A little over a decade ago I tried my first Jiu Jitsu class. I didn’t know at the time what it would end up meaning to me and I certainly didn’t know the degree to which it would end up shaping my adult life. I just thought it looked cool. At that time I wrote a blog that no one read, but I wrote all the same. What follows is the entry I wrote after that first class. So today, to mark the incredibly surreal occasion of being awarded my black belt, I thought it would be interesting to share my thoughts on jiu jitsu as I saw it ten years ago and today. Apologies in advance for the hyperbole of my 25 year old self.

“As you entered the building water poured down from the ceiling. Miniature waterfalls ran over the exposed brick walls. If you wanted to stay dry, you were better off outside in the rain than in the vestibule. I wondered if I should have brought a bathing suit instead of the old pair of drawsting pants which were under my arm. Although the building was just around the corner from my apartment, in a part of Montreal known as the plateau, I had no idea it existed until now. It was not the kind of structure to attract the eye and inspire wonder. Randy, a friend whom I had talked into blowing off his Hot Yoga class to come with me used his superior French to ask the woman behind the desk which floor the Jiu Jitsu class was on. To our relief things were dryer up on three.

The class was one large room covered from wall to wall with mats. A lone heavy bag hung near the far wall, a few ropes and slings from the rafters. There was no ring, no Team Revolution banners on the walls proclaiming success or lineage. Nothing that I had expected. Just mats on the floor and a handful of men rolling around on them. Obviously out of place, we explained that we were just there to try a lesson to the first person whom asked. Polite and pleasant, he seemed glad we had come. While we were getting changed, a young woman hobbled her way in on pair of crutches. It was clear from the reactions, the concern of the rest of the class that even on crutches she belonged there more than we did. When I asked, she told me she had torn a tendon in a match two weeks ago, then made it worse by training on it last week. “It's hard to stop. It's addictive” she said. “But don't worry, I have never been hurt in a class” she added. Right, good to know.

Jiu Jitsu originated in Japan but was brought to the attention of the world by the Gracie family of Brazil. Learning the art from a Japanese immigrant, the Gracies would go on to reshape Jiu Jitsu into their own distinct style. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu is, in essence, a system which uses the the body as a series of levers in order to control and subdue your opponent. These joint locks and chokes are known as “submissions”, for they leave your opponent with the choice of submitting or being seriously injured. It is an art which is primarily practiced on the ground, with opponents wrestling to attain a favorable position from which to apply one of these submissions. It is an art of subtlety more than power. In Jiu Jitsu, technique almost always trumps strength.

The class started unceremoniously, the instructor, Koji, a compact Japanese man whose face looked unnatural doing anything but smiling, led us through some stretches. The whole time two men argued over directions to the gym. A light hearted bickering that actually put me more at ease. I was beginning to like it here. That said, I was glad I had not come alone. At least I won't have to start off against someone who has been doing this for years, I thought, confident Randy and I would be equally inept. Of course, I was wrong.

The first thing Koji did was split us up, pair us with far more experienced fighters. Although this made obvious sense, we were there to learn from them not from each other, I had not seen it coming. Koji showed the class a simple sequence, a way to transition from a submission attempt on one arm to the opposite arm to make it harder to defend. The technique in question, an Armbar, involves locking your opponent’s shoulder between your thighs and leveraging your hips to hyperextend his elbow. My partner introduced himself in English that, although not perfect, was infinitely better than my French, then laid back and motioned for me to try the sequence. It is a strange thing to sit on the chest of a man you have just met. I was awkward, trying to keep my weight off him. Trying to be polite. I ran the sequence poorly, pathetic really considering how simple it was. “Is OK,” he said, “but try like this.” We switched spots and he ran the same sequence on me. I grunted as he shifted his weight onto my chest. I could feel my ribs creak under the sudden pressure. Right, we're not being polite.

The class continued in the same way for another half hour. Koji demonstrating a sequence, me screwing up by being too tentative, holding back to much. My partner was great, very accommodating. Although working with me must have meant it was a wasted lesson for him, he never seemed annoyed. After the instruction, my partner told me it was time to spar and lay back into guard. Full guard is a position in which the fighter is laying on his back, with his legs wrapped around his opponent's waist. It is a very favorable position because it allows the fighter to easily defend his opponents attempts to submit him and from which many submissions of his own can be applied. “Ok,” I said, “Is it cool if I just try to pass guard?” “Of course” he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. We rolled a bit. I surprised myself by doing better than I expected, but still a long way from anything that looked good. After I tapped out for the first time my partner said “you are bleeding you know,” pointing to my mouth where an inadvertent elbow had split my lip. “Yeah, that's OK. Let's go again.”

After five minutes Koji announced time and we switched partners. My new partner asked if I had any training and I said no. He seemed a little confused. We rolled a bit, him moving methodically, me thrashing about in a mad scramble. “Oh,” he said. “You wrestle. You're a wrestler.” he sounded happy to have slotted me where he thought I belong. “No, I have never wrestled.” I assured him. “Huh, well you have a good base, and your strong. You goto the gym a lot? You have all these veins. It's intimidating.” He smiled. “Strength is about all I have.” We slap hands in a gesture I have gleaned is similar to boxers touching gloves, and roll again. Moments later as I'm tapping out, again, I think to myself “Yeah. Real strong. Real intimidating.”

We continue for the next hour rotating partners. It is exhausting, like running cross country with your whole body flexed and someone periodically cutting off your breathing. At one point I find myself with a heavier fighter laying across me in side control easily defending all my attempts to remove him. I tap him on the shoulder, conceding defeat. “what's wrong” he asks. “Just gassed” I say. “You can't tap from being tired, man” he says. “You gotta have more heart then that. At least try to defend, maybe you can make it till the time runs out. You gotta have more heart then that.” I take a deep breath, “Alright” I say, “keep going.” I muddle through, make it till Koji calls time, about 20 seconds later.

Eventually people start filtering out of the class and Randy tell me he has had enough. I agree, we thank Koji and the rest and we head home.

“Heart,” I once said, “is the most overused term in sports. It's almost an insult. Heart is a term you use when there is nothing else you can say about a fighter's performance other than that he was there.” In some ways this is true, although it is in no way an insult. Heart is often what we say when there is little else positive to say. Unfortunately, pontificating to my friends while firmly rooted on the couch, I was too quick to judge and I completely missed the point. Even if all you can say is that the fighter was there, that he didn't give up, that in itself is huge. Even though I spent the whole class on my back and tapped more than the N.S.A. and Fred Astaire combined, the only thing I regret from my first Jiu Jitsu class was my own lack of heart. I had assumed that being my first class I would get a free pass from that kind of criticism. I was wrong, and I'm glad. Although I have probably already forgotten every sequence Koji showed us, I came away from my first class having learned a far more important lesson. You are going to get beat, everyone does sooner or later, what is important is that you are beat by your opponent, not by yourself; not because you quit. That is the essence of heart. I have every intention of going back to the leaky gym around the corner. Although I'm sure I will continue to have my ass handed to me for a long time, that's fine. I can take it. For now I am content with just being there, just trying. In that way Jiu Jitsu is like life. All you can do is keep trying, keep fighting and hope you can last until they call time.”





So, ten years later I have a lot to say about that. Reading it back now is surreal, like watching the same events through two sets of eyes. On the one hand, I can remember it all very clearly from my perspective at the time, on the other, I can see it through the lens of a decades worth of experience. I can recall thinking “yeah, I did OK” while simultaneously looking back and knowing I was never even in the fight. I can remember thinking “that guy that elbowed me in the lip was a little rough” at the time. Now I know he was not the problem, I was flailing around like fish on a dock. I can easily say that I now would hate rolling with me then. The people I met that day treated me better than I would probably treat me now. Past me is present me’s worst nightmare. That said, embarrassment aside, it is a great memory and I am really glad I have it. I never saw Koji again, although I think he is still teaching. A neighbour got me to try BTT Canada shortly after and I ended up staying there. I received my blue belt from Fabio Holanda about a year later. Not long after that I left Montreal and have been in Vancouver, under my current instructor and close friend, RItchie Yip ever since.

Jiu Jitsu entered my life at a time when I completely lacked direction. Montreal was hard for me in a lot of ways. It was a city I never really felt at home in and it slowly ground me down over the six years I was there. The sense of being out of place I had there worked its way into me to the point that I never really felt comfortable in my own skin. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted from life and walked around constantly feeling as if I hadn’t done my homework and was just trying to get through the day without the teacher calling on me. Starting Jiu Jitsu wasn’t something I did to try to solve any of that, it was just something I enjoyed and that helped fill the days, but in the end, it has given me far more than I could ever hope to give back to it. Once I started training I found what I had been missing the entire time I was in Quebec; a sense of community. I found on the mats a group of people to whom I could belong. A family of sorts, even if for the time being I was the annoying little cousin who always played too hard. I found like minded weirdos to whom I could relate. The friendships you make with your fellow white belts are in my experience unlike any others. Nothing brings people together in the same way as suffering together, and as a white belt, I did a lot of suffering. Eventually I calmed down enough to learn a few things and received my first promotion. Half way through the ceremony, while demonstrating hip throws, someone kicked me in the head and split my eyebrow open. I ran to the first aid section, bleeding all over the mat. I had to sit out the live rolls and watch the last portion of the ceremony from the side. There are no highs without lows.

Unfortunately, in many ways it came too late, my toxic relationship with Montreal had gone on too long already and I needed to leave. I moved to Vancouver just a few months after being promoted leaving behind the two most important things in my life; my BTT family and my future wife. My first night in Vancouver was spent watching GSP make BJ Penn quit on his stool. Georges himself had left BTT Canada shortly before I arrived and had gone on to greatness. I wondered how I would fare.



I went looking for a place to train almost right away. I tried several different schools and thought I knew where I wanted to sign up. I just needed a way to pay for it. It took longer than I had hoped to find a job and so I put off training for several months. When I was finally able to afford it, I went back to retry the schools I checked out before. There were more or less the same, with one exception. When I walked back into Infighting I was shocked that Ritchie knew exactly who I was. He rattled off the details of our first meeting as if it were the day before. “I remember you, you just came from montreal right? Are you working yet? Hop on the mats we’ll get going.” I was floored. I had taken a single class with him, yet he had taken such an interest in me then that he could easily remember my life story half a year later, having never seen me again. Here was an instructor I could trust. Here was a person that clearly cared. I signed up that day. I teach for Ritchie now. He has been a major figure in my life since that day. He’s been a mentor and friend and a pain in the ass. He was at my wedding and if he ever takes leave of his senses I suspect I will be at his. Infighting has fulfilled the promise Jiu Jitsu first made me all those years ago.

I found things on the mat I couldn’t find anywhere else. A sense of community, of capability, and of responsibility chief among them. Jiu Jitsu, and specifically, teaching Jiu Jitsu, is an enormous responsibility. We do these things, these harmful, potentially fatal things, for fun and profit. We teach other people how to effectively dismantle one another but ask them to keep it playful. The game is ‘wrestle till you die’ and it’s played on the honor system. Take a second and wrap your head around that. It’s messed up and it’s amazing. The trust involved is beyond anything else I know. To hand a person your neck and say, ‘kill me, but stop when I say when.’ And why do you do it? So they can get better. You give them your neck, let them take your life in their hands, so they can improve. That is next level trust. The only thing that tops it is being asked to teach. For someone to say “I’m not giving you my neck, I’m giving you all their necks. They are your responsibility. If they get hurt, it’s on you. Don’t fuck it up.” The idea that anyone would ever say that to the muscle bound idiot that walked into Koji’s rain soaked gym ten years ago seems lunacy. But here we are.

I love teaching. Those who know me well know that there is nothing in the world I need more than to feel to useful. If I can help you with something, if I can fix something for you I feel great. Hell, giving a tourist directions makes my day. I am lucky enough to spend my days doing exactly that. I have a group of people , young and old, who come to me asking me to help make them improve. What’s more, these days I usually can. It doesn’t get any better than that for me.

Later today, I’m told I will be promoted. I will be given two meters of black fabric to represent the last ten years of my life. I’m nervous and I’m excited and I’m a little sad. You only get four of these days and they come and go faster than you think. It might feel like forever when you are a newly minted white belt, but trust me it flies. Imagine for a moment, each of us only got four christmases. Your first you are so young you don’t really know how much it means. By the second you are starting to catch on. Your third is the most important yet, but it’s already there, waiting in the wings, the knowledge that there is only one more. Then you find yourself here, christmas morning, and you know that this gift is the most amazing of all. The present you have been hoping for your whole life. You’re nervous, you’re excited, and you’re a little sad. It’s time to head down stairs and open your presents, and suddenly you’re not in any hurry at all.

At Infighting we have two traditions, both reasonably common to the Jiu Jitsu community. When you get promoted, you get shark tanked and you walk the gauntlet. One is the source of some controversy in the Jiu Jitsu community, but both are important to me. For me, the shark tank, which very few people take issue with is about humility. You see when you roll 20 rounds in a row, each time with a fresh opponent, you feel like crap. You feel like your Jiu Jitsu sucks, you feel like you suck, and often, you feel like maybe you don’t deserve this after all. That’s the point. Yes we are here to celebrate you, how far you have come, how much you have learned, but, we are also here to remind you of your essential humanity. No one is perfect, and even though you have done enough to warrant acknowledgement, you still need an ego check. That is what the shark tank does. On your proudest day it brings you back down to earth. The gauntlet is far more controversial. You stand at one end of the mat, your promotion waiting at the other end, and in between, your teammates lined up on both sides holding their belts. You take of your shirts, place your hands over your head and walk through all the while being whipped mercilessly. It is awful. It feels like you are being flayed. But that is the point. You did it, you got this far. You can see the next step, it’s just there at the end of the mat, all you need to do is walk over and take it. And you will, but it’s going to hurt a lot. The gauntlet is Jiu Jitsu. It is this symbolic ritual whereby we reenact our first day stepping on the mat, making the choice to brave the pain to achieve what we desire. It’s going to hurt, but it will be worth it. I promise.

The cliche about getting your black belt is that it’s not the end, it’s the beginning. I hope so. The idea that I could be at the end of my Jiu Jitsu is terrifying. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be without it. It might not make sense, but to me a black belt is more a verb than a noun. It is something you do, not something you are. It is about the way you roll, the way you teach, the way you conduct yourself on the mat. It’s an action, not a thing. It’s a verb not a noun. It is also more of a question than a statement. Being a student of Jiu Jitsu is like being in university, your student loans are due as soon as you graduate. ‘Congratulations! You did it! Now , how are you going to pay us back?’ Jiu Jitsu has given me so much I am not sure I will ever be able to pay it back fully, but I won’t stop trying. I will do my best to pass on every little thing I have learned and maybe discover some new things on the way. Thank you to everyone that has helped me get here today and to everyone who I may be able to help going forward, thanks for listening.