 18 months.

After speaking with my new instructor for about 30 minutes and finding out that he’s good friends with Julius the choice was made to train with him without even seeing the school. In truth I could care less what the school looked like, he knew a good friend, who was a good friend of my first teacher that was all I needed. With the directions taped to my steering wheel I drove the 20 miles to the school, and pasted at least twice, if not for the fogged window I would have never found it at night. Anxiously I parked then walked briskly to the school. As the door opened I heard my name, it was Mike, my new teacher, but where was he? There he is. Standing up Mike approached me. I can tell just from looking at him he was not like any of my other teachers. He stood about 5’9” – 5’10” and weighed 145 to 150lbs at best.

Hey, glad you could make it, Mike said as he nearly crushed my hand. Ok, that was unexpected. I’m glad to be here, am I late? No, but get changed class is starting soon. Mike had the smallest training area I’ve ever been in, about 12”-14” wide and 30”-40” long it was an alleyway compared to the warehouse I trained in previously. The mats were boxes that interlocked on the floor with the same mats glued to the walls. Absolutely no flash about this place, no mirrors, no ropes, no heavy bags, no sound system; well there was a boom box. Places like this are the birth place of greatness, they’re not trying to get the trendy “I watch UFC therefore I am a badass” people, just the ones that do it for the love of doing it; people like me; people like Brad, Julius, John, and Mike. That’s what Mike has, a no BS train Jiu-Jitsu and become better then you think you can school.

If I thought that Brad & Julius taught with expert detail, Mike took it to another level. Being smaller then all the adults in the class, and smaller then most people Mike had to use pure BJJ, no muscle, just technique, and that’s what he taught. Technique, patients, and friendship were at the core of his school. Mike was also the first person to ever say “That scares me” those are words I never heard from any instructor. You can’t be scared you’re the teacher you can kick all of our asses, how can you be scared. I learned through Mike that it’s that fear that keeps you fighting. It’s the fear of losing, or the fear of getting something broken or torn, in addition to the fear of not fighting anymore; so the real question is how can you afford not to be scared?

My friendship with Mike is unlike any other in my past. He’s truly a person that I could hang out with off the mats and have a blast with. The best part about his school is that everyone is like that, I’ve made life long friends while training there, and that’s what makes Jiu-Jitsu unlike any other fighting style out there. Grappling is the only combat art were you are touching, and as close to another human being for as long as you are at any given time. You build a bond with your team that you will never have with people outside that mat. How often do you trust a person with your life? That’s what you do every time you step on those mats; you trust a person will release the choke when you tap, and they trust that you will do the same.

Once again I’ve moved; this time away from New Jersey, to a state further south and into hopefully my last school for BJJ. When I left New Jersey that same fear came back as when I left Julius’ school, but worse. If Mike brought the level of instruction higher than Julius, and Julius, maintained the level of instruction as Brad, then I’m never going to find a better teacher. I could not have been further from the truth, because now I’m training with a master, one of the highest ranking practitioners of this art and the only one still teaching in the north eastern U.S. You’d think that a person like this would be stone cold, just like the teachers at the school I tried out before I ended up at his doorstep, but you couldn’t be wrong. Professor as we call him is just as open armed and kind hearted as all of my great friends who taught me so much along the way. I’ve only been training with him since February of 2009, but I can tell that I’m going to enjoy the company of him and my peers while under his instruction.

I am truly fortunate to have found the quality of humans I have while on my journey, and I hope that I’ve provided more then a long read for you in writing this. I’d like to know that I made a case for how important Martial arts, human contact, and pursuing a passion are. Today it’s so easy to get a head through not completely committing, and that’s wrong, we need to get back to the basics. Work hard, stay the course and look back on the road traversed, but also, look to the sides at the friends you’ve made along the way. Once you’ve taken that look you’ll know that you are in the company of greatness, and that greatness is in the company of you.

Peace!

Pres