Deborah's Brazilian Jiu Jitsu & Arnis-Eskrima Training

This is one, you know.  We are a town.  I see myself as the crazy old Shaman woman living in a hut at the edge of the village.  Shaking a rattle made out of snakeskin and walnut shells. My friend and fellow BJJ classmate "BJJ Mommy" read my recent post "sigh," and gave me a hug when she saw me in class.  She told me her sons were also disappointed in their own performance, and sulked after their losses.  Then she said something that kind of made me shake off the last bits of my own self pity and whining.  She told me, 'hey, you are here in class, and they need to see that, that you train and compete, and you are back here today.' BJJ Mommy made me realize, and well, reminded me that I have a role in the universe of my school.  Sitting around and whining about a tournament loss is a giant disservice to myself, and to others around me, especially younger minds. I have a responsibility to myself to persevere, to maintain commitment, to work harder, and to

don't read this if you are looking for mature, intelligent prose. lost today.  well, took second.  there was one other competitor in my bracket and i lost on points.  2-0, okay so that's the only halfway okay part.  played my game, worked my spider.  went for a sweep.  went for a bunch of sweeps.  went for an arm-lock from the guard.  oh goody goody gum drops ,   i played my game.  lotta fucking good it did me.  okay yeah i have improved my game this year, i played some offense that i worked hard to achieve, but it's lame.  it's not good enough. my game is not good enough.  and im not going to quit.  i swear to god i will go back to that damn mat this week and i will work harder.     I am SICK to death of goddamn fucking losing.  fuck losing.  I train and train and train.  I fucking put my heart and soul on that mat. I want gold.  I want victory.  I want to stand on the middle podium and be proud.  I want everyone to look at the patch on my back and say, &quo

I am competing in Caique's South Bay tournament tomorrow. long pause... I don't have any sage, brilliantly wise words of epiphanies and breakthroughs.  I have trained.  My weight is perfect (although we will be combined anyway).  I have fueled properly.  My only current pain is from a slightly jammed finger.  The I-Pod is charged. Maybe that's my sage advice?  Simplicity.  Just do the training.  Stop eating Mallomars.  Broccoli sucks but figure out a way to work it into your food.  When you can look back on your training schedule and say in your heart, 'Yeah, I have done the work,'  the approach to tournament day is filled with, well, I wanted to type "calm" or "confidence" or "centered-ness,"  but the word that best describes my current state is "nothing."   Emptiness.  I am not worked up.  I am ready.  When you are ready, the need for affirmations bows to the facts at hand.  The homework is done. Train well, Dag

My Grandma Annabelle passed away last night.  She was 91, almost 92 years old. I had planned on taking her out to dinner to Anthony's, her favorite restaurant in San Diego, but early yesterday morning she had a "heart event," which due to the fact she was under hospice care, was treated with pain management, as opposed to a full-blown medic ride and hospital stay.  At 91 years, a "heart event" is not something you treat and ponder and figure out.  At 91, the heart just gets tired. My dad called me mid-morning to tell me she might not be up to a car trip into town.  Dad told me my mom went to visit her and remarked she was extremely tired.  Grandma had become extremely fragile the last 6 weeks, and vehicle transportation was a tiring effort for her.  Instead of Anthony's, I decided on a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke, which I knew she would love. When I arrived at her care facility, The Alpine View Lodge Retirement Villa (an awesome place, designed lik

I have been thinking about this post for three weeks and I decided I need to at least get an idea down on paper.  I'll probably revisit again and edit this week. A few years ago a classmate told me that we are all blind when we start BJJ.  Over time, we are able to see a little bit more, and little bit more; the blinders are removed over a period of time.  Slowly removed.  Slowly. Removed.  This is ringing more and more true lately as I am seeing my options laid out in front of me like a golden rug covered in jewels.  I roll drunk on a dream BJJ concoction of arm-locks, omo-platas and triangles.   Seeing the submission is the most delicious delight, and even more delicious is being successful in the chess game, obtaining a submission through careful planning and execution.  Pure joy. Which leads me into the Invisible. So much of the brilliance of BJJ (an I suspect in most martial arts) exists in spaces not seen by the naked eye.  Technique can be taught to a certain extent, b