Buckhead BJJ – Page 2 – White Wolf BJJ

Competition is a large part of jiu-jitsu. Scratch that. It’s a huge part of jiu-jitsu. By the time you’re a colored belt, inevitably people ask whether you compete, have competed, thought about competing, are related to someone that competes, and so on. With the volume of available tournaments, rule sets, team trophies, individual medals, semi-pro or pro fight promotions, sponsorship opportunities, YouTube clips, Instagram highlights, streaming events, and the list keeps growing – for better or worse (and no matter your opinion on this matter) competition is entwined with the jiu-jitsu culture. That’s not to say competing is necessary in one’s journey, but the chances are high that either you, your buddy, or someone in your academy will get bit by the competition bug or (at the least) decide to throw their Gi or spats in the ring and shoot for a gold medal.

For me, I wanted to leave my competition days behind me. I grew tired of coming home sweaty, bruised, and either aggravated or mildly discontent from a soccer game. I’d hung up my cleats, tossed my shin guards, and donated all my remaining soccer equipment to Goodwill. I was done with trying to outscore, outclass, or outperform anybody else. I wanted something more “zen” and intrinsic. I wanted a good workout that kept my mind and body engaged. Hence…a martial art and not soccer or dodgeball or darts or even ping-pong.

Little did I know how integral competition was woven into the sweaty fabric of our sport. We measure ourselves constantly. Whether in a more literal sense – “That dude is big…he’ll probably smash me” – or more individually when we roll with each other and try to outscore, outclass, and outperform our partners. It provides a focus for improvement. We compete – positioning, timing, reactions – to craft our abilities on the mat. Without that feedback, and much like the more traditional martial arts we poke fun at, we’re just rolling around the mat by ourselves. Hence competition can be good.

Yet competition is scary. In tournaments, we rarely know our competitor or what they have in store for us (as they rub their hands together like some telenovela villain). Everyone is watching and judging and maybe about to post something crazy on YouTube because of you. There might be a horrible injury (worst way to lose) or a bullshit call that sways an important match (relatively less crappy way to lose). Yet you may win it all, outperforming your own expectations. Maybe you finally hit that move you’ve been drilling for months. Or maybe you simply make new friends over a pizza binge eating contest. No matter what, though, it’s nice to know (at the minimum) what competing is all about.

My first jiu-jitsu tournament experience was when a number of my teammates competed at a local event in Georgia (New Breed). Just a couple of months after I joined, I went to support them while having zero plans on competing then or in the future. I forget all the people who competed that day, but it was around eight teammates. Yet way more than eight went to cheer them on, film their matches, coach them, and be there for all the ups and downs. A few won. A few lost. The results really don’t matter, despite that sounding disingenuous when you tell a friend/teammate. It’s more about being there for each other, riding the rollercoaster of emotions together. Yelling and cheering, hugging and comforting. No matter what happens, there’s tomorrow and there’s the memories being made.

As I rode the euphoria surrounding that whole event, I realized the difference from my experiences in soccer where the match ends and everyone shuffles off the pitch as another team trots in. You yank off your sweaty shin guards, toss your cleats in your bag, and head home or maybe to another pitch if you play on multiple teams (which I did). If you won, maybe you stayed excited for a goal you scored or a particular move or assist you hit. Otherwise wins and losses largely didn’t matter and no one handed out medals or trophies at the end of the day (or even at the end of the season). There was certainly no podium pics to post on Instagram.

I spent the whole day standing in a small town rec center, power walking from one mat to another, trying to shoulder my way through the crowds to watch my teammates, and kinda-sorta understanding what was going on. I remember watching a big purple belt demolish the open No-Gi division. People talked about him like he was some sort of god. In a way, or at least on that day, he reminded me of some Greek hero. Honestly, I felt overwhelmed, a little intimidated by all these tough looking guys and gals. They jumped around as they warmed up or paced the edges of the gym like stalking tigers. They ran out onto the mats or performed some hand gestures before stepping forward when the refs called them. It was all so…impressive. Even people that didn’t do as well impressed me. They fought hard and gave everything they had, coming off the mat red-faced and sweating and mostly smiling even if they lost.

As the day ended, or at least for me and my teammates, my back and feet hurt from standing, my voice just about disappeared from yelling so much, and my heart couldn’t take watching another bracket. It was then that the emotions of the day swept me up in a promise I probably shouldn’t have made. It was to either Matt or Matt who I made my promise. Either it was Matt (Shand) who demolished everyone at white belt or Matt (DeLeon) who slammed his head into his opponents’ chests as he folded them in half and passed their guard via a vicious and now notorious double-under pass. Either way, fateful words flowed from my lips. “Count me in for the next one.”

Let’s think about this for a second. There was exactly one stripe on my white belt at the time. One. Not four or three or even two. One. It was a white belt. I was 35 at the time and still 137-139 lbs. I had been training for about two or three months total. In other words, I was clearly a future world class competitor. No doubt about it.

Once the promise sank into my conscious and I realized I couldn’t back down, butterflies hatched in my stomach. What the hell was I thinking? What did my mouth get me into? What had I just committed to?

Because I was scared, I promptly signed up and paid for both Gi and No Gi divisions at an upcoming NAGA. I was locked in now. Sure, I could request a refund. Yet I knew if I backed out, squirmed my way around the commitment, made some excuse…I would be one of those guys. The guys who always have a reason to duck a competition (“I haven’t been sleeping well.” “Something vague came up at work.” “This hangnail has been really bothering me.”). The guy that talks a big game, but never backs it up (“Dude, I could totally dominate my division, I just hate the ruleset”). The guy who thinks he’s a black belt, but really he doesn’t know shit (“I would do XYZ to that guy”). The sort of guy I grew to loathe as I continued my jiu-jitsu journey. In short, I knew if I ran from this, I’d continue running from the challenge. So I didn’t run.

Instead I did what I always do. I created a plan of action. I cannonballed into jiu-jitsu. As my wife likes to say, “You’re either all the way in or all the way out. There is no gray with you.” It was this moment I jumped into the deep end. At least for this tournament.

So what was my plan of action? I trained as much as I could, attending classes 4-5 times a week (up from 2-3). I worked on learning how to jiu-jitsu at all. Let’s not forget I was a one stripe white belt and had no “game” to speak of. At the least, I would go down swinging. My plan was, quite simply, to “suck less” (to paraphrase one T Driskell). With any of my plans of action, this provided focus.

This also meant, of course, buying more Gis and especially an awesome competition Gi. At the very least, on game day, I would look the part.

BJJ Journey Buckhead BJJ White Belt

July 5, 2016: The First Stripe is the Hardest

by Thomas

At this point in my life (circa 2016), training jiu-jitsu came secondary and probably tertiary (if that) to other aspects of my life. In May 2016, my priorities were something along the lines of wife and dog, a growing career trajectory, and gym fitness. Secondary interests such as food festivals or wine clubs, travel or exploring new cities (especially ones we just moved to), and even exciting TV shoes like Game of Thrones all came before concentrating on martial arts such as jiu-jitsu.

Two days after joining Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu, my wife and I traveled to Europe for the remainder of the month. It was a trip we’d planned for over a year, maybe even years. I know we talked about it since forever, finally taking the leap to wander London, Berlin, Munich, Venice, and Rome (with an accidental stop in Iceland). I worried about finding weights gyms, figuring out hotel room workouts, and generally keeping active as we ingested fish and chips, doughy pretzels, gallons of wine, some gelato, lots of cappuccinos with croissants, and various other European foods. We biked. We hiked. We generally kept moving. One thing definitely didn’t stress me out – taking time away from jiu-jitsu. It wasn’t even a back burner thought.

In fact, as I watched YouTube videos of basic self-defense jiu-jitsu, I started wondering if I made a mistake signing up for jiu-jitsu memberships. Sitting in a mosquito-infested hotel in Florence, I wrote out an email or two – that I never sent – asking to drop my memberships. What was I getting into? Did I really care about jumping into another physical pastime (after my semi-obsessive recreational soccer run)?

I hesitate to write “sport” in reference to jiu-jitsu, as I didn’t see it as a “sporting” venture. I saw it as an option to keep me active outside the weights gym and a possible lifelong hobby. I never planned to compete in jiu-jitsu. I didn’t know there was a “sporting” element to it. Still so new and after attending only a couple of classes prior to departing to Europe, rolling was still a foreign concept. That’s how little I knew about jiu-jitsu.

I knew nothing. Less than nothing. I barely understood that jiu-jitsu didn’t involve striking in any manner. That first month, though, I epitomized “a stupid white belt” by exposing my neck, rolling away and showing my back when someone strolled around/through my guard, flailing around in fruitless attempts at pin escapes, and shoving against shoulders which turned into wrist locks (“Ruth-locks”). The first month served as a brutal introduction to the large mountain I hoped to climb. The journey of a million taps starting with hundreds in the first month.

A couple of weeks in, I rolled with Sam. He flowed and let me move. I knew, even then, he was testing my growth. He was looking to see what moves I’d retained. If I could move around with some sense of awareness. What sort of innate talent – whether a natural born killer or even simply a will to not be dominated by another human – lay inside this small, mid-30s guy? Well…I can tell you…not much.

The first time I rolled with Sam, I froze. I’d grown accustomed to defending attacks from all angles – covering my throat, attaching my elbows to my ribs, tucking my chin, shrimping to escape, clinging to closed guard with all hope, and otherwise becoming a turtle encased in plexi-glass. I didn’t know how to attack, what to attack, why to attack. I learned to be reactive, countering or attempting to counter my rolling partners’ movements. That didn’t work when someone was looking for improvement.

With my inaction, I failed my first stripe test. I knew it as he didn’t call my name after class and instead handed out stripes to others. The same thing happened the next class and the following. Others were promoted, while I stayed without a single stripe on my drooping white belt. I wondered when or even if there would be a next chance. I only knew I would keep showing up and force him to call my name, even if it took months.

Days passed. Sam continued calling others’ names. Others passed me, getting their first stripe or even their second before I even received my first. One evening, Sam finally called my name. This was it, my first step towards my black belt. All the sweat and hard work was worth it. Yet, when I stood up, Sam looked confused. I had misheard. Sam had called someone else’s name. They strolled forward and wrapped another stripe I thought was mine around the end of their white belt.

Red-faced and hoping everyone thought I was stretching out a cramp, I sat down before making the moment more awkward. Now, to be fair to me, their name vaguely sounds like my own. To this day, I still don’t stand for any promotions until Sam or others say my name twice and look directly at me. Then and only then, I’ll hesitantly stand up as I fake a bit of surprise like someone receiving an Oscar or Grammy when they didn’t prepare an acceptance speech.

After a bit, I stopped expecting that first promotion. I gave up in a way. Yet in my stubborn and possibly stupid ways, I doubled my efforts just to spite a hopeless situation. I kept coming to class and working, grinding, getting devoured by others, and maybe surviving much longer than expected. My routine of attending classes every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday became…well…a routine and I stopped caring about a piece of tape on my belt. At least I stopped expecting to be called.

Then a couple more weeks passed and Sam rolled with me again. This time, though, I had a plan. It was the same plan as any other roll which is to do things vaguely resembling jiu-jitsu. I didn’t freeze with Sam just because I knew he could easily cast aside my lame attempts at attacks. Which he did, but I kept attacking. I kept surviving. I kept trying.

On July 5th, 2016, Sam called my name. As par, I didn’t stand up right away. He called my name twice and looked right at me. I tried to pretend that first promotion didn’t matter. It did. Sweaty, beat up, and drained, I sauntered across the mat to receive my first promotion. As Sam twisted the strip of tape around the end of my white belt, he whispered words of encouragement about continuing to try new techniques and working hard. He gave me a hug and made his usual speech after class about being patient and putting in the work. I zoned off because I couldn’t stop staring at my single stripe.

That night I hung my belt over the end of our couch Rachelle saw it the next morning and could tell it meant a lot to me. The first stripe is the hardest. It means the most because it means the journey of improvement officially starts.

BJJ Journey Buckhead BJJ White Belt

Why I Joined Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu: May through June 2016

by Thomas

I did join Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu. I also joined two other gyms at the same time, imagining this progressive schedule of Muay Thai, Jeet Kune Do, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and maybe Kali in a hybrid of self-weaponization. What was I preparing for? I guess after moving to Atlanta, I was preparing for an inevitable apocalypse in which only our bodies and sticks would be available for self-defense. Either that or I’m bad with money and saying “no” to things (guess which is the more likely scenario). To add to the legitimacy of my decision making skills, I also decided to travel to Europe for almost a full month after signing these contracts and letting them auto-charge for the month I was eating calzones and schnitzel. You know, instead of “thinking it over” and signing contracts once I came back to the U.S.

I remember a distinct moment in Florence, Italy. Early in the morning, with soft rays of sunshine seeping through ancient shutters and a fresh layer of mosquito bites covering me and Rachelle, I decided to drop at least one academy. I talked through the pros/cons with my wife while she feigned interest between snooze alarms. I picked the one offering less Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu classes. With a quick email on spotty Italian Wi-Fi, I asked to be released from my contract. They were amendable and refunded me a few dollars, but overall released me from my contract as a whole. Now I stood on two academy memberships.

After returning to Atlanta, I attended both places for a time. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays I attended Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I went to a different academy for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. This lasted about a month. At Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu, I grew intimidated by the thought of rolling against anybody, so I focused on attending the introductory classes for that first month. I hoped to acquire a bevy of techniques in my arsenal before jumping into the more advanced class, just in time to show off my newly honed grappling prowess.

At the other place, rolling was part of the introductory class. With large men hurling their bodies at me, I found myself using the techniques I learned at Buckhead. They worked. I passed guards, whipped on triangles, and otherwise surprised myself and my partners.

Yet, I also didn’t feel I learned much at this second place. White belts were shown a single, very situational technique and then told to drill in the corner with very little oversight or instruction to hone details and deter bad habits. When we did roll, even against blue belts and upper white belts (3 or 4 stripes), I did fine or even better than fine as I shocked them with submissions and movement. Maybe I was a natural. Maybe this would be easier than I thought. Maybe BJJ wasn’t as hard as advertised. In retrospect, I was probably more athletic and aggressive.

Full of confidence, I returned to Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu and leaped into the regular class like a flying triangle. Surely the difference between one academy and another wouldn’t be that striking. Surely I was some sort of savant and would prove I could dominate wherever I landed. Matched with an upper blue belt my size – with a bit less muscle, but more hair (let’s call him “Greg”) – I pulled him to my closed guard and started throwing my legs towards his neck. He blocked them and tossed my legs to the mat. In a blink he landed on my side and with a bony knee in my stomach and a forearm shoved against my cheek. In another blink he spun around me for an arm bar. I tapped. We reset and I pulled closed guard again. I held him there, but really didn’t do much except not open my legs as if squeezing him would suck away his will to live. My ankles popped opened as I tried to bump sweep him because that was the move of the day and I felt it was better than clinging to closed guard with all my will. The moment my legs opened, Greg danced over my legs and to my side again. I wouldn’t fall for the spinning arm bar again. I had him solved. So I rolled away, but he appeared on my back. His fingers looped around my collar and I was choking. I tapped. Okay, maybe he was some savant as well. I mean his blue belt had a million faded stripes and I was still new to all of this. Time for the next match-up.

So it went as the journey of a million taps started. With a blue belt lady. With a three stripe white belt. With a two stripe white belt. With a different blue belt. It didn’t matter. I was at the bottom of the heap and squinting way up the mountain. That night, I emailed the other place and quit. I didn’t care that they’d charge my card for another two months of classes. I was done. I knew the path to take and it wasn’t the easy path.

BJJ Journey Buckhead BJJ White Belt

May 3, 2016: The First Day

by Thomas

Soccer was no more. For the last decade or so, I’d played recreational adult soccer in various forms. In Alaska, it was indoor arenas with turf and modified rules. For a few short months of the year, we exposed our skin to mosquitos and the midnight sun as we played on pitches pockmarked with potholes and slanted fields. After moving to Seattle, I bounced around teams and various turf-covered outdoor and indoor venues. As I approached my mid-30s, my back and knees and ankles reminded me that the clock was ticking on my joints. When we moved to Atlanta, I decided to stop playing. Full stop.

Where did that leave me? I could always redouble my efforts in the gym, but I knew my motivation waned when I lacked clear goals for strength and conditioning. I didn’t want to join a bowling league or take up golf or even ultimate frisbee. I tried some hipster games such as kickball and dodgeball. They were fun, but not something I saw myself wanting to play long-term. So where did that leave me?

My stepdad grew up on hearty dosages of Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris. As an adult, he bounced between various martial arts as he semi-obsessively sought a black belt. He broke his ribs and suffered a concussion from competitive Taekwondo. He practiced chopping through boards or stretching his groin for high kicks. He meditated and worked on completing handstands. Meanwhile, I lifted weights and played soccer and mostly assumed I’d tackle him and punch him in the face if I needed to. Did I know that would work? Not really. Although I did take legit boxing and Muay Thai classes in college after watching Fight Club. So that had to count for something. Bob and weave. Jab, jab, cross.

Really, though, I saw my stepdad – this middle-aged guy with a slight build and a better brain than body – straining to become relatively dangerous. Honestly, I didn’t really believe he’d amount to much in a legit scrap. So what would make me any different? Now in my 30s, I had to be honest and realize I wasn’t much different than my stepdad when he started his martial arts journey (granted he started it in his late 40s). We were relatively the same size and the main difference in weight was because I lifted weights and he didn’t. Was I just repeating my stepdad’s path?

I knew I didn’t want to join some bullshit academy that warded off attackers with harnessed auras and Zen. I understood to fight was to get dirty and bloody and possibly hurt. Like I said, I did some striking in college. I came home with bruised eyes and split lips, but with time I improved. I knew I could hold my own when boxing gloves came out in my fraternity and we “playfully” took swings at each other. I knew I could bob and weave and duck or redirect a punch before landing a jab or a hook to the ribs. Is this the path I wanted to continue?

I knew nothing about jiu-jitsu. I’m serious. Except for vague recollections of early UFCs, I didn’t know it was a grappling based art. I figured all Martial Arts (capitalized to make this seem a serious endeavor) were approximately the same – Katas, heavy bags, focus mitts, Gis and belts, and some vague lineage back to pre-firearms combat. I imagined joining a place that offered a variety of classes, allowing students to become well-rounded Martial Artists. That’s the kind of place I kinda-sorta-for-a-short-time joined in Seattle.

I learned some Kali. I learned some Jeet Kune Do. I remembered my boxing and Muay Thai days, but didn’t want to repeat that path. I attended maybe three BJJ classes where I barely recall what I learned. It was all Greek to me. Yet this is the sort of place I imagined joining when I moved to Atlanta.

Something about jiu-jitsu stuck with me as I started researching Martial Arts. I didn’t want to get hoodwinked by a place that taught me to “Hadouken” my way through a fight. Instead, I was drawn in by UFC highlights and the machine gun energy of Rener Gracie. I researched BJJ in the Atlanta area. Two options offered a variety of classes (Jeet Kune Do, Kung Fu, BJJ, etc.), but they were also a daunting drive from my apartment. There was also Alliance Headquarters, the home of a 10X (at the time) world championship team. I didn’t even know what that meant, but it actually scared me away. I imagined Cobra Kai and “bowing to your Sensei.” I wasn’t looking to make BJJ a full-time, super competitive thing. This left me researching options closer to my apartment.

That’s how I found Buckhead Jiu-Jitsu. It’s funny now, in retrospect, to think about that first interaction. I’m sure Martial Arts academy owners get contacted by hundreds of flakes, fakes, and crazies. How many of them actually end up joining? Yet Professor Samuel (Sam) Joseph promptly replied to my email and encouraged me to swing by when I got the chance.

When I did get the chance, Sam was more interested in discussing the finer plot nuances of Game of Thrones than giving me a sales pitch. Not that he didn’t make me feel comfortable as he told me to make myself at home before giving me a brief tour and asking whether I needed to borrow a Gi. With full confidence, I explained I was covered there. I’d spent $120 on a thin Judo Gi that had no discernible tags or brands. It was a bit outside my budget at the time, but I assumed it would last months if not years. This might be the first and last picture of me in that Gi.

As class time approached, I sat against the wall and watched everyone chatting with their friends, making jokes, and otherwise acting like this was the only place they wished to be. Others came up to me and introduced themselves. They asked if I had any other Martial Arts experience. I explained my sojourn into boxing and an even shorter journey in Muay Thai. There was also my 1.5 years of high school wrestling where I won a total of 2 matches and otherwise had no clue what was going on as I was manhandled by sweaty adolescents in sweatier singlets who were much more aggressive and confident than I was on many fronts. I avoided that last bit of personal history.

They saw my Gi and asked about Judo. I just shook my head and admired their sleek, jiu-jitsu Gis with patches of Adventure Time characters or colors other than white (black!). I knew if I were to continue this journey, I’d have to upgrade my Gi style. #dressforsuccess

What struck me most was the openness of the academy. So many names and handshakes and smiles and encouragement. At this point, all the names and faces were a blur, except I was quickly marked as a newbie – my first day. The whole experience seemed different from the online articles that described day-after-day of ass-whoopings that killed your ego until the only thing left was the husk of whatever really drove you forward. This was far from that, although the ass-whoopings would come (spoiler alert).

As this was intro class with no drilling, I was paired with a lanky blue belt whose name I immediately forgot (sorry, Stuart, but you know how it is). He was patient in explaining and reexplaining the details of the move (I believe it was arm bar day, but it might have been triangles). I questioned the whole process as I had a grown man between my legs and was asked to manipulate his body (which I despise touching and being touched already) to apply the move.

Yet there was something rewarding for completing the move correctly. “Yes, very nice,” Sam said as he meandered through the pairs sprawled across the mats. With repetitions and steady prompting by my partner, I stopped poking him in the eye and slapping him with my feet. I was getting it! This jiu-jitsu thing wasn’t that hard. It just took reps after reps after reps. That’s it. Simple. When was the next class? What would we learn next?

That night, coming home stinking of another man’s essence, I tried showing my wife what I learned. I couldn’t. I’d already lost vital details to make it work. “Sorry honey, I think I’m supposed to…that’s not it. Maybe…oh that’s your ear. Sorry. I’ll work on it.”

I promised to come back for the next Intro class, as soon as I researched better Gis online and decided I wasn’t bold enough for a black Gi (yet). I did get overnight delivery on a sleek white Fuji Gi with blue accents. And so it started.