Thinking Jiu Jitsu

Learning a new language is difficult. I have been trying to learn Spanish for awhile now. I am getting better at it, little by little. I practice it as often as I can. I have heard that when I start to think in Spanish, I will know I really have it.

I don't think in Spanish yet. But I think in jiu jitsu.

I remember when I first started BJJ, just a few months in, I would find myself suddenly thinking jiu jitsu. What I mean is, I would think and work through moves that didn't go quite right the night before in practice. I would analyze it, work through it in my mind, think of alternative techniques I could have used. Thinking jiu jitsu. In the middle of the day. At work.

When you don't practice a language that you are trying to learn, you lose it. I didn't practice jiu jitsu much this summer. I hadn't practiced it much until recently. That made me sad, and it made me lose a lot of my confidence. I stopped thinking jiu jitsu. For awhile, I felt I could never go back. I thought that things would be too hard forever. The truth is, not going to Elite made things worse.

When you are learning a language, it is important to be around people who also know and practice the language. Immerse yourself. It's also important to overcome fear in speaking the language. A lot of times, I won't speak Spanish because I am afraid I will mess up and sound stupid. It's the same with jiu jitsu, especially with getting back to it. I was afraid to go back to the gym for awhile. I was afraid of how I would look, having lost any fluency I had gained. It was one step forward, ten steps back. But not going at all wasn't helping anything. I needed to be in a place where jiu jitsu was spoken openly and easily, where I could be safe to make mistakes, where there were people to lift me up and encourage me to keep going.

I have accepted this coming year as a hard one. That doesn't mean it can't also be good, that it can't make me stronger. It has and will. But I can't be hard on myself, either. There will be days and weeks that I can't train. I am navigating this year as a newly single mom. My finances are different, my schedule is different. I have set long-term goals for a reason and the words "for now" are an important part of my vocabulary. But there's good news: I have started thinking jiu jitsu again.

It happened two weeks ago on the way to work, and it was a definite marker for me. I was just about to the gate where I enter the parking lot, and I caught myself doing it: working through a move from the night before. I was rethinking my technique, reworking the move in my mind, just as I had done a million times before. I was thinking jiu jitsu without even trying, without realizing it. It was natural to me. I knew then that I was back, and it made me smile.

I Am A Teacher

I came into this profession - kicking and screaming, as it was - later in life than most. I was almost ten years out of college already. I was a stay-at-home-mom, and I wanted to stay that way. Teaching found me and not the other way around.

Thank God it did.

I have said it many times: I can't imagine doing anything else. Now the job that I never wanted is one of my life's passions.

The thing about education is that it's full of politics. There are numbers involved; data, policies, procedures, documentation. Sometimes scores don't come out right and God forbid the student be held responsible for not learning. Sometimes you forget to document something, not follow a procedure, and you get a write-up in your file. Sometimes you have to call your lawyer, because you find yourself in some kind of crazy situation. It's nerve-wracking; it's maddening. But it's only part of the job.

Because besides the data, policies, procedures, and documentation, there are these people - these people who are just coming into their own, and you get to watch them become something amazing. They are just at the beginning of this journey, and they make mistakes. They make good choices, too. They have triumphant days, and they can't hide their joy. They have bad days, and they come in with their stormcloud faces. They are too vulnerable to hide anything, even though they try. There is a story seated at every desk, and you get to watch a small part of that story as it is created, in real time.

You get to laugh with them, hurt with them, listen to them. You get to watch them interact and pray that they treat each other well. You get to laugh when they remind you how Mexican they are and how Mexican you are not. You get to go to quincineras. You get to learn Spanish and hear them laugh when you make a mistake and hear them cheer when you get it right. You get to hug them when they are having a bad day and you get to hug them when they are having a good day. You get hand-drawn pictures of volkswagens. Sometimes, some days, you cry and so do they.

And you get to watch them learn. I am so lucky that I teach English; it's subjective. Everyone feels differently about every story and every poem. I get to show them how to pick it apart, then set them to it. Every word means something, every comma, semicolon, dash. At a time when emotions naturally run high, it is fascinating to wach reactions when Doodle dies in "The Scarlet Ibis" or when the sniper finds out he has killed his own brother. When Angel Vargas dies in The House on Mango Street, poof, like a little powdered donut, and life goes on, what will my ninth-graders say? Will they grow from it? Will they remember it? I hope so. Even if it happens in one moment and only for a moment.

I have had bad days. Really, really bad days. Many bad things have happened in my short three years of teaching. But I will tell you what: every August, I am happy to see them come through the door and every June, I am sad to watch them go. I don't try to love them. It just happens. I know now that I was designed to be a teacher. Despite all the bad data and misplaced papers and unfollowed procedures and write-ups, there is a bigger thing happenening. There are people: one-hundred fifty of them, and I am not a babysitter. They are counting on me for something. I feel the weight of that.

And so, every morning at 4:30am, I roll (or crawl, or inch) out of bed to get myself and the kids ready, so that I can go to the job that I never wanted, the job that I now don't know what I would do without.

Cage Dreams

Million Dollar Baby: saddest movie in America. Also one of the best. (Hilary Swank: Oscar-winning performance). But I think I was crying even before the part where you are suppose to cry. This is why: I was struck by Maggie's drive, even when no one would train her; even when she was shunned and ignored; even though she was starting in her thirties. She never backed down. Her attitude was this: whatever it takes.

I say it a lot: I wast to be a cagefighter. I love going over to the Westheimer gym and just looking at the cage or standing in it. I want to be in there, and I want to fight. I say it, and I think that some people believe me. I joke about it, and people laugh with me. But here's the thing: I really do want to be in the cage one day. I really do.

I am not thinking that I will make it to the cage in a few months or a year. I don't even know if two years will be enough time to get ready. I know it will take a lot of time, a lot of work, a lot of sacrifice. Not just for me, but for my coaches and classmates as well. I watch my teammate, Yanez, train for his upcoming fight, and I see what it takes.

And as I watch Yanes, I think about fights I have watched. I think about other classmates and coaches of mine that I have watched train - Vincent, Jordan, Trent, Chris, and others. As I've watched, I have learned something: it's not just the fighter that is stepping into the cage. Hours and hours of training go with him; tiresome hours and dedication from trainers and classmates who believe in him. His entire gym - the name, the mission, the integrity of that gym - goes into the cage. That idea weighs on me. It makes sense to me that I should not sept into the cage unless I am ready. I am taking too many others in there with me.

So I have a question: Will you train me? Will you spend the hours, the weeks and months, to get me there? Possibly the years? Are you willing to attach your name and your integrity to me? Will you make me ready to fight?

One thing that I will need to get me there is to be able to take my kids to the gym. I took them on Friday, when I trained karate. It went pretty well. Charlie had a moment or two toward the end of the hour. He came onto the mat and helped me recite the Learner's Creed with me. :) But I will have to recruit help from my classmatets. I don't know how they are going to feel about that, though I have a feeling I will have a positive reception. I will have to bring them with me from time to time in order to get in the training time that I need, especially to be able to work on my standup. I hope that they will see that their mom is a strong lady, that she is willing to work hard, and that the gym is a positive place for them to be.

When Mr. Robert was helping me with my goals, he asked me why I wanted to be in the cage. Did I get into a lot of fights as a kid? Did I have some pent-up aggression? I actually think that many people, especially those who have known me for any length of time, are wondering the same thing. I didn't get into fights, and I don't have pent-up aggression. The truth is, I love the sport. I have a lot of respect for the mat. After watching my classmates train, I respect the drive, determination, and dedication put forth to reach a goal. I like the idea of finishing what you start. For me, it's not about proving anything or beating someone up. It's a sport; an amazing sport. It's about passion and integrity. It's about setting a goal and reaching it. It's about being strong and believing that I can do anything in life that I want to do. I want this. I want to fight in the cage. I believe that I can do it.

Is it a little bit laughable? Do I look like a cagefighter? No. I look like a mom. Who teaches. And eats donuts. Is that why I am sometimes met with skepticism? Is it because I have never been atheletic that maybe some don't believe I can reach this goal? I don't know. But I am willing to do whatever it takes to get to where I need to be - to get to the cage.

Whatever it takes.

And what will it take? Nutrition. Working outside the gym. Running, lifting weights. I don't know. I need a plan. I am very obedient, if you give me a plan. So . . . will you train me? Will you give me a plan? Will you give me short-term goals on my way to the long-term goal, which could be two or three or four years away? I will be a good athelete for you. I will carry your name and Elite's name well.

This is my dream, and I believe it will come true.

Stalked

It is with fear that I post again. I have had someone using this blog to stalk me. I don't like it. But I opened myself up to it, I suppose. You splash your life onto the Internet, and tell people where to go to find it splashed, well . . . 'nuff said. But it makes me ANGRY. I LIKE to blog. I NEED to blog. I need you to READ it. You can read it; YOU can't. And if YOU do, I will call the police. I am putting this blog back into circulation. I need to talk about my experiences and I need to live without fear. So that's that.

Dear Birthday Fairy, Take a Look:

If I had $75 extra, I would make this mine. If you want to make it yours, go here. Hurry up and get it. It won't be there tomorrow.

Aaron

You looked at me
and in an instant,
I saw you as a man -
your little-boy face
no longer there:
your little-boy days
escaping rapidly,
as a fleet of ships
speeding toward distant war

I looked at you
and your innocent smile
was changed:
your jaw more square,
your shoulders broad,
your laugh, deep and sure

You looked at me, and all at once
the solid little boy
was a strong, solid man
as calendar leaves
flew by me,
fluttering in a wind
I could not catch

Then again - in an instant
your blue eyes caught mine,
your exclamation-point laugh
hung in my ear
as I looked down
to where you lay in my arms,
your fluffy, golden hair
brushing my chin
as you wrapped your hand
around my finger,
and I held you that moment,
hung on for dear life -
that dying moment
before the wind
whipped up again.

9-18-2011

The Heart of a Fighter

The heart of a fighter
beats to the rhythm
of a thousand others
coming alongside,
those whose hearts
have bled into his:
their pain, their wounds,
their sweat and blood,
their strength for his good.

The heart of a fighter
is made by his peers
who push and encourage,
who offer fists for fists,
bruises to heal any weakness,
and a hand under his chin
with a long, cool drink of water

The heart of a figher
is never born alone,
is never left alone,
and his proudest moment
is the moment that,
when images blur,
and above a crowd's scream,
a Master's voice is all the fighter can hear -
From deep within his corner:
"That boy there - That's MY fighter . . . "

9-16-2011

I was inspired to write this after watching my friend last night, who is training for his first cage fight. It was the shark tank, but I watched our coach give him a drink of water; it was one of those moments when you understand what this sport is about, and what the heart of it is.

BJJ Blues

Everything is different now. My life has changed. Even though it was a change that needed to happen, it's been a big adjustment. My schedule is different. I miss the kids. I have up days and down days. I am getting used to it, and I know that one day it will all seem normal.

I have missed several days and weeks of training in all of this transition. I love training. I love all of it: the punching and kicking of kickboxing and karate; the intricate moves and submissions of jiu jitsu. Martial arts is a big part of my life now, and missing training makes me feel empty in a way.

I know that I will get back in a routine, but I feel so discouraged. I can't train on the days that I have kids, and I really don't want to. I want every undivided moment I can have with them. On the days that I don't have the kids, I am so exhausted I usually go home and fall asleep. I know that I am not balanced right now, and I need to train.

My goal is to get my blue belt by December. I know I can do it if I work hard enough. I have been hearing that little voice lately. The one that tells me I am really not a warrior, that I really don't have it in me. The voice tells me that I don't have the heart of a fighter, that if I did, I would push through against all odds. The voice tells me that when I get back to the gym, I won't be any good anyway. I have been told at the gym by friends and coaches not to listen to that voice. Many times I have been told. So how do I get rid of it? How do I stop believing it?

I don't know what the answer is. But I have to get back. I have obstacles and limitations to overcome, but I know I am strong. I have been strong. I have to pull that strength back out. I miss BJJ and karate and kickboxing. This is MY journey, and I want to continue it. I can't give up.

"I Am A Martial Artist" by Karen Eden

"I am a martial artist." I see through different eyes.

I see a bigger picture when others see grey skies.

Though many can't conceive it, I stand...facing the wind.

My bravery, not from fighting, but from my strength within.

I am a martial artist. I'll walk the extra mile.

Not because I have to, but because it's worth my while.

I know that I am different, when I stand on a crowded street.

I know the fullness of winning, I've tasted the cup of defeat.

I am a martial artist. They say I walk with ease.

Though trained for bodily harm, my intentions are for peace.

The world may come and go, but a different path I'll choose.

A path I will not stray from, no matter, win or lose.

-Karen Eden

Competition

Cross-legged and rocking back and forth, side to side, I sat, waiting. My eyes were shut tight, my hands curled around my feet. Now that I am away from this experience, I cannot tell you how far into myself I had to go in that moment, but it was far. It was as though the core of myself were a bottomless cavern.

Debra was there, postured in a similar way, unconsciously rocking, but she had an earbud in one ear. Emily was there. I was so aware of their presence, they may have been touching me. They weren't. There was no need. The silent, blind connection of sitting and waiting and wondering and hoping - together - was enough.

There was noise and confusion all around. Everywhere. Announcements, yelling, moving, milling, seaching, finding, focusing, jumping, laughing, talking. Debra, Emily, and I sat separate from it all, as if on an island. We were aware but not a part of all the noise and movement.

I broke the silence between us when I said, "I want my coach."

"Mr. Robert?" asked Emily.

"Yes," I said, "I need my coach."

"Do you want me to go find him?" Emily touched my hand.

"Yes, I do," I pleaded.

"Don't worry, he will be here," Debra calmed.

Debra: in her mother-voice, in her loving-friend voice, in her I-am-there-too voice. Six words from Debra, and I knew it was going to be OK.

Suddenly, Belinda and Vicki were there. Cross-legged and comforting, right in front of us. From where? I don't know know. They appeared from nowhere, it seemed. But there they were. Vicky touched my knee.

I know my eyes were pleading with both of them. I didn't need them to tell me that I would win; I just needed to hear that I was worth doing this, that I was good enough.

And I was terrified. What if I failed? What if I disappointed everyone that had poured themselves into me and had believed in me?

My parents were there. My daughter. Coaches, classmates. Friends had called and texted with encouragement. I might let all of them down.

Vicki looked at me. She said, "This is just another training, just another class . . . "

I said, "I am so scared," and I felt the tears choke me. I swallowed the sob in my throat.

"Why?" asked Belinda, "You have done this a hundred times . . ."

Belinda and Vicki continued to encourage us and tell us that we knew what to do. We had our game plans. We had everything we needed for this match.

After feeling the weight of eternity, Debra's name was called from the thin air. It was time to start. We had been watching the nogi matches. I had been hoping those matches would continue forever, but they ended and white gis were taking the place of rash gurads and shorts.

Debra bowed, shook her partner's hand, and the match began. Just as everyone else had, it seemed that Mr. Robert had materialized from nothing. But there he was, just as Debra had said he would be, his voice strong and sure. I watched Debra as Mr. Robert gave her instruction from the side. Her partner was much taller than she was, and I wondered if mine would be, too. Debra did her technique just as she had been taught and practiced. The fight was a good one. I watched with intensity, feeling my body twist and turn as I watched each way that she went on the mat.

Her match was over and I was up. My opponent was six feet tall to my five feet, one inch. Mr. Robert had trained me this way: go for the takedown and then to the mount for an armbar; or, should my opponent get me on mount, shrimp out to take side control and then go for the mount. But his most important instruction for this competetion was to listen to his voice and his voice only. He had told me to tune out every other noise and tune in only to what he was saying.

The match began and I went for the takedown. I forgot to get my grips as I concentrated on the single leg that I had practiced, but her reach was much greater than mine. I felt myself go down but I didn't give her the mount or the side control easily. I only wanted five minutes on that mat, and no less. I could hear Mr. Robert loud and clear. I hadn't been sure that I would be able to focus like that, but I did it. His voice and his only came in loud and clear. At every turn, every move, Mr. Robert: "You know what to do Miss Amy, just like we practiced. Good, good. Now watch for the triangle. Super shrimp, you know how to do this. Good, Miss Amy. Forget about her head, just bump. Good, Miss Amy, good . . ." And Mr. Robert, certainly having done this more times than he could count, knew just what to say at just the right moment. I am certain that he knew if he had not continued his calm encouragement, that I may have broken on the mat. His instructions were golden, but most important in keeping me in the game was each soothing accolade: "Good, Miss Amy, good . . . "

I didn't win. My opponent tapped me with an armbar. I almost tried to roll out of it, but for fear of being truly injured, I tapped. I didn't know her; I wasn't familiar with her. This was the real deal and not practice. I couldn't ask her to help me with my technique. She wanted to win! So I chose defeat to possible injury and conceded to my opponent. She was better than me, and she won, but I gave her a run for her money. I was proud of myself.

Mr. Robert gave me a hug and told me I had done a good job. I felt like it was a strong fight, and I felt good about how I did. I hugged Debra and I knew we both felt we had come out victorious, even if we hadn't won our matches. We had conquered our fears, gotten out there and done it. We had won our battles just by doing that.

I wasn't sure how I was going to feel after my match. I was fearful of losing and of how my perception of myself would change if I did. The thing is, I didn't feel like I had lost. I felt awesome. I didn't know if I would ever compete again, and I had trained hard, body and soul, to get to that day. But I stood strong, I had finished. Win or lose, no one could take that day from me. I will never regret it, and I walked away from it with pride and my head held high. I knew that I had disappointed no one, least of all myself.

Sites To Be On Every Day

I found some new sites, thanks to Debra! You MUST check them out, and I am about to add a link in my blogroll:

www.bjjhq.com

www.karatedepot.com

Go there! Now!

My Donut Joys and My Donut Woes

I love donuts. I just do. What can I say? Donuts are amazing. When I lived in Benton, when Eliza was about two, she and I found the most amazing donut shop. It's sad that I forget the name of it now, but that was ten years ago. Eliza loved stopping there, as was our Sunday morning ritual on the way to church. These donuts . . . ahhhh . . . they had the most amazing chocolate glaze. Just the right texture, not too thin, perfect chocolate taste. There will never be another chocolate donut to equal it. That place shut down after I moved to San Francisco. I was sad to hear it. Eliza used to call them "people donuts." That's because I would tell her we were going to the place to get the good donuts and the "donut people" would ask us what kind of donuts we wanted. I have a picture of her in her highchair eating one of those "people donuts." Still such a fun memory!

In San Francisco, it was Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. I never really went for those. They were way too sweet. It's like they just couldn't get the balance right: there has to be just the right amount of yeasty, doughy goodness to balance a light, yet just-sweet-enough-glaze. The Krispy Kremes put the sweetness level over the edge. And the donuts there were to scrawny. Scrawny, skinny, too-sweet-to-taste-the-yeasty-doughy-goodness. No, thanks. I tried, ya'll. I really tried to like the Krispy Kremes, because everybody said, "Oh, you HAVE to have the Krispy Kremes! They are SO good!" But, sorry, they just didn't live up to my standards.

In Highlands, I was going to The Donut Palace. The owner knew the kids and me by name. Everything there was good. But then the owner got pregnant and started to get very sick. The hormones took over, and she just couldn't be around all the donut goodness anymore. I felt her pain. I remember when I was pregnant and couldn't eat anything, I used to call "donuts," "throw-nuts." So, I missed her. Some of her family members took over that shop, but nothing ever tasted the same after that. The kolaches were never as rich, and the chocolate glaze tasted like fingernail polish remover. So I quit going there and landed down the street at Dannay's Donuts.

Dannay's. Yum. Now, we have enjoyed Dannay's hit-and-miss the entire seven years we have lived in Highlands. But now I am a loyal customer. They have the best, most perfect-tasting kolaches and these melt-in-your mouth blueberry donuts with the absolute exact amount of idyllic glaze . . . heaven.

I don't know if you can tell, but I am passionate about donuts.

Which brings me to my dilemma. I have moved. I am far from Dannay's donuts now. I am unfamiliar with the donut shops around my new place. It's not easy being on the donut market again. Trying all those new donut places, some twice or three times just to make sure it really wasn't better than the other place. It's a job. Gonna be a chore.

However, I believe that I am strong enough to find a new donut place that is conveniently located near my new home and on the way to work. I have the fortitude to see it through. I will always miss Dannay's, and I may just have to visit from time to time, but I feel sure that, in time, I can embrace a new donut place.

Tapping Out and Chillin'

It felt great to train after taking a week off to pack up to move. I did karate and bjj on Monday night. After karate, I was talking to a couple of friends, and they asked if I was doing bjj that night. I said, "Yes, but I haven't been here for a week! I don't know if I will remember how to roll!"

They said, "Yes, you will!"

My first opponent told me, "Man, you're being aggressive tonight, Miss Amy!"

I said, "Well, they told me I needed to be a little bit more aggressive."

I tapped out my second opponent with a choke. It was legit. I could not believe it and kept asking her if it really was legit.

Then I rolled with Mr. Jordan, my black belt instructor. Yikes! The guy keeping time felt like adding two minutes to the roll. The other instructor, Mr. Robert (brown belt with some new stripes!), was sitting right there watching the entire roll and pushing me a little bit. He said, "You're trying to do to many fancy moves; you've been to too many Charles Oliveira seminars!" Ha ha, Mr. Robert!

I kept asking, "Can I punch Mr. Jordan in the face?"

Mr. Robert kept saying, "No, you cannot punch him in the face!"

But I did do a couple of kidney punches on Mr. Jordan. They let me get away with it.

After class, I rolled a little nogi with Mrs. Vicki. I like my grips. My grips are my security. Nogi is hard but exhilarating. She tapped me out with a choke.

Lots of tapping going on Monday night.

As for karate, what is up with my roundhouse kick? I can get it in kickboxing, but not in karate! I don't know what it is. In karate, I feel like a circus sideshow. In kickboxing, I feel badass!

My punches are good, though. But Mr. Robert had us doing high jab, middle punch, front drop kick, roundhouse kick combos. Talk about a circus sideshow! Yikes. But I did land a couple of good kicks when Mr. Robert came around. It just took me awhile to get to the roundhouse kick; there are so many steps in order to get there, and I am an old lady! I never can get that foot-twist, hip-turn-over thing for the roundhouse kick in karate. I prefer the kata. It's peaceful and it focuses me.

Anyway, after class, Vicki, Belinda, and I just sat for a little bit and watched the advance class. We talked to Mr. Robert while we watched the guys roll. It's fun to watch and dissect their moves, and say, "Woah!" when someone does a flip or something like that. It was a really relaxed time, chatting with Mr. Robert and the ladies and talking about technique and life in general. I said that I was going to create a Donut Diet, and that I was going to market it and it would become a huge company and sponsor me when I am a cagefighter. Yes, Elite has truly become my family and my home-away-from home.

A couple of weeks ago, I was having a really bad time mentally and emotionally. I just could not get my head straight, thinking about the divorce and all the changes that were going to come with it. I was feeling like a failure. I did karate class, but then I just needed to go home. I didn't want to take my stuff onto the mat like that, you know? I knew my head would be somewhere else and I'd have a bad class. Mr. Robert saw me leaving and said that doing class would help me get rid of a lot of my stuff for that day.

I said, "Mr. Robert, I just can't."

He said, "Well, do you need to talk?"

So we talked. I cried. I cleared my space. Later I texted him to say thank you. He texted this back:

"You're welcome, Miss Amy . . . remember you have extended family at the gym always."

One Big Mess

Here's the thing about life: we need one another.

It's risky to get involved with anyone. Friendships require a jumping-off point. If I get involved with you, and really invest in your life, I have to know that at some point you are going to need me.

But here's the trade off: I will need you, too.

Need. Not just want. I have already chosen you. I already want to be with you. But we are human, with all our human emotions and trappings and downfalls. One day, someday, something in your life or my life is going to get messy. It will be a mess that you or I can't clean up on our own. It will be a moment that brings tears and weakness. It will be a situation that, without each other to lean on, one or the other of us will fall apart and fall out of life.

There was a time in my life when I was very proud. I hated asking for help. Admitting that I needed help meant that I was weak. It breaks down so much pride to say to a friend, "We have to go from you enjoying me to you having to help me." What if people don't like me after they help me? What if they see how vulnerable I am? What if they think I am a fraud, now that they know I cannot always be strong?

Friends won't care. A friend still invites me over even after I have exhausted the world with my story and my tears, and will let me exhaust the world some more at their kitchen table. A friend will strengthen with love and believe in me without judgment.

We were not meant to walk alone. We don't have to have the same personalities or opinions, but we do have the common denominator of need for one another. We need community. And in this big ol' mess called life, I think that is beautiful. I hope to always need and be needed.

My "New" House

What it lacks in size, it makes up for in charm! I move Saturday.

BJJ Seminar Pictures: Leticia Ribeiro seminar in Austin and Charles Oliveira seminar in Houston

Debra, Emily, Leticia Ribeiro, and me, Sunday, June 12, 2011

Me, Beatriz Mesquita, Emily, and Debra, Sunday, June 12, 2011

Charles Oliveira, me, and Debra, Friday, June 17, 2011

I Train Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

I train Brazilian jiu jitsu.

I am a teacher and a mother of four. I am five foot, one inch tall, and weigh 165 pounds. i am almost 35 years old, not much to look at, and I train jiu jitsu.

Before I go to class every day, I have already gotten up at 4:30am, gotten myself and the kids ready and out the door for the day, and tried to teach 150 ninth-graders to love reading and writing. I have come home, done some chores, put on a gi, and gotten myself and my daughter to the gym.

I have never had an athletic bone in my body, and now I take classes in three forms of martial arts: Brazilian jiu jitsu, karate, and kickboxing. It's come slowly over this past year: first jiu jitsu, then kickboxing (which I never can attend as much as I want), then karate. Over the past year, I have been beaten up, bruised up, twisted up, pinched up, and stiffened up, but I have never given up.

I came to martial arts in my own time, at the right time, and I learn in real time. It's not easy, and I have to work hard. I learn at my own pace, at my own level, and I am taking this as my own journey. I think I am close to allowing myself to let it be mine, and to accept myself where I am. I want to accept that it will take time for me travel the rest of the way. I hope that "the rest of the way" takes a long, long time, and that I never stop learning.

I have been to two belt tests and one competition for jiu jitsu. These were hard-won, hard-earned milestones. I have never had athletic abilities. At least, none that I k new of before finding martial arts. None of the movements come naturally to me in jiu jitsu. Every technique involves several intricate parts, and my brain and body working together often confuse one another. I have off days, just like everyone, but I don't stop working.

I like to close my eyes when I roll. It helps me breathe. When I take off my glasses, I am legally blind. And yet, I can make it through a roll, I have landed a punch or two, and I have gotten in a few kicks that went the right way.

I am not a failure, and I won't listen to that little voice that says I am.

My limitations make me work harder. They make me stronger.

I am a woman. I was born with natural emotions that have to be released. I am a woman, I behave like a woman, and I train martial arts like a woman. I won't apologize for that. I will control myself when necessary, and cry when I need to. I can train with focus, I can train with strength, and i will do both.

I train at a gym filled with people who give the best of themselves to bring out the best in me. i train at a gym that advocates for women in the sport. I train with supportive men and women have become more than friends - they are my family, and I love them dearly. They are amazing, and I want to be amazing like they are.

When it comes down to it, I am just cells wrapped in tissue. I am made out of earth and meant to one day return to earth. But when i throw a punch, and I land that punch, I feel with ever fiber of my cell-and-tissue-and-earth being that I'm really alive. I feel like I have found that thing outside myself that I can do. I feel strong. I believe that I am strong.

I am a short, chubby, thirty-something, vision-impaired teacher and mother who trains Brazilian jiu jitsu, karate, and kickboxing. I will never stop.

Changes

Lots of things have changed since last year. I haven't posted, because there's a lot I haven't wanted to talk about or let people know just yet.

I'm still teaching, and I still love it.

I started taking martial arts classes, and I love them. I started with Brazilian jiu jitsu. I wanted something to help me lose weight and to give me some self-defense stragegies. I had no idea I'd fall in love with it. I started watching UFC as a result of my interest in martial arts, and now I dream of being a cage fighter! I think I can do it, one of these days. But I decided I needed to work on my stand-up game, so I started taking kickboxing and karate. I love all three classes. I like karate more than kickboxing, but jiu jitsu is still my favorite.

Now to unpleasant news: Scott and I are getting divorced. Please don't comment about the divorce here on the blog. Send me a private email message.

I am teaching summer school now. At the end of this month, it will be finished and then I'll have a nice couple of weeks in Arkansas.

Much love to all of you, and just so you know, I really am doing OK!