As I waited for my bracket to be called, a couple of teammates and Sam showed up. I played back my first match while Sam smiled with pride. The match wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t exciting. I still won. Before I had time to fully cool down and create a new game plan, the mat coordinators called my name for the Gi bracket.
I knew I’d face the young man (Daniel) I just beat, but wasn’t sure if there’d be a fleet of other small guys as well. Hanging near the mat, Daniel told me there was at least one other guy. This other competitor won silver at a recent IBJJF tournament via triangle choking most of the bracket. I didn’t look forward to having my head shoved between a guy’s legs as he yanked down on my neck, blocking off the blood to my brain. But hey…here I was and might as well see what happens.
The other competitor arrived. Glancing around the gymnasium in the early afternoon of late October, I realized this had to be it. NAGA staff rolled up unused mats, took down scoreboards, and folded up tables. Only a few mats still hosted brackets and the only people in gis were much bigger and/or not white belts. This was it, just the three of us.
By winning the earlier bracket I received a bye in the first round, leaving the other two to roll around for a spot in the finals. From Daniel’s assessment of the other competitor, I expected a quick decision (via triangle choke). What unfolded, though, was an epic match between two white belts with a modicum of jiu-jitsu. They moved up and down, back and forth, and across the mat like two squirrels fighting over an acorn.
I can’t remember the play-by-play of this first match, but regulation ended 2-2 without an obvious winner. The ref decided to allow a bonus round that ended still tied, forcing a ref’s decision in favor of the guy who won silver at the recent IBJJF. I started figuring possible scenarios. Whoever lost would be tired when they faced me (despite the age gap). Meanwhile, I had the chance to win more decisively in front of the finals opponent to at least gain a mental advantage. Yes, this is how I think and strategize.
I felt confident going into the semi-finals against Daniel. Yet questions creeped into the back of my mind, hatching those butterflies in my stomach again. Maybe he’d come roaring back and would throw the proverbial kitchen sink of techniques at me. Maybe he’d go for broke and send a flying triangle my way or judo toss me into oblivion. Maybe…maybe…maybe…
We bumped fists. He grabbed my sleeve and collar. I didn’t know to make counter grips and instead just stood there as he attempted a Seoi-otoshi (thanks Google). My hips swung back on pure instinct. At that point in time, I don’t recall learning any judo techniques and didn’t know much stand up beyond shooting for a single or double leg. So when I say “pure instinct,” I really do mean that.
With Daniel’s back exposed after the failed attempt, Sam instructed me to take his back. As a white belt, I had no clue about hooks or seatbelt grips or really anything to do with “taking the back.” Surprising no one, Daniel and I scrambled around a bit until he sat back into butterfly guard.
Recognizing this position from our earlier match, my knees pushed forward and trapped his feet against his butt. I wiggled to my left and kept hugging Daniel’s hips as if they were a life preserver. I hopped over his knee line and landed in side control for 3 points. He bumped and bridged, but this time grips stifled his escape attempts.
Somehow remembering a random class, I yanked out Daniel’s far lapel before swinging it around the back of his neck. Walking my left fist tight against his throat, I popped up to knee on belly position. While he pushed against my knee, my right hand snaked to the left side of his head and snatched at the other end of the lapel. I cut my right knee down and around his near shoulder for a baseball choke. With a tap, I was in the finals after logging my first tournament submission.
##
Looking back, this next thought still haunts me and creeps back here and there in subsequent tournaments (spoiler alert). For this first tournament and while standing around waiting for the finals, the day’s events started sinking in. I’d won gold in No Gi. I’d hit a submission. With the finish line right around the corner, I could cruise to the end and still have a successful outing. In other words, I started to believe silver was enough. For a fleeting moment, the whispers of some other person needled their way into my thoughts. They would accept second. They would accept “good enough.” They could accept defeat.
Staring across the three feet of space between myself and my opponent, another voice entered the chat. It said, “Fuck it, let’s get gold.”
I dove forward, reaching for his collar. I threw my feet at his waist, hoping to pull him into closed guard. I missed entirely, but was able to salvage half guard. Sam yelled at me to dig for an under hook and bridge to my left. I did as he said and came on top for two points and the lead. I hugged my opponent’s legs as he tried to shove me away. Remembering the earlier pass I hit against Daniel, I shoved my opponent’s foot near his butt. I could almost taste a decisive lead.
Nope.
My opponent pulled his knees back and created a wall of limbs. His hands found my sleeves as his feet found my biceps. I was caught in spider guard. Yet I didn’t quite know what that was, only recognizing it was hard to move and impossible to pressure forward.
If we were better white belts, the day could’ve been over for either of us. Instead we locked horns in his spider guard for an eternity. I couldn’t pass (mostly because I didn’t know what to do) and he couldn’t sweep me (probably because he didn’t know what to do beyond maybe one or two options I wasn’t giving him). We danced around the mat in some untraditional waltz. I remember pushing hard against his hooks, my belt line way over his, as we locked eyes in mutual confusion and stubbornness.
I stepped back, mostly because leaning forward felt wrong. The hooks loosened just a bit and he jumped back to his feet. Back at neutral, I threw myself at his body again and missed the closed guard pull. Again I found myself in half guard. This time, though, he kept his body leaning away. The earlier sweep wouldn’t work. Sam instructed me to push against him. I came up on top. With time winding down, up 4-0, I could feel another gold medal slipping around my neck.
My opponent forced his foot through my right elbow and knee space. Without an anchor, I never had a chance to prevent his legs from slipping around my neck and shoulders. I stood and looked upwards while wrapping my arm around his leg to alleviate the pressure on my jugular.
Sam yelled something I couldn’t hear. His coach yelled something I couldn’t hear. My opponent slid an under hook on my right ankle and I started falling. I calculated points if he landed on top. There would be at least two for the sweep and maybe four more for the mount, much less gravity helping him finish the triangle.
As we fell, I rolled with the momentum and came back on top. My teammates and coach started counting down. I could hold on for 15 seconds. 10 seconds. 5 seconds. His coach yelled out details for an arm bar or even an omoplata. I didn’t even know what that second one was, but I held on and kept deep breathing.
The buzzer sounded. I won double gold in my first tournament.
I learned a lot of jiu-jitsu lessons that day, probably more than any day on the mats. I knew I had limited knowledge of what to do after passing someone’s guard. I found out I’m a pressure passer. I needed to practice pulling guard safely. I needed to protect myself from triangles. I really had to learn how to deal with spider guard. Finally, I found out about my potential.
Now, looking back, I needed to remember the thought I had before the finals. Even with doubt creeping across my bones like cancer, I shook it away and believed in myself. I told myself, “Fuck it, let’s get gold.” That needs to be my motto.
