The other night in BJJ class, when we were doing lines, my friend turned around and looked at the three stripes on my white belt. My friend said, "So when are you getting your blue belt?"
"Never, I guess," was my joking answer.
"Yeah, me too," came the reply.
I know some people in my BJJ family to whom belts just really don't matter. And I believe that, to those few, belts really don't. And I can remember that before my belt tests, they didn't matter to me, either. Hell, I never thought I'd ever get invited to a belt test. I can't tell you how emotional that moment was for me when I got my first invitation. I knew that even if I never got invited, I'd still train. I just loved the sport that much.
But belts DO matter, let's don't lie. If they didn't, why would we be belt tested? Why would we talk about them? Why would so many people accept the invitation to test? Because . . . they matter. They just do.
I can't begin to think that I understand the formula by which our coaches deem us ready to test. And I am a little afraid to ask about it. It just seems . . . sacred, I guess. The coaches have been there, they have the belt, they know the deal. But I do wonder. How can I not wonder? Is there a grid, a rubric, a standard of readiness? If so, what is it? What's the guideline? And is it subjective from gym to gym or coach to coach? I just wonder.
For instance, I am planning a trip to LA this summer. I will visit some of my friends, who also happen to train BJJ. We are talking about the training we will do at their gym, and I wonder how I will measure up with my friends' teammates. How do they train? In other words, is a white belt with three stripes at Elite the same as a white belt with three stripes at my friends' gym in LA? What is the criteria, and is it the same across the board?
I know some people who train at other gyms. Their system for getting belts is different in some ways. Some gyms do it by mat time, and some have "promotion nights" instead of belt tests. I like the way our gym does it. I like belt testing. It's a big deal, and it's a celebration. It's always a good day. But knowing the different systems makes me wonder about the guidelines. I also watch at competitions, and some competitors are more aggressive and (I hate to say it, but I have to), seem to fight dirty. We are never taught to fight dirty at Elite, so I wonder . . . what makes a blue belt or a purple belt at a gym like that? And . . . am I ready and aggressive enough to compete against that kind of blue belt?
I don't feel bad for asking these questions. I talk about these things with my teammates. I think most people involved in BJJ have talked about these things. My friend in LA has even asked me if I'm a blue belt yet. I don't think it's a bad thing to talk and wonder, especially since it all seems like such a mystery.
When I set my four-year goal for cage fighting, my coaches seemed happy. One of my coaches even said, "By then, she'll be a purple belt, and who wants to be in the cage with Miss Amy as a purple belt?"
Which tells me . . . belts do matter.
Don't they?
I want to progress. And I do progress, and I will progress. I have not belt tested in awhile, but it hasn't surprised me. My coaches will know when I am ready. I have had to miss quite a bit since summer. But I am coming back, and I am strong, and I am committed to three days a week. I want to be certain that I am a blue belt before I am one, if that makes sense. Because at competitions, I will have to compete against other blue belts when I am one. That's kind of scary.
I admit, and I have heard other teammates express, that it's sometimes surprising and hurtful to see others progress faster than me, but others also don't have the obligations that I do. If I move at a snail's pace, then I do, and I just have to trust my coaches to be fair. That's all I can do, and that's all I can know. I am not going to stop working for what I want. My coaches love me, I do know that, and they want the best for me. Otherwise, they would not encourage me to keep on keeping on. They wouldn't have listened to my cage dreams and taken me seriously.
One of my favorite things to tell my students is: "Trust the system." So that's what I will do, too, even if I don't understand it. But it is an interesting system to think about. And I think it is only natural to have questions about it once you start to progress.
Friday, January 27, 2012
I Wish I Could Train
I wish I could train every single day.
I wish I could train in the morning, first thing when I wake up. But I don't wish for less time with the sleepy little boys snuggled up next to me.
I wish I could train at noon, but I don't begrudge the 150 pairs of eyes on me all day long, waiting for me to tell them something important and to place some hope in their hands.
I wish I could train every single night, but I don't resent the mouths that need to be fed, the baths that need to be given, the bedtime stories that need to be read.
I wish that on the nights that I do train, I wasn't so tired and weary from the long hours of the day, but I do take that hour of training as a gift and try to use it well.
I wish that I had come into martial arts back in the day; back when I was younger, with fewer responsibilities, with more time to train. I wish that my life had grown up around BJJ instead of BJJ popping up unexpectedly as it did.
No . . . I don't wish that. I am so glad that BJJ popped up. It just might have been the thing that saved me at just the right time.
I just wish . . .
But I'm happy. What if I had never found BJJ? What if this passion were not inside me? My friend the other day said that all the things I mentioned above are not limitations. They are priorities and joys of my life. It's true. I have so many great things going on in my life. It's just that sometimes, I daydream about being on the mat. I come home exhausted and mentally drained and wonder if I have the juice to train, and sometimes I just don't. So . . . I wish there were more time. But there just isn't.
So what do I do? Take it as part of my journey. Go with it. Train when I can and take it, as I said, as a gift. That's what it is. It's a gift. A gift that makes me wish for me, and how can that be a bad thing? The trap in life could be wishing for less, and that's a wish that you can be sure will always come true. So may I ALWAYS just keep wishing for more.
I wish I could train in the morning, first thing when I wake up. But I don't wish for less time with the sleepy little boys snuggled up next to me.
I wish I could train at noon, but I don't begrudge the 150 pairs of eyes on me all day long, waiting for me to tell them something important and to place some hope in their hands.
I wish I could train every single night, but I don't resent the mouths that need to be fed, the baths that need to be given, the bedtime stories that need to be read.
I wish that on the nights that I do train, I wasn't so tired and weary from the long hours of the day, but I do take that hour of training as a gift and try to use it well.
I wish that I had come into martial arts back in the day; back when I was younger, with fewer responsibilities, with more time to train. I wish that my life had grown up around BJJ instead of BJJ popping up unexpectedly as it did.
No . . . I don't wish that. I am so glad that BJJ popped up. It just might have been the thing that saved me at just the right time.
I just wish . . .
But I'm happy. What if I had never found BJJ? What if this passion were not inside me? My friend the other day said that all the things I mentioned above are not limitations. They are priorities and joys of my life. It's true. I have so many great things going on in my life. It's just that sometimes, I daydream about being on the mat. I come home exhausted and mentally drained and wonder if I have the juice to train, and sometimes I just don't. So . . . I wish there were more time. But there just isn't.
So what do I do? Take it as part of my journey. Go with it. Train when I can and take it, as I said, as a gift. That's what it is. It's a gift. A gift that makes me wish for me, and how can that be a bad thing? The trap in life could be wishing for less, and that's a wish that you can be sure will always come true. So may I ALWAYS just keep wishing for more.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
MMA Lady
The following is the beginning of a project that I plan to be working on for quite awhile:
Life is short. So short. Fleeting. And one day you wake up and realize that you are thirty-five years old and exactly what that means. At age thirty-five, conceivably, half of my life is gone, and how much of my time was wasted? Have I even really started living? Was I living a life I thought I was supposed to live, based on misconceptions or pleasing others or whatever it may have been?
As I go to pick up my children from their dad's house, I take a route along Trinity Bay. I have to cross a channel that spills into the bay. I don't know how long the channel is or where it begins, but I can tell that it must be a significant distance. What matters is that I get to see the end of its journey. Though the bay itself isn't very big, and neither are its bayous or tributaries, it seems big. From my point of view, the other side isn't visible. There is just this open expance of water upon water, and at last the water running down that channel is free.
The other day, as I drove across the channel and saw it end in the bay, I felt a kind of identity with it. How long had I been going in one direction, with no way to turn? How long had I allowed myself to be pushed along, feeling as though I were on some kind of journey with no meaning and no end in sight? It was a long time, but I will not forget the moment that I saw the end of that long, straight, and often very dark channel. I will not forget the moment that the journey at last spilled me into something open and free. At last, there was the moment that things were clear and limitless and vast.
Please understand that I believe every part of the journey is useful, necessary, and important. An in the midst of darkness will shine moments of light: the birth of my children and precious time with them, for instance. But I am talking about the overall journey - the culmination of good and bad and the realization of where it is taking you. For a very long time, I felt trapped in that current, without the choices or the power to change anything. I felt enslaved, and I heard once that slavery breaks a person's spirit. I understand that now. What I didn't know was that I was strong, and that the key to tapping that strength would be found in such an unlikely place.
I even laugh a little to call it "unlikely," because now it just seems like the most logical place in the world. For those involved in martial arts, "unlikely" would be the furthest word from their minds. But my world had nothing to do with that world. I didn't know it, understand it, or even think about it. It was almost accidental that I found it in the first place.
I have told my coaches many times: Elite MMA did not give me my life back. But Elite MMA gave me the tools I needed to get my life back. It showed me my strength and helped me chip away at my fear. I am nothing but thankful that, for whatever reason, and by whatever force, I was guided to Elite MMA to begin my journey. The jouney started with Brazilian jiu jitsu, and I want to tell you my story, since I have learned that sharing stories is healing for both the speaker and listener. We identify with one another through stories. Our stories connect us, and I would not even have a story to tell if others hadn't woven their stories into mine. Our stories are important.
One thing I have learned, and I hope to bring out as much as possible, is the concept of the journey. We hear it a lot at my gym. Your BJJ journey is yours. Your BJJ will look different than mine. Your pace, your technique, your style, your timeline. Life happens in the midst of this journey, and that's nothing to beat yourself up about. Own your jorney and love yourself through it, because it's very easy to do the opposite. It is easy to want your BJJ to look like someone else's or to get down on yourself when you can't train or you're not improving. But: it's a marathon, not a sprint, and the journey is beautiful, no matter what.
Now I understand and appreciate my journey so much more. My journey into and through BJJ is part of my journey through life. My journey through life, now, is better I think, because of my journey through BJJ. BJJ is so many things to me: it is relationships, both on and off the mat. It is pushing myself beyond my limit. It is allowing others to pour themselves into me, which makes us both better. It is being encouraging and being encouraged. It is emotional, and it is a release. Whatever I have, I can bring it to the mat, where I can let it go. It is positive and constructive. It is allowing myself to be broken and rebuilt.
Life is short. So short. Fleeting. And one day you wake up and realize that you are thirty-five years old and exactly what that means. At age thirty-five, conceivably, half of my life is gone, and how much of my time was wasted? Have I even really started living? Was I living a life I thought I was supposed to live, based on misconceptions or pleasing others or whatever it may have been?
As I go to pick up my children from their dad's house, I take a route along Trinity Bay. I have to cross a channel that spills into the bay. I don't know how long the channel is or where it begins, but I can tell that it must be a significant distance. What matters is that I get to see the end of its journey. Though the bay itself isn't very big, and neither are its bayous or tributaries, it seems big. From my point of view, the other side isn't visible. There is just this open expance of water upon water, and at last the water running down that channel is free.
The other day, as I drove across the channel and saw it end in the bay, I felt a kind of identity with it. How long had I been going in one direction, with no way to turn? How long had I allowed myself to be pushed along, feeling as though I were on some kind of journey with no meaning and no end in sight? It was a long time, but I will not forget the moment that I saw the end of that long, straight, and often very dark channel. I will not forget the moment that the journey at last spilled me into something open and free. At last, there was the moment that things were clear and limitless and vast.
Please understand that I believe every part of the journey is useful, necessary, and important. An in the midst of darkness will shine moments of light: the birth of my children and precious time with them, for instance. But I am talking about the overall journey - the culmination of good and bad and the realization of where it is taking you. For a very long time, I felt trapped in that current, without the choices or the power to change anything. I felt enslaved, and I heard once that slavery breaks a person's spirit. I understand that now. What I didn't know was that I was strong, and that the key to tapping that strength would be found in such an unlikely place.
I even laugh a little to call it "unlikely," because now it just seems like the most logical place in the world. For those involved in martial arts, "unlikely" would be the furthest word from their minds. But my world had nothing to do with that world. I didn't know it, understand it, or even think about it. It was almost accidental that I found it in the first place.
I have told my coaches many times: Elite MMA did not give me my life back. But Elite MMA gave me the tools I needed to get my life back. It showed me my strength and helped me chip away at my fear. I am nothing but thankful that, for whatever reason, and by whatever force, I was guided to Elite MMA to begin my journey. The jouney started with Brazilian jiu jitsu, and I want to tell you my story, since I have learned that sharing stories is healing for both the speaker and listener. We identify with one another through stories. Our stories connect us, and I would not even have a story to tell if others hadn't woven their stories into mine. Our stories are important.
One thing I have learned, and I hope to bring out as much as possible, is the concept of the journey. We hear it a lot at my gym. Your BJJ journey is yours. Your BJJ will look different than mine. Your pace, your technique, your style, your timeline. Life happens in the midst of this journey, and that's nothing to beat yourself up about. Own your jorney and love yourself through it, because it's very easy to do the opposite. It is easy to want your BJJ to look like someone else's or to get down on yourself when you can't train or you're not improving. But: it's a marathon, not a sprint, and the journey is beautiful, no matter what.
Now I understand and appreciate my journey so much more. My journey into and through BJJ is part of my journey through life. My journey through life, now, is better I think, because of my journey through BJJ. BJJ is so many things to me: it is relationships, both on and off the mat. It is pushing myself beyond my limit. It is allowing others to pour themselves into me, which makes us both better. It is being encouraging and being encouraged. It is emotional, and it is a release. Whatever I have, I can bring it to the mat, where I can let it go. It is positive and constructive. It is allowing myself to be broken and rebuilt.
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