Sam Harris joins the blogging parade!

How’s this for a slice of fried gold? Sam Harris, author of The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation, member of the four horsemen, and all round sciencey bloke has taken up BJJ. What next? Dawkins in an MMA match with the pope?! (I would pay vast quantities of money to see that. Prediction: Reason by armbar).

As a card-carrying member of the militant atheist brigade – my rational jack boots and evidence epaulets look divine, dahling – I’m quite excited about all this. Sam Harris is a fantastic author. I highly recommend everyone to read Letter to a Christian Nation – it’s concise (96 pages long), clear, and as good a demolition of the absurdities of faith as I have ever read.

I am hoping him turning his laser logic onto a subject as full of bullshit as martial arts can only be a good thing. Having cut my teeth in the TMA world, I know first hand how delusional they can be. Write this is stone, tattoo it on your chest, and don’t forget it: Kata does not help you, chi doesn’t exist, you are only as good as your last fight.

Harris has tackled martial arts before, writing about the realities of self defense. I don’t really think I’m qualified to critique his viewpoint – the last fight I got into was in school, and the last fight I avoided was about 10 years ago (over a phone box, of all things) – but what he says here does seems consistent with other things I’ve read about “realistic” self defense as opposed to self defense as it’s taught in TMA: “Now you punch me. No, not like that like that, like this. No the other hand, oh you’re doing the attack all wrong!”

As an aside, I’ve always liked the term “Self Protection” to differentiate between the two. The logic is, I believe, that defense is something you need once you’ve failed to protect yourself from being attacked in the first place. Whilst it’s essentially a semantic thing, I like having the two terms. Of course there is a much simpler word to describe what happens when you need to resort to fisticuffs: Fighting. And make no mistake, the police take a very dim view of it.

Speaking of which: Harris actually links to someone, Lee Morrison, with whom I once attended a self protection seminar which I can sum up thusly: Avoid violence at all costs, but when you have no other choice – hit first, hit hard, and then RUN AWAY. This seems to be what Harris is advocating too, and makes a lot of sense to me. Why on earth put yourself in more danger than you need to be – both physically and legally. You call it “teaching them a lesson” the courts call it “attempted murder”.

Whatever your views on the whole self defense issue, I think we can all agree it’s worth reading. For my part I like the fact Harris refers to police’s views, quotes the stats (fuck yeah evidence!), and also has read the criticisms of his article (mainly about the role of BJJ in not going to the ground) and corrected his footnotes accordingly. It’s this attention to detail that excites me about his BJJ blogging.

I’m not going to go into details about the BJJ article, read it and judge for yourselves, but I really enjoyed it. I liked his analogy of drowning to describe being tapped – something I’ve done myself before, much less eloquently – and his rational approach to the reality of the subject he’s addressing shines through as always. He uses that video of the chi master getting punched in the face to illustrate the self deception of some martial artists. In his words:

Of course, it is sad to see a confused old man repeatedly punched in the face—but if you are a martial artist, or have even a passing concern with safeguarding basic human sanity, you will take some satisfaction in seeing a collective delusion so emphatically dispelled.

Exactly.

The one thing I will say is that the article is very dedicated to the self defense side of the art, something I could care less about if I’m honest, so might not be for everyone. Still, it’s not everyday a New York Times best-selling author starts writing about your martial art. Read it, fools!

For clarity, here’s the link again: http://www.samharris.org/blog/item/the-pleasures-of-drowning  Enjoy!

 

 

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Excuses for not training, pt. 1 – GHANA BABY!!

This being my first post in a long time, I am brutally aware that it will never stand up to expectations. The stakes are simply too high, the clamouring hopes of the my adoring fans (both of them) can never be met. The rich ideas and dreams they have created in their heads will always be better than anything I can dare to make concrete or real. This is my chinese democracy. My Episode 1… but with less Jar-Jar. Thank Fuck.

Last year was a bit of a bust, training wise. If the key to progression is regular mat time then I have taken the key and put in it a draw for safe keeping. I then totally forgot about the key until I needed it again, and couldn’t fucking find it. It’s probably down the back somewhere with the old batteries, paperclips and the 7 year old non-identifiable power adaptors that seem to only exist in my drawer space.

So why haven’t I been training? Sheer laziness aside, it’s the typical thing of life getting in the way. Looking back I did a lot in 2011 – though it didn’t feel so at the time – I went travelling, was unemployed, changed careers, got injured, got depressed and of course dealt with all the other minutae of existence which gets in the way… In the words of Primo Levi: I drunk, I ate, I made love.*

Since the start of january last year I think there’s was a good 4-5 months of no training at all (the travelling and the injury) and the rest of the year seemed piecemeal at best. I am only now just about approaching what might be called a “training regime”. I feel I may have to address the fact – and own up to the truth – that this is a just hobby for me, not a lifestyle…

Or not. You make your own actions, you know?

Long story short: At the end of 2010 I was depressed and miserable. I couldn’t get a job I wanted so was working part time for crap money and I just needed to get the hell out of dodge. A friend of mine was going volunteering out in an Island off Hounduros to save some lizards or something (hippy) and that made me start to think about some good I could do. I’d inherited some money from my Nan that I wanted to do something meaningful with rather than piss it up the wall.

I had no ties to keep me in the UK, and the money to do it, so I figured it was the best time to do something different. And so, in early 2011 I took off for Ghana for two months. I was with a volunteer project about 140km north-east of the capital: building schools, teaching, giving aid to remote villages. You know, saving the world. And just to be clear – it does need saving. When you’re having to bring children’s clothes, paracetamol and soap to remote villages who wouldn’t have had it otherwise – something’s gone seriously wrong with the world. Now I don’t want to get all “sins of the fathers” on you all, but it’s our mess – we should at least help to clear it up.

I think it’s an understatement to say I enjoyed myself whilst volunteering and travelling around Ghana. I had possibly the best time I had in years, and with my clothes on – go figure. For starters the communal aspect of living was amazing. There were a lot of points when it reminded me of being at university: Playing stupid** drinking games, or being epically hungover, or simply just sitting around talking shit because we had nothing better to do. In fact: Given that I spent most of the time surrounded by hot teenage girls who wouldn’t sleep with me – it was EXACTLY like being at University.

Yes, these are my bitches.

And then there was the simple fact that I WAS IN FUCKING GHANA!! Having never really travelled before – and having never really wanted to – I was constantly amazed by how fucking awesome it was. The country itself was breathtaking, the people even more so, and just the freedom felt from being 3000miles away from home was immense. Clearly being taken out of my comfort zone is good for me. If you’ve never hitch-hiked home on the back of a flat back lorry, or drunk moonshine with the locals, or built a school with your bare hands – having first had to make the bricks – you haven’t lived!

It was, simply put, stunning. But then after a couple of weeks I’d settled in and gotten used the general craziness that is Ghana and I began to notice that I was genuinely really missing training. And there wasn’t much I could do about it – short of double legging the other volunteers or starting a fight with the Ghanians.

The annoying thing about BJJ – and, on reflection, one of the things I love about it – you can’t really train on your own. Sure you can do conditioning and solo-drills, but it’s not rolling is it? It’s not actually learning how to get better at fighting. You’re not going to become a Black Belt by reading a few books and going through the moves on your own in the comfort of your own bedroom.  The most depressing thing was, I think, knowing that when I was at uni and studying Lau Gar kung fu – I did exactly that. Only the angels of objective truth know how many hours of my life I wasted going over and over forms like this and thinking I was actually training. Self delusion is a terrible thing.

I suppose, looking back, that I could’ve forced myself to do some kind of conditioning work whilst I was out there just to keep myself in shape. Though I’d argue that shovelling literally tonnes of sand/gravel/cement in a 30+ degree heat is hard work enough, let alone once you factor in dehydration and being ill. Oh, and proper nutrition is a nightmare to achieve. The main diet is rice. And rice. With a bit more rice. The easiest meat to get hold of was corned beef (though we did find corned mutton which appeared to have a picture of a goat on it – I dread to think). Though you could take your life in your hands and buy chicken/mystery kebab from a street seller. Nothing says travelling more than thinking “I wonder exactly how ill this will make me?” and then eating it anyway.

How can I handle training on a day like today?

In short. I missed training. I missed my training buddies. I spent a fuck lot of time packed into taxis, coaches, and Trotros (read: minibus) listening to music and daydreaming whilst we travelled about. And no matter what I was thinking about it ALWAYS came back to BJJ/Fighting. I guess this isn’t unusual in itself (BJJ is my main hobby after all) but I was surprised that my mind drifted back to training literally EVERY journey. It was almost as if it was my passion or something – and that I should indulge that passion and become happy with my life… Crazy talk, I know.

The other thing that became abuntantly clear is that there is a big tribal element to training that I don’t think I fully appreciated until I was removed from it. I come from a damn good pedigree and I am fiercely proud of that fact.  I kept seeing little snippets on facebook & twitter about how well people were doing, fight results, promotions and so on and all I wanted to do was be there to congratulate those involved and bask in the reflected glory. I missed Andy getting his Black Belt from Roger, which was something I’d have paid money to see. I did phone him to congratulate him – even 1000miles away I am a suck up – and I think he appreciated it. Maybe. I even attempted to share this awesome news with the people there but gave up fairly soon when greeted with blank stares. If people don’t even know what BJJ is, they aren’t going to know who Roger is, and they certainly aren’t going to know who Andy is. The fools!

I am sadly aware the irony of this tribalism on my part makes me dangerously similar to the football fans I normally take the piss out of for saying stuff like “We totally won last night!” … Really? And how many goals did YOU score exactly?

The difference, of course, is that I have trained with all these people. I have helped in some small way towards their achievement. I know I am not responsible for their victory or promotion (We can only thank Steven Seagal for that) or whatever, but I’d like to think I was at least a small part of it.  That’s my story for being an RGA nut-riding fan boy and I’m sticking to it!

The point is, I think, that I wanted to be there. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to TRAIN, damn it!

My biggest fear whilst in Ghana – aside from catching AIDS, Malaria, being macheted to death, or dying in an RTA (9 people in one hatchback just screams “road safety”) – is that all the daydreaming I did about being back at training was simply that, dreaming. That I wasn’t actually motivated at all, I just thought I was. Everyone loves the IDEA of winning, but how many people are actually motivated enough to do all the hard work? It’s very easy to think “yeah, I’m going to train every session I can! I’m going to become king of BJJ! I will smash everyone at the next comp!” but the reality is very different. This is why all fight movies have montages that skip all the hard work. The alternative would be an attempt at realism, and no-one wants to see 90mins of someone endlessly repeating the same moves with a 5min fight payoff at the end. It’s only in the hindsight we see our hardwork come off.  To paraphrase an oft quoted phrase about writing: I don’t like training, but I like having trained.

Star Beer - Manna from Heaven.

I think my final point is: I started 2011 on a high note – My rolling before Ghana felt fluid and easy. I think I can safely say my last session in the country was the best I’ve ever rolled. Now, over 12 months on I think I am *just* getting to that point again. Or, to put it another way: It has taken me a year of work to stay EXACTLY WHERE I WAS. Progression can be a bitch.

There are times now (generally when I’ve been smashed to bits by someone I used to be able to hold my own against) that I look back and wonder why the fuck I just didn’t go to Brazil and train for a month instead, or stay home and use the money for something else whilst I kept up my Jiu-Jitsu here – but I think that does a diservice to past Dave: He made the right choice at the time, I think, plus playing the “what if” game is a recipie for disaster.

It was after all, when all’s said and done, an amazing experience. I had a unique opportunity to go, and I’m glad I took it. I really don’t think that I could do justice here to  everything that happened in those two months but here, in quick summation, are a few of those little moments that make life worth living:

Pirate Andy and his Methadone stories, Ring of fire & I have never, Star beer, dance-offs with the locals, Gin, dehydration, and the worst Valentine’s hangover ever, *that* photo, Kokribite beach (keep to the RIGHT!), Rich and the “bouncy bouncy” game, The crazy danish monkey sanctuary, Lake Bosumtwe (my favourite place in the whole fucking world), an incident that will now only be referred as “Zoe-gate”, that fucking American woman, Team Canada, KWASI TIME!!, Mica’s drum solo at the hotel, three ants in a giant ant costume, The nurses’ story, Joe’s amazing rice, snake attacks, showering in the rain, Dave’s rock, more hellos, goodbyes and hangovers than I care to count, and all the chants of Obruni! Obruni! Obruni! where-ever we went…

Fun. Times.

High fives are an international language...

I left with Ghana with a heavy heart; Though in hindsight that might have been my choice to listen to Ok Computer on the taxi ride to the airport… You’re born alone. You die alone. You leave Ghana alone. I cried when I left, real tears. But as Appiah (our Ghanaian equivalent of a conceirge) said: You should cry, it shows it meant something. Yeah. It really did.

Post-script: I would like to state very clearly that I did not “Find Myself” in Ghana, or any hippy bullshit like that. I deeply suspect that I am a massive wanker, and so self exploration is unlikely to yield good results. I did however have an awesome time, think I helped out quite a bit, made some new friends (who can’t all have been pretending to like me), and came back feeling all energised and motivated and shit….

Well. For a bit. Nooch.

..

*The ratios of which I refuse to discuss.

**And I do mean stupid. Trust me, if you’re playing “I have never” with people 10-15 years younger than you then it’s VERY fucking stupid. I mean, who doesn’t drink to “I have never indulged in a sexual activity that seemed like a great idea at the time but has ultimately left deep psychological scarring”?  Oh. Just me then… Just me…

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12 days of BJJ Xmas 2011 – It’s all about the love, y’all…

Last year I did a silly little xmas post which seemed to go down well (Renzo himself liked it, huzzah!) so this year I’m doing the same. It started out life as silly text conversation with a fellow BJJer who wishes to remain nameless, but credited. So thank you masked person… YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
BJJ can be an aggressive sport. Things can get heated in the midst of battle, and rivalries can flourish. There’s a lot of interclub sniping that takes place at comps and sometimes I think we lose sight of the fact that we’re all in this together. At this festive time of love and giving I say we need to relax, and cast off those resentments that may have built up and feel the Christmas spirit in us all. And what better way to show your love for your fellow BJJ player than to show them some real loving?
Therefore in the interests of strengthening interclub relations I humbly present:
.
The 12 days of Xmas top 12 reasons you should sleep with other BJJers:

1. The extra cardio will be good for your game

2. You can wear your Gis for extra grips

3. All those “get in my guard” jokes will be true for once.

4. The endorphins released are good for. FACT.

5. If you’re really bendy you can do kinky “rubber guard” stuff.

6. You’ll finally have a use for all those belts

7. No-one could be accused of “sleeping through their grades” if everyone is doing it

8. BJJ girls will get mount and BJJ guys won’t care

9. Rear mount is not as bad a postion to be in as you think

10. You get to practise all those new techniques you’ve wanted to

11. You can make your own north/south joke here

12. Xmas is a time for charity, and some of us don’t get out much…

..

And finally, if those 12 reasons don’t convince you. I have one final thing to say: A lot of clubs close up over this time and people will be feeling the withdrawal soon. Fucking might not be as good as actually rolling, but it’s pretty damn close.

..

Merry Christmas, Bitches.  x

PS I can’t believe I got through that whole list without making a single “Dominant position” or “Submission” joke.

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BJJ Haiku

A silly post for my silly blog. I should point out these aren’t true Haiku, as I can’t write in Japanese so you get these westernised ones instead. Still, kept me amused for a few hours on twitter whilst at work. Enjoy. Or not.
..

Every night I die
I am smashed more than smashing
Every night, Reborn

This is my Blue Belt
There are many just like it
But this one is mine *

….

Opponent in guard
Heavy, crushing,  starts to pass
I reverse my sweep
..
 
Worry not about
Your friends, their medals, or belts
It is your  Journey

..

Strong, Tall and Mighty
Smashes opponents like bugs
Wish he was my Dad

..

A fool speaks and says
“Girls can’t fight, they just pull hair. “
HA! Real girls pull Guard
 

And finally, from my good rocking buddy at training, a worryingly accurate Haiku all about me…

..

When sober pure
In drink he finds happiness
My angry friend
 .

… I like it.

..

..

*Obviously inspired by The Rifleman’s Creed. Which, if you haven’t already, you should read. Not least to get an appreciation of how fucking mental the US forces are.

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12 Days of BJJ Xmas

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love sent to me:

12 Black Belts smashing

11 Legs a sweeping

10 Fingers gripping

9 Gis a ripping

8 Guards for passing

7 Postures breaking

6 Backs for taking

5 HEEEEEEEL HOOOOOOOKS

4 Collar Chokes

3 Arm Bars

2 Kimuras

And a real life Renzo Gracie!!

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Jiu Jitsu Therapy

It occurs to me that my last post was a bit depressing* so I thought I’d write something a little bit more upbeat.

The start of November was, quite frankly, shit. I experienced probably the worst total mind and body failure in my BJJ career so far. The sort  of thing that makes you want to give in and take up Tae Kwon Do. Sadly for the guys at my club, and for you lot, I decided to soldier on. Sorry.

Since then I think I’ve made good progress. I realised I wasn’t getting anywhere and wasn’t having fun. So I decided to try and focus on just having fun again. I didn’t go to sessions when I felt I was forcing myself to go, and I didn’t beat myself up for missing sessions when I had other things to do (even things like catch up with some old mates down the pub). As a consequence I started to enjoy training again, started wanting to train more and started to progress again. Funny how those things go together isn’t it? Seriously. How many fucking times do I need to learn this lesson? Pigeons learn faster than me!

Skip to the end of November and I was feeling better about my training, feeling better about myself, and actually felt like I deserved to be wearing a Blue Belt for the first time in ages.  Good thing too really as I have now been given my first stripe to live up to… It never ends!

So, there we have it. Jiu Jitsu will save you. It took me from the worst I’ve felt in months to the best I’ve felt in months. Or maybe it’s just cos I got laid the other weekend. Further study is needed. Anyone? Purely in the interests on science, obviously…

*That’s the problem with being depressed. It is a bit, well, depressing.

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Winter in Kiev.

There is a voice in my head that I try not to listen to.

It whispers to me all the time. At training. At work. In my sleep. It speaks with a wisdom I can’t argue with it.

It tells me I’m no good. It tells me I can’t do this.  It tells me it’s too hard. It tells me I’m too tired. It tells me no-one cares. It tells me nothing matters.  It tells me I’ll never amount to shit.

I try to push it aside. Try not to think about it. I ignore it. But it always comes back.

There’s no point. It’s too late. I don’t care enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not fit enough. I’m not smart enough.

Sometimes I listen. I drop my guard. It eats into me.

I can’t do anything. I’m useless.  I’m nobody. I’m worthless.

It tells me things I want to hear. It says I don’t need to be doing this.

It tells me I have a choice. It tells me I don’t have to be here. It tells me I could use a rest. I’ve trained so hard already. One session off won’t matter. I could just stay home. I could just stay in bed. I could just stay asleep.

It tells me I’m too old. Too injured. It tells me to tap. It tells me it can all be over. It tells me I can’t breathe. It says my back isn’t strong.  It tells me I’m in pain. I’m exhausted. I’m trapped. I’m beat.

It tells me to stop fighting. It tells me it’s easier. It tells me to acquiesce.

It tells me to. just. give. in.

I listen to it. I obey it. And I hate myself.

There is a voice in my head that I try not to listen to.

But sometimes I do.

 

 

 

 

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BJJ and Venn Diagrams

Um. Just because I could, really. And because Venn Diagrams are awesome…

 

Yes. I’m a geek. I am comfortable with that. I am enlightened.

 

 

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Buying a new Belt – The Jiu Jitsuka’s Nightmare

I had planned to write the definitive article on the annoying subject of buying a Belt but it appears Meerkatsu has beaten me to it. By “beat me to it” what I mean is “I had the idea about 6 months ago and did absolutely fuck all about it and now that sneaky bastard has done it before me… DAMN HIM TO HADES!”. Ah well, you snooze you lose.

I really didn’t think too much about buying my first belt. I just got a Fuji one when I bought my first Gi. All I wanted from a belt back then was one that had a black rank strip so that it was a proper BJJ belt and I was happy to pay for the priviledge. I believe the term my instructor used for me at the time was “sad”. More fool him – considering the amount of time I had those strips on I reckon I more than got my money’s worth from the rank strip. Ha!

Times change though, and when I was awarded my Blue I decided to shop around a bit. The Black Eagle one I’d been given was waaay too long so I had a perfect exacuse. Also, considering you are tying the same piece of cloth around yourself for years I don’t think this is an outrageous thing to do. Unless you spend £200 on a custom one, nooch. Clearly the best belts are the old Atama ones: Good and thick, hard wearing, but still fray wonderfully around the edges. Sadly they don’t make them like that anymore so my quest was on to find something similar.

Buying a belt is a bit like buying new shoes. You spend ages finding the perfect pair, something new and exciting, despite knowing full well that after a while they’ll look and feel just like your old pair and you won’t remember why you bought the blasted things in the first place!*  Of course, knowing all this didn’t stop me from spending hours on the internet trying to find the “perfect” belt and failing utterly: I am the procrastinator general when it comes to making descisions – as anyone who’s ever been to a resturant with me can attest – and the great wealth of choice the internet offers just compounds matters. Whoever thought a free market economy was a good idea obviously didn’t realise the impact it would have on my sanity!

The main thing I’d say about buying belts (as confirmed by Seymour’s chart) is that length can vary A LOT so make sure you check with the company before you end up buying something that will either fit your cat or end up hanging around your knees and tripping you up. Seriously – What on earth is wrong with the idea of standardising what A2, A3 is? It can’t be that hard, surely? And then there is the colour issue: Given that slight variation in shade is the only real difference between most belts, it’s enraging that you look at the same belt on various sites and it looks different on all of them. I originally bought an Ouano belt as it seemed to have a nice navy shade to it in the picture, but when it arrived it was almost exactly the same shade and build as my Black Eagle one. I only wore the blasted thing once, didn’t like it, and was debating either going back to searching online or just shrinking my Black Eagle one in the wash and being done with it. Import Fail.

Luckily before I managed to waste anymore time or money another of the guys I graded with gave me a spare Koral belt as he’d been sent two by mistake. Done and done. Given what I’ve just said previously about shoes this is going to sound silly, but as soon as I put it on I knew I’d found my belt. Just felt, I dunno, mine.

I really like the Koral. It’s nice and chunky, I like the colour better than the darker blues out there, and it’s the correct length for me. I think I’ve worked out all it’s features too:  I’ve located the “smash white belts” button (though it must be faulty as it sometimes doesn’t work), and I’m very happy with the grappling hook, lock picks and thermite dispenser. I believe there is also a way to summon the Batmobile too – but I haven’t fiddled with that too much yet.

So what have I learnt from all this? Probably nothing. I think I’m going to start looking for my Purple Belt now. By the time I’ve earned one in 3 years time I may have found one I like.

* I say this as a male. I am perfectly aware women can recount, at great length, the entire life-history of every pair of shoes they own: Where they bought them, how much they cost, and why they have to buy a new dress to go with them. Ahhhhh, lazy sexist stereotyping. It’s so fun!

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Lessons learned from… Moshing.

I’d apologise for not posting for so long but quite frankly you should all know by now it’s a miracle I get any article out, let alone on anything resembling a regular basis. I’m like Adams or Salinger – but without the talent.

Therefore in a desperate attempt to get something out I hereby present the first in a series of short articles where I talk random cod-shite about my life and then pretend it’s in somehow related to Jiu-Jitsu.

Lesson 1: BJJ prepares you for anything, even mosh pits.

This is something I realised at Reading Festival. That’s where I spent my August bank holiday weekend this year, rocking out and Throwing the horns far more than is strictly appropriate for my age.

Personally I blame the line-up:  If they are going to pick bands from 10 – 15 years ago, then I’m going to channel teenage me to listen to them. Seems fair.

Reading 2010 Line-up

I was slap-bang in the middle of the mosh pit for Limp Bizkit which was, as I understand these things, fairly hardcore. Rollin’ was an interesting full contact stand-up drill  and Break Stuff, well, broke stuff. The thing is though, it really wasn’t that bad. I managed to keep my feet without too much trouble whilst other people around me were tripping over each other left, right and centre. It was like a take-down drill, just with more people. Who said BJJ doesn’t prepare you for multiple attackers? Ha!

All the impact and slamming into people wasn’t a problem either. Sure I had a few bruises but I think if you’ve spent years of training, week in, week out, getting crushed by someone two or three stone heavier than you who’s intent on ripping your head and limbs off – then being slammed into by a bunch of drugged up teenagers for an hour really doesn’t seem that big a deal.* There was a lull between songs where one guy I’d been bouncing off all afternoon turned to me all out of breath and  said  “This is fucking mental!!” and I remember looking at him – all sweating and panting like he’d just been gang fucked by mountain gorillas – and just thinking “Mental? WTF? This is Tuesdays for me!”… Kids today. No stamina.

I’m aware this isn’t a great insight – Doing a full contact martial art prepares you well for other full contact activities – but it serves as an important lesson. Previously to do doing BJJ I’d never really done mosh pits. I’d mosh at clubs, or with mates at parties, but that was it. I remember looking at the circle pit at a One Minute Silence gig when I was a student and just thinking “No fucking way!”…

I’ve only been in three mosh pits since starting BJJ; but in each of those times I’ve felt safe, in control, and not worried for my personal wellbeing  in the slightest. After all (as I said to my friends who refused to come up front with me) what’s the worst that can happen?

So the final point is this: It’s not just that BJJ allows you to not get battered or tripped or squashed in a mosh pit – it’s that anything that can give you the level of self-assurance and confidence where you simply don’t care about 40,000+  people all trying to crush you to death is clearly something of great merit. BJJ I salute you. Like this:  \m/

*in fact – some people would pay good money for a similar experience with slightly less clothes and more oil.

P.S. Actually. Thinking about it, the point might have been: Anyone drinking this amount of beer is impervious to damage.

The Aftermath...

I’d apologise for not posting for so long but quite frankly you should all know by now it’s a miracle I get any article out, let alone on anything resembling a regular basis. I’m like Adams or Sallinger – but without the talent. Therefore in a desperate attempt to get something out I hereby present the first in a series of short articles where I talk random cod-shite about my life and then pretend it’s in somehow related to Jiu-Jitsu. Lesson 1: BJJ prepares you for anything, even mosh pits. This is something I realised at Reading Festival. That’s where I spent my August bank holiday weekend this year, rocking out and throwing the horns far more than is strictly appropriate for my age. Personally I blame the line-up:  If they are going to pick bands from 10 – 15 years ago, then I’m going to channel teenage me to listen to them. Seems fair. I was slap-bang in the middle of the mosh pit for Limp Bizkit which was, as I understand these things, fairly hardcore. Rollin’ was an interesting full contact stand-up drill  and Break Stuff, well, broke stuff. The thing is though, it really wasn’t that bad. I managed to keep my feet without too much trouble whilst other people around me were tripping over each other left, right and centre. It was like a take down drill, just with more people. Who said BJJ doesn’t prepare you for multiple attackers. Ha! All the impact and slamming into people wasn’t a problem either. I think if you’ve spent years of training, week in, week out, getting crushed by someone two or three stone heavier than you who’s intent on ripping your head and limbs off – then being slammed into by a bunch of drugged up teenagers for an hour really doesn’t seem that big a deal.* There was a lull between songs where one guy I’d been bouncing off all afternnon turned to me all out of breath and  said  “This is fucking mental!!” and I remember looking at him – all sweating and panting like he’d just been gang fucked by mountain gorillas – and just thinking “Mental? WTF? This is Tuesdays for me!”… Kids today. No stamina. I’m aware this isn’t a great insight – Doing a full contact martial art prepares you well for other full contact activities – but it serves as an important lesson. Previously I’d never really done mosh pits. I’d mosh at clubs, or with mates at parties, but that was it. I remember looking at the circle pit at a One Minute Silence gig when I was a student and just thinking “No fucking way!” Now I’ve only been in three mosh pits since starting BJJ: Rage Against the Machine, Limp Bizkit, and Guns & Roses** but in each of those times I’ve felt safe, in control, and not worried in the slightest. In fact I seem to remember being rather blase about it to my friends (who refused to fight to the front with me): “Meh, what’s the worst that can happen?”… And anything that can give you the level of self assurance where you don’t care about 40,000+  people all trying to crush you to death is clearly a *in fact – some people would pay good money for a similar experience with slightly less clothes and more oil. ** Well, Axl and his Guns N’ Roses cover band. More on this to come…
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