Letter to Jiujitsu: Part 2

This is a continuation of the letter of grief I write to one of my main sources of connection in my life: jiujitsu. You can read the beginning of the letter in Part 1.

A special memory I have of jiujitsu is...

The laughter after my head hits the mat hard on a good sweep. The fist bump, the messy hair, the shared smirk, the face plant on the mat, the extra credit rolls “just because,” the freezing showers when the hot water runs out, the “have a good day” from the front desk, the drilling with Beth and bullshitting on Saturday mornings, the sharing of knowledge, the mish-mash of creativity, getting up for 6 am Friday training when it’s still dark outside, the knee on belly right after drinking too much water, the foot in the face, the cross-face pressure that made my jaw hurt, the hook of my left leg behind my partners knee on De-La Riva.

The Pho lunches afterwards. The Indian buffet after War. The shared sense that we’re all a little crazy.

Prof. Alex telling me, “When you don’t believe in yourself, think of me. Because I believe in you.”

Drilling with Kevin, especially when he tries to hide his annoyed tone when I don’t get something. Him believing in me when I do get something. Random goofy faces and jokes, “Oh, REALLY?” in a cartoon voice.

Marika choking me out with the bow and arrow when I least expect it. Mike almost breaking my arm and trying to stifle his laughter about it. Ben making me laugh until I cried with pretending to fart in my face.

The thing I remember the most is laughing. I don’t really remember the tears that much. I don’t really remember the frustration. I know I had it at times. I know I was tired at times. But when I think about jiujitsu the first thing I remember is all the people I laughed with while I was rolling with them.

I don’t think I can ever take jiujitsu seriously again. Because now with separation I realize that it’s all just a fucking game. And guess what? That game can be taken from you in an instant when everything you knew is suddenly ripped from you, everything you had and everything you did actually means nothing and is worthless.

So when I do have jiujitsu again, I won’t take it so seriously. Because in the end, what you’re going to remember are the smiles and the laughter, the jokes and the goofiness. It’s not the technique that matters. It’s the playing of the game, the back and forth, the gives and the takes, the ups and the downs, the failures and the triumphs, not when you’re taking it seriously. Yes, going hard is one of my favorite things, my lungs burning and my muscles fatiguing. I remember that. But I don’t remember the submissions. I remember the laughter afterward.