Greetings from the treacherous frozen north.
I received some great feedback from my most recent post, so I think I’ll continue along the same vein with this newsletter.
Like writing, grappling is a very humbling endeavor, and once again, I recently found myself very humbled. The Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu black belt is one of the most difficult black belts in combat sports to achieve. It’s maybe the most difficult. It takes an average of ten years of consistent training to receive. Three weeks ago I had the opportunity to earn mine.
I haven’t been all that focused on gaining belts in the past. I knew that if I just showed up on the mats and focused on my training, good things would happen. I find it’s like that with most things. You don’t worry about the outcome of a match, you prioritize proper technique. Good things happen. You don’t focus on earning money writing, you show up and write every morning. Good things happen.
I recently got wind that there would be belt promotions at my club. I’m a brown belt. I hold my own against the other brown belts, as well as the black belts. There’s only a handful of brown and black belts at the gym because most people don’t make it much past white belt, let alone blue.
When I realized that I might get my black belt, I suddenly wanted it so badly. I wanted it like a kid wants a new Christmas toy advertised on TV. I knew not to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t help it. I could sense that I wanted it for the wrong reasons, (ego, bragging rights,) but I didn’t care. I just wanted it.
The day came for promotions. The mats were packed with people waiting for new belts, or to receive stripes on their current ones. The plan was to spar for an hour or so. Then there would be a little promotion ceremony at the end of class.
I went against the toughest people I could find. I stalemated the brown belts, competed well, but lost to the black belts, and buzz-sawed through everyone else.
It was the last match of class. I felt good about my chances at a black belt. I went against a friend of mine. A big, strong white belt. I thought it would be a good cool-down match for me. We started rolling and he felt stronger than usual. I’m a brown belt. He shouldn’t have felt so strong. I became impatient. I wanted to impress my coaches. I forced a sweep and came up on top of him off balance. My friend used my aggression to attack an ankle lock. He was so strong. My usual defense wasn’t working. I fell to my seat and had to use a desperation roll to relieve the pressure on my foot. I couldn’t believe I was in panic mode against a white belt. He outweighed me by thirty pounds, but still, I had far more experience. He had me in checkmate. My foot was breaking. I didn’t want to tap to a white belt and look incompetent on promotion day. I continued to roll, wracking my brain for a technique or strategy to escape the submission and win the match. My friend applied even more pressure. I refused to submit, bargaining on the tendons and ligaments in my foot being strong enough to withstand my friend’s leverage. It was a plan beyond foolish. I heard three loud pops and felt stinging pain shoot throughout my ankle. I shouted, “TAP, TAP, TAP!” for all in the club to hear. Everyone, including my coaches, looked over and saw me being tapped out by a white belt. I knew at that moment, I could say goodbye to my promotion.
My friend felt terrible that he had injured my ankle. He hadn’t. I had. Everyone’s body is different. Some people’s joints are more flexible than others. How was he to know how bad a situation I was in? I made sure he understood that. I had plenty of time to tap. The saying is, “tap, nap, or snap.” I’ve done all of them. Snapping is by far the worst.
Promotions came. My friend earned his blue belt. All of the other brown belts were promoted to black. I received three stripes on my brown belt and a grade two tear in three ligaments in my left ankle.
I was beyond heartbroken. I felt like a teenager being dumped by a girl for the first time. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. I was way too old to care that much about a martial arts belt.
When I received my stripes I pretended to be very happy and grateful, showing as much respect for my fellow students and coaches as I possibly could. When my fellow brown belts received their black belts, I congratulated them and was genuinely happy for them. They definitely deserved their promotions. When everyone celebrated afterward and posed for pictures, showing off their new belts, I smiled along and joined in, not wanting to ruin the mood and make things about myself. But the entire time, I was dying inside, dying. One of my new black belt friends even said to me, “I thought we were all going to get our black belts.” He meant it. He was trying to make me feel better. It didn’t.
When I jumped into my car, I was finally able to drop the act and let my real feelings show. I was so disappointed and frustrated with myself, but couldn’t figure out why. Other than not tapping, I hadn’t done anything wrong. It just wasn’t my time.
Because of my injury, I’ve missed three weeks of training, and I’m going to miss at least one more. Once again, my ego has held me back. Once again, I must learn a lesson I’ve been taught a thousand times before.
I don’t grapple for belts the same way that I don’t write for money. If I did, I would have quit both long ago. If you had told me, when I first started Jiu-Jitsu, that I would one day be a brown belt, I would have felt like a UFC champion. It’s the same way with writing. If you had told me fifteen years ago that I would one day write novels that people loved to read, I would have felt like J.R.R Tolkien.
I do my best to take care of my family, to work, to write, and to grapple. Good things keep on happening. They’re not always the exact things that I want to happen, but I can’t let that stop me. I can’t let my ego twist victories into defeat.
The real story here is, three weeks ago, I was promoted from a naked brown belt to a three-stripe brown belt. Four is the maximum that you can have before you are promoted to black. The rest of the story is about how my ego ruined all of that for me.
My newest Kellen HalfCaste story is about an orphan wrestler betrayed by those meant to protect him. Ego isn’t so much his enemy in this tale. Instead, he’s been cast as a born loser in a contest where the victors were decided long ago. Kellen must find balance in a world where the scales are tipped if he is going to defend himself from the corrupt and unjust. Is Kellen truly a mere pawn in this cruel game of Hammer and Snow?
Now I’m going to continue to nurse my sprained ankle and write. You continue to read 🙂
Keep your wits about you and good luck.
