bjj, improvement

Blue Lagoonin’

It’s important to leave your comfort zone occasionally,  because that’s where the most fertile soil for growth is.  If you take no chances, play it safe and stick to what you’re good at, you’ll plateau, and then eventually begin a decline.

A good example of leaving your comfort zone?  1980’s The Blue Lagoon. Was it a good movie?  Probably not.  Did it feature a nude, teenage Brooke Shields as somebody who has sex with her cousin on a desert island?  You bet your ass.  And for that it became a classic.

If some suit had said, “Hey, let’s tone it down on Brooke’s titties and not make them relatives (yawn)” the movie would lack the squirmy punch it has.  Instead, they said “fuck it” and got after it.

 The same is true for BJJ.  Don’t be afraid to be weird, try new stuff, and fail.  Get nuts with it.Russia isn’t going to invade if you don’t execute 100% of the time. (Russia will invade because they hate our freedom fyi.)

being an old man, improvement

Tender Sweet Meats

Somethings you can pick up at any point in life, and it’s ok.  Cooking, learning Cantonese, maybe the piano fall into this category.  Other activities you need to get a jump on early in life, such as skiing, boxing, and learning how to talk to girls.  If you start later, as an adult, you’re at a disadvantage, and much more likely to get hurt while participating.  I’ve never been skiing, and I just turned thirty.  When I think of skiing, all I think of now is my body tumbling down the side of a mountain, limp as a rag doll, with my femur sticking out of my leg.

Judo definitely is an activity it pays to start young in.  Jesus.

Our coach John had his start in Judo before beginning BJJ and eventually earning his black belt.   Right now at the club, he’s going through a series of Judo techniques that will supplement our ground game.

With that said, after the last few weeks of judo training, I’m beginning to think that judo is less a sport, than it is a secret cabal started by weird Japanese people to tenderize westerners for their eventual consumption.  I’m not kidding.  I actually believe this. My body feels pounded, as if by an angry ape.

To further the animal metaphor into analogy, if Jiu Jitsu is a snake, sinewy and constricting, Judo is more like a ferocious grizzly bear uprooting a tree, picking up the trunk, and smashing you across the back with it.

If this keeps up, I will be as tender as the most succulent veal.  If I am to be eaten, I would like to be eaten as a nice center cut chop, with a demi glaze of red wine.  Seared in a pan with some roasted peppers, perhaps, over a nice rice pilaf.  Let this be a testament, and be recognized as my living will, and carried out as such in the case of any judo related consumption.






Bally Total Fitness Indian Tracker Escape

You’re time with Bally Total Fitness just didn’t work out.  Unfortunately, their contracts are tough to get out of.  In order to avoid exorbitant penalty fees, you faked your own death, and got away clean.

 “Honey, they don’t have power yoga until 8:00 at night.  I have tv to watch,” you say as you convince your husband to forge a letter to Bally’s corporate office.

 Unfortunately for you, Bally is experienced with these things, and sends their best Indian tracker, John Two-Crow to see if your story checks out. Since you work from home (online mystery shopper), you were surprised to look out your window and see a slightly built man in roughspun clothes crouched in your back yard.  You peer at him through your blinds, watching him as he paces around your patio, stooping to look at tracks in the mud.

 The realization dawns that faking your death may have repercussions beyond getting out of your gym contract.  You throw yourself flat on the floor, desperately thinking of your next move. You realize that there is only one option.

 Fifteen minutes later, you have silently crept upstairs, filled up a small bag with essentials, and as much cash from your life insurance settlement you can carry.  You’ll be damned if you’ll allow yourself to get caught by these fascist pigs. You grab the small revolver you keep under your pillow and slip out of the house as quietly as possible.

 The coast seems clear.  You make for your Ford Windstar, key the engine, and peel rubber as you speed out of the driveway.  Racing out of your development you see out of the corner of your eye John Two-Crow on a horse, leaping over fences and hedges hot on your trail. As he closes on an intercept course, you grab your revolver and stick it out of the window, blindly firing until you’re out of ammo.  Two-Crow’s horse goes down with a pathetic whinny, as you drive off and away, free from him and Bally’s.

 Of course with Bally’s, nothing is ever so easy.  You may have shot his horse out, but Two-Crow is still on your tail.  He won’t stop until he brings you in, and for your part, you’ll never stop running until you escape. Over the next 20 years you’ll come to respect Two-Crow, and he’ll come to respect you, his most elusive prey. But you’ll never get caught. Because Bally’s spin class sucks, and you’re never going back, no matter what.