Octagon: The fight, the belief, and the myth

This year, I have been using an Intuitive Writing deck that my friend, Three, gifted me. Each card has a word or shape on it, and you use that word or shape to prompt a piece of creative writing. I'm going to post a series of entries from my Intuitive Writing practice here, just for fun. 

[OCTAGON]

This reminds me of the UFC, which reminds me of MMA, which reminds me of competing at jiujitsu competitions. 

Fighting in the cage. Your mind goes blank. It doesn’t matter who it is or what time it is. Just go. Turn off your brain. Your mind is no longer helpful. Your body already knows what to do. 

Your body already knows from the hours of training. From practice. The information is already there. Every thought you’ve ever had? It can be manifested in that moment. Just be present. Everything you need to be or have is already inside of you.

The important thing is to not think. Never think. Just go. Turn off your brain. Just go. Believe. 

Believe in yourself. Believe that you can fly. That’s all you can do. Just believe in yourself. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, but in that moment, you need that belief. Believe in the myth that you can do it, that you can succeed, that you can win, that you can fly, that you can fight. 

You’re exhausted and just fighting to stay alive. You consider giving up. THAT IS YOUR EDGE. You consider saying, "I can’t do this." 

Why would you say that? Of course, you can. You got this. You just go. There is no alternative. You just have faith in yourself that you can do it. And you do. You keep going and you’re really not that tired in the end. 

Same with writing. Just believe that you can do it. I have hit my edge. I really questioned giving up. I’m not going to though. Even if it means writing a new book, finding a new publisher, whatever it takes. This book is going to get written. I believe that my book will somehow find its way into the world and one day it will move and touch at least one reader. That’s all I want. 

Life isn't a never-ending fight. Or, at least, it's not supposed to be. Life is about practicing for the fight. Most of the time, you are drilling and training. It's boring sometimes and tiring other times. It's not always exciting. But you show up anyway. You show up to practice unless you're sick. If you're sick, you have to rest. But otherwise, you show up and do the moves. Even if you don't want to. So the next time there's a fight, and you want to give up, you turn your brain off and you let your body take over. And you already know what to do because you've done it so many times before. 

Because it’s so easy to fall out of practice and just coast on auto-pilot, not really paying attention, doing the bare minimum. But showing up to practice, and then doing the practice is what matters. Not getting the gold medal. Not winning the competition. But drilling. Going through the motions, but with attention to mistakes so that you can learn, rinse, repeat, iterate, grow, and evolve. 

Evolution and the nature of evolution is a kind of higher power. We’re always changing. We are free to evolve into the highest version of ourselves. 

Thoughts on Creativity, Evolution, and Jiu-Jitsu

How does creativity and evolution tie together? 

What really sets apart good and great, black belt and brown belt is creativity. Once you reach the higher levels, your jiujitsu starts to evolve not by studying moves and replicating what you see other people do. Progress comes at the higher levels when you start inventing your own jiujitsu. And a big part of that creativity is wholeness: when the pieces of the puzzle start to come together, you start to see more and more of the whole picture. Seeing the wholeness and being creative is what unlocks the secret of beautiful and fun jiujitsu. 

The ingredients to evolution being creativity and wholeness is something you can see both on and off the mat. 

You start taking one move from a position and see how you can use it in a different position and bring a bunch of different pieces together in a creative way that is unique to you and your own jiujitsu journey. 

Whole + creative = evolution. 

Jiujitsu is an example of where going to the next belt signifies that you are evolving in your own game by integrating different moves together: linking sequences, translating concepts in multiple scenarios, setting up chains of offense and defense. But the way you ultimately progress to higher levels is by taking risks, being willing to fail, and in responding to those risks and integrating multiple sequences and theories, you are creative. 

Being Transgender in Jiu-Jitsu

Introduction

“For your next competition, are you going to sign up for the male or female division?,” my girlfriend at the time (now my wife) asked me when I was talking about competing. 

The question of which category--male or female--to choose at a competition is not a concern for most people. But for transgender people who have just started transitioning, like me, this question could be at the forefront of their minds because they might not fit into either category. 

The transgender spectrum is wide. Some folks don’t identify on either side of the male/female gender binary. They may identify as “non-binary,” “agender,” “genderqueer,” or “gender expansive.” These folks are a fluid mix of genders, or otherwise transgressing binary gender norms. They may or may not be on hormone therapy. 

When you exist somewhere in the middle of the gender binary, picking a name and pronouns--much less the male or female category at a jiujitsu tournament--is not as straightforward as it might seem. 

Trans and non-binary people are an important and often invisible part of the jiujitsu community. Furthermore, they remain untapped talent that could benefit the grappling world if they knew that they would be welcomed. Creating inclusive environments for gender non-conforming people at jiujitsu gyms and competitions means growing the sport and the community.

Why does gender matter in a sport like jiujitsu where all genders train together?

With a sport like jiujitsu where players wear an androgynous kimono and people of all genders train together, it can be easy to say that gender “doesn’t really matter” or that “gender is a personal thing.” Why is gender identity in jiujitsu spaces important to talk about? 

Indeed, the other day I was rolling when I saw someone I didn’t know who was sitting on the side of the mat looking directly at me. The person pointed at me and Sam overheard them ask their friend, “Wait, is that a boy or a girl?” 

I just kept rolling and didn’t really care what the answer was or what the conversation was about. But I asked in my head, “Does it really matter what my gender is?” The truth is that, on the jiujitsu mat, whether someone was born male or female--and indeed, what their genitals are presently--certainly doesn’t matter. And that is one of the beautiful things about jiujitsu: equality. The way we all roll the same is what brings the jiujitsu community together. People from all walks of life--disability status, race, gender, and sexual orientation--can come together and roll. These labels don’t matter when we’re focused on our technique. 

The main thing that matters in that moment--that suspended time warp of sparring--is just the time spent on the mat and the sweat and blood you spent to get to where you are. The thing that matters is the connection that you share with the other person. At the end of the day, jiujitsu is not even about the color of the belt nor the medal at competitions, it’s about a shared community coming together to make the world a more kind and connected place through the beauty of martial arts. 

Nevertheless, our identities and the experiences that have been shaped by our identities contribute to who we are as a fully integrated human. 

The people on the mat are more than just a bag of limbs and techniques, but whole people with experiences which affect who they are, the life they face and how they're treated by others. Ignoring gender is analogous to being “colorblind” to race, which ignores the experiences that People of Color face in their lives and overlooks the privilege that white people the world over enjoy. 

Trans people have a different experience than cis gender people. Full stop. Therefore, creating environments that treat trans and non-binary people as equals is essential to incorporating a richer and fuller jiujitsu community. 

Why inclusivity matters in the jiujitsu community

I am trans masculine and use they/them pronouns. He/Him are okay too. 

With this in mind, I come to you as the humble author of an article set out to share some of my experiences as a genderqueer person who trains jiujitsu. In the end, my goal is to assert that transgender inclusion is within reach of the standard practice of jiujitsu, including competition settings. I will conclude with a few policy suggestions that will help the community as a whole attract and retain more people in jiujitsu for the betterment of the sport and its practitioners. 

People who are trans, questioning, or genderqueer will be more likely to start and less likely to quit if jiujitsu communities start with a baseline of inclusivity. This baseline can include a few basic practices that help people who are different from the mainstream feel more comfortable, such as asking for and using correct pronouns and celebrating mixed gender competition divisions. Inclusive practices help diversify the training environment and competition scene, ultimately helping everybody improve and elevate their own jiujitsu game. 

GENDER, COMPETING, AND TESTOSTERONE

Here are a few facts about myself to help situate my background and where I’m coming from in writing this article:

● I was Assigned Female At Birth. 

● I primarily use they/them pronouns. 

● I am transmasculine and genderqueer.

● I’ve been on testosterone for several months. 

● I am from the United States and I live in Central Europe. 

● I’m a purple belt in jiujitsu. 

As I socially transition into life as a male, I have gone from being perceived as a relatively strong woman to a weak and skinny guy. Thomas McBee also writes in his book Amateur about boxing as a trans athlete and his experience of masculinity in a fighting sport, where aggression and vulnerability coincide. Relating to what McBee writes about, I regularly get my ass kicked on the mat and I love it. 

“Competition is ‘força’ (power) and then some technique,” my jiujitsu professor wrote to me when I told him my intention to compete in the male division. “Realistic goals are the key to success.” My heart sank. He didn’t think I was capable. 

When I tell close friends that I want to compete in the male division, they often protest. Several months of testosterone doesn’t compare to a lifetime of it, they insist. I will be at a significant disadvantage and I should just sign up for the female division, others say. Men and women are on steroids to improve performance, and my hormone replacement therapy is no different, they argue. I shouldn’t compete in the men’s division until I change my name on my official identification documents, some suggest. 

As the advice poured in, my thoughts went round and round. In the end, I decided competing in the male division is a better choice for me...if I’m allowed. I emailed Jiu Jitsu World League to ask if I could compete at one of their upcoming competitions as a female-to-male (FtM) transgender athlete. After following up a few times, I finally received a kind response that concluded with “we currently don't have any rules regarding this situation in place.” 

As an FtM, I also couldn’t help thinking: Why is this even a question? Are they really that scared about what would happen to their fragile male egos if I *gasp* possibly won? Still, I’m determined. I regularly train against men who are much bigger than me. Why is it such a big issue for me to compete against men who are the same size as me? 

The thing I love about this sport is not the competitions. The jiujitsu journey is not about the outcome, the gold medal, or the podium stand. It’s about the community and connection that this art provides. Still, nobody should be barred from competing--this makes our already small community even more limited. 

And this is just my experience as a female-to-male transgender athlete, where I seemingly do not represent much threat to my competitor. I am also in a relatively privileged position because I present as male in a patriarchal society. Transfeminine and non-binary athletes have a whole different set of challenges, where they face more exclusion, discrimination and hate crimes due to their gender identity. 

Locker Rooms

These were the thoughts I was considering in the last several months as my body--my voice, the shape of my face, and my facial hair--has started to change with hormones. When I came out to my jiujitsu professor a few months ago, he was affirming of my gender, supportive and respectful. He agreed to use my new pronouns and name. And yet. 

“You can’t use the men’s room at the gym. First of all, it’s not safe. The guys will eat you alive in there. You will be bullied and harassed, so it’s better if you continue to use the women’s room,” he told me. 

I agreed, but there should be some rules or basic standards of human dignity in place so that I wouldn’t be bullied if I used the locker room of my choice.

In the months that have followed that conversation with my coach, I have continued to use the women’s room as I was told. Because the entrance to the mat space requires passing through a locker room first, I must enter the locker room before each class. Our jiujitsu club shares the locker room with a big sports complex and I often encounter people who don’t know me. 

When I first walk in, I am often met with stares, giggles, or shocked faces and embarrassed looks. Then, a well-intentioned person informs me that I’m in the wrong locker room, telling me that the men’s room is down the hall. The only thing I can usually muster in response is, “I was born female.” Their eyes get big, they nod and turn away, usually not saying anything in response.

Every day I dread going into the women’s locker room. Not because I’m going to be misgendered, but quite the opposite: people see me as a guy, because I look like a guy. And I am a guy; I’m a trans guy. And women react quite strongly to the presence of a guy in the locker room for social and historical reasons. But I still must use the women’s room according to the gym’s policy--and a policy that lacks any kind of enforcement against bullying. I have considered quitting multiple times because of the locker room policy.    

While women react to my presence in the women’s locker room with confusion at best and horror at worst, I have no doubt that the men’s room would not be any better, as my coach himself said, they would “eat me alive.” 

It is striking to me that jiujitsu is the one place in my life where people are not fully accepting of me yet: some of the men bully me on the mat, people don’t necessarily respect my name or my pronouns. When I tell people I’ve changed my name because I’m trans, they look away in embarrassment or confusion. Competing is still only a maybe for me, and the locker room situation is awkward to say the least. Being trans is uncomfortable and I know that. However, in my experience, the jiujitsu communities in every place I have lived--even in open, liberal, urban areas--are behind most other people and communities in terms of thinking and inclusive policies, from sexual harassment to race relations to gender identity.

However, in recent days my heart has lifted with some optimism. When I returned to my former gym, they had a transgender person on staff as well as more gender inclusive language during classes. Jiu Jitsu World League finally responded to my email. They not only agreed that I could compete in the male division at one of their upcoming tournaments, but also offered to sponsor me and waived my admission fees. My professor responded to my news with “I’ll be there in your corner to support you.”

I’m pleased to see these changes and excited to compete in the male division soon. Still, there is more work to be done. My fiancée and a number of friends are male-to-female transgender athletes in jiujitsu and other sports, and their experiences are not so positive--especially when they are white belts. The jiujitsu community’s imperative to break down hierarchies and gender norms, and enforce anti-bullying and inclusivity policies for transgender people, go beyond simple solutions, and must include interrogation of racism and sexism as well. 

We can do better

Let us not continue to be a backward community that continues to tout outdated definitions of toxic masculinity and gender binaries. Let us continue to progress and broaden our horizons, keeping our hearts and minds open to what is possible, so that we may expand our community and not limit it. 

Ask people their name and pronouns. Trust that the adults in the locker room have chosen the room that is best for them, and if they look different, they are probably more uncomfortable than you are. Allow trans people to use the locker room of their choice and compete in competitions. Be respectful and treat all people with dignity. Have a zero tolerance policy for bullying, harassment, and assault. It sounds simple, but these practices are not something I’ve consistently witnessed in the jiujitsu community. 

Creating a more inclusive community starts with small things. Show people that they matter to the community and that they belong just like everyone else: a smile, a hello, an invitation to roll. Inclusivity continues with the big things like locker room and competition policies that are inclusive of trans people. Ultimately, we are striving for a cultural shift towards open-mindedness and away from prejudiced thinking in the jiujitsu community. 

When you get on the mat, whether born male or female, whether cis or trans, straight or queer, it all doesn’t matter. What matters is your jiujitsu. At the same time, gender matters and is a fundamental part of people’s experiences, especially in sports, and the jiujitsu community as a whole can do more to include people from the entire spectrum of identities. 

CONCLUSION

I have a few suggestions for gyms and competition guidelines that could help keep evolving the community to be more inclusive to people from the entire gender spectrum, with our ultimate goal being to recruit and retain more people into the sport. The aim of Roll the Same and this article is to encourage people to adopt behavior and policies that will ultimately elevate the sport and improve everyone’s jiujitsu by expanding the diversity of our recruiting pool and retention numbers. 

Gym policies

● Jiujitsu gyms would benefit from a policy that encourages coaches and teammates to ask for and use the players’ correct pronouns. 

○ Most genderqueer people are unfortunately accustomed to being accidentally misgendered on a daily basis. Cis gender people would likely be displeased with ill-intended descriptions of themselves as a different gender, such as describing a woman as “looking like a man” or describing a man as “girly” as an intended insult. In the same fashion, a culture of respecting others’ pronouns ensures that genderqueer people are not misgendered in a way that could be hurtful or insulting. 

○ One way to help gym staff to fulfil this is to include a text box on membership forms which asks people’s pronouns, and include text at the top of the form which advises the student on who to contact to provide updates if any of their personal information changes. Roll call or attendance lists will include each players’ pronouns. 

○ Such a policy wouldn't criminalize mistakes, but would set a precedent to endeavor to address people appropriately. 

● A policy that allows people to use the locker room of the gender in which they identify signals an inclusive environment to all. 

○ There is no evidence of increased assault in places with inclusive bathroom policies and allowing people to use the bathroom of their gender identity (e.g., allowing trans men to use the men’s bathroom) is a crucial part of making genderqueer people feel safe. 

○ Inappropriate behavior should be handled by management. If someone makes another at the gym feel unsafe, such as through harassment or assault, that person would be removed from gym participation. 

○ Gender neutral bathroom or locker room options will be provided if space and resources allow. 

● Gender inclusive environments means grouping and pairing people together during technique, drilling, and rolling sessions based on size or weight instead of biological sex.

○ Unless, of course, someone has expressed an intention to learn to defend themselves against a particular gender or body type which they struggle against. All policies should have flexibility to real world application, but the idea is to have the focus on training be about body size and technique rather than gender.

● Harassment, abusive behavior, lechery and assault is not tolerated. If someone is doing things which made someone else feel unsafe, then this would be acted upon and that person would be asked to leave the gym. 

Competition policies

 

● Competition guidelines can outline language and policies inclusive to trans, gender expansive, non-binary or not fully transitioned trans people. Big shout out to Chloe Moore who pioneered gender inclusive guidelines in her competitions. Chloe has already established guidelines based on the International Olympic Committee Guidelines for transwomen to compete. While fully transitioned trans men can usually compete in the male divisions “undercover,” it is best if a policy explicitly welcomes all trans and non-binary people to sign up for the division of their choice. 

● Guidelines can also include policies for non-binary people. For example, language in the competition rules can include policies such as the following:

○ “Gender expansive and non-binary individuals are also welcome to compete, however, they will be accepted on a case by case basis depending on current exposure to testosterone.” 

● Competitions, as an extension of the universal training approach that mixes male and female training partners, can offer mixed and/or absolute divisions that do not separate the divisions biological sex. 

○ Again, shout out to Chloe Moore who already had this idea and is currently planning an absolute division where all genders will be included in the divisions. She wrote on the Fight Like a Girl social media channels that for the next competition she would like to “create a mixed competition division for Blue - Black belt. This division would be open to both male and female competitors, and separated [only] by weight category.”

I love this sport. I love the people in this sport. We can all evolve in our thinking and behavior to become more inclusive in order to grow our community. 

Additional Resources:

Many organizations, like “Roll the Same,” are already championing equality in jiujitsu, especially when it comes to gender and the LGBT umbrella, as well as sexual harassment issues. We encourage you to check out the following groups for more information:

• Triangles Everywhere
• Fight Like A Girl
• Safe Guard
• Women Who Fight
• Guard Whats Yours

Letter to Jiu-Jitsu, Dated April 2020

 Last week I was foam rolling, and I asked my body: “What hurts?” 

“My heart,” it replied. 

“Why does my heart hurt?” I asked. 

“My heart is grieving the loss of jiujitsu,” it answered. 

“What do you need? What can I do to heal this pain?” I inquired. 

“Write a letter. Express your grief over this loss,” came the answer. 

So I present to you my letter to jiujitsu as one way to heal my hurting heart. 

I intentionally wrote the letter in the past tense as a way to express my grieving. I know that in the future we will be able to start training again, but for now I write in the past tense to illustrate the loss. 

This is dedicated to the people I used to see at training every single day that I don’t get to see anymore. 

Dear Jiujitsu, 

I miss you so much. You were my sanctuary, my church, my home, my breath of fresh air. You were my life blood, my muse, my source of inspiration, my anti-drug, my anti-depressant, my energy, my reason for getting up in the morning. 

One thing I’m glad we shared is… 

Smiles and hugs. Handshakes and pats on the back. Ass-kicking. Being the nail one day and the hammer the next. Chatter. Shared fears and common struggles. Stepping onto your mat, I never knew what other people might be going through. They could have just had the worst day of their life. But they showed up. And as long we kept the electricity that courses between us alive, then we had a reason to keep going. 

The electricity that buzzed between me and my teammates: Whether rolling with my face pressed against their sweaty gi, or talking and laughing on the mat, or greeting someone with a smile when they came in, a current of energy pulsed within and between us. A touch, a giggle, an inside joke, an eyebrow wiggle, a wink. We shared sweat and blood and tears and pain. Those people and that place was my home and refuge. Why? Because it fostered community and connection, which we are all starved for. Who else can say they have the closeness of gifting your sweat in their eyeball? 

We shared our gis soaked through in sweat. I had hair that looked like I just showered at pretty much all times. Our faces shined with moisture. Our rashguards looked like they just came out of the washer. Nope, it was wasn't water. It was sweat. 

Now our world has changed. Sharing sweat is no longer okay. Now sharing skin contact is dangerous and forbidden. Now my love has become taboo. 

A special memory I have of you 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 and bullsitting 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. 

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. 

“OK OK OK” (breathing hard)

“OK we got this.” 

“Have you got this?”

“OK we can do this.”

“Can you though?”

SNUGGLES. 

Sorry. I farted.

One thing I admire about jiujitsu is… 

The way jiujitsu makes me forget about my fatigue; it allows me to ignore the burn in my chest. With jiujitsu, I don’t even notice the fire creeping up my throat. I don’t even care about the punch in my stomach, the knee to the jaw, the elbow to the eye. 

Jiujitsu shuts down the voice that tells me, “You can’t do this. You can’t keep going. You’re going to stop or you’re going to die.” When I’m doing jiujitsu, I turn off that voice in my head, and I can keep going through the pain and impossibility. It’s magical. 

The voice--the one that tells me “you can’t do this”--is powerful. Yet also weak because when we shut it down? PIGS FLY. We transcend physical limitations.

With that voice silenced, our focus totally on the technique at hand, our mind blank and silent, we keep going. And even in our struggle, it is peaceful in those moments. There is no fear, there is no anxiety. You just are, in that moment, present. Just rolling. There is nothing else. Doing the thing you thought was impossible two seconds ago. You are in the moment, drowning and yet at peace. Because there is nothing to worry about. Just this moment, here and now. 

In the meantime, breath gasping, heart pounding, legs burning, gums aching, lungs on fire, sweat dripping, I feel powerful. I feel strong and at peace. 

From jiujitsu, I learned the importance of…

When it gets hard, that’s when I keep going. I don’t give up. When I want to stop, that’s the moment when I say, “No, I can do this.” At the moment when we want to give up, that’s when we keep going because it’s not supposed to be easy. If it was easy, it would be boring. 

With jiujitsu, I shared tears that mixed with sweat. What’s the difference really? Both are a release of the pain and stress of the day. 

Jiujitsu introduced me to people that don’t run from pain and challenge and fear, but turn toward it. With jiujitsu, we embraced pain. We said, EVERY SINGLE DAY: “This sucks but I’m going to do it anyway. Not for the gold medal, but for the journey and for the process because it makes us better people. Because becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable is what it’s all about, is what life is about.” Because nothing is ever comfortable. Even sitting and doing nothing is uncomfortable. Emotions are uncomfortable. Criticism and being in the unknown is uncomfortable. But those moments of discomfort are when joy is planted and sprouts. 

Jiujitsu taught me pain. Frustration. Anger, sadness, and confusion. Those uncomfortable emotions allowed me to empathize with others’ suffering. That pain showed me how to hold others’ suffering. And perseverance through it all showed me how to keep moving through challenges--my dissertation, learning foreign languages, writing articles, human rights advocacy, my job. Right when I wanted to give up on all of those things, I kept going and in the process I learned that life begins with suffering. 

From you I learned that I’m nothing by myself. I am everything with community. 

I learned that if you feel like you’re getting attacked all the time, then you will always be frustrated because that’s not the point. The point is to play a game. That’s all it is: just playing, a back and forth challenge, a dance. It’s not about right or wrong, it’s about playing and dancing. The play isn’t fun if you just do the same thing all the time. So it’s more fun if you bring it to the next level by challenging the other person. In jiujitsu, that is brought about through trying new submissions or offensive and aggressive moves. Not to make you suffer, but just to explore, to play, to converse with each other in exploring those edges of physical and mental abilities. 

Jiujitsu taught me to question: Who is the person I want to be in this world? What is the kind of world that I want to live in? 

I’m still thinking about the answers. But a few things I know are:

Life is about play.

You can be the rock that creates the ripples that rocks the boat that changes the world. 

Love yourself. We can change the world with our love.

I’ve always wanted to tell you [jiujitsu]… 

Sometimes I used to hate you. Sometimes I used to dread you. Your cold air, hard floors, loud environment, chaotic and crowded mats, and annoying people. Sometimes I didn’t want to go see you. 

Sometimes I complained about the sweaty group photos we took after class. Now there is nothing I cherish more as I scroll through my photos on Facebook.

I was wrong. I was wrong to not appreciate every single part you. I was wrong to take you for granted.

Now I wish I had appreciated what I had more when I had it. I didn’t realize how much I cared until it was gone. 

You only know your lover when you let her go…  

Thank you for… 

Thank you for showing me how to be myself.

Anyone that hides behind ego won’t survive in this sport.

I learned pretty quick that the only thing I could do was be myself on the mat.

The people that I do jiujitsu with have seen me at my worst: crying and bloody and bruised, immature and emotional. You can’t hide it. You can't hide behind ego in jiujitsu.

My teammates have also seen me at my best: the moments where I accept defeat, the moments where I accept failure and confusion with grace. Thank you for showing me that it’s okay to fail.

They are also there to witness the moments when I get the move for the first time in drilling; when I get the move for the first time when flow rolling; for the first time with a white belt; for the first time with a colored belt. And they share my joy in that moment.

Thank you for showing me that I am athletic; that I am coordinated; that I am strong. Thank you for showing me that I persevere through challenges. 

Thank you for showing me community, love, and family. For teaching me what the cliche “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts” means; that as a whole we are greater together than we are as individuals. Through this, I learned a source of power greater than myself.

Thank you for everything.

A Day in the Life of Coaching Jiu-Jitsu in China

 I strap on my helmet and carry my bright blue fixed gear road bike across the overpass that connects my building with my neighbors’. The sight of the mountains on the horizon and the bright blue sky takes my breath away with their beauty as I stare out across the landscape before I take the elevator 15 floors down to street level. It’s 5:15 pm and it’s the height of rush hour. I plunge into the flow of cars passing the entrance to my building and I’m on my way, weaving in and out of traffic. I pedal past cart vendors and busses and stop at the bicycle shop for air in my tires. I’m on my way again, the crisp late afternoon air is warm and breezy against my skin and the sun warms my face. The traffic is backed up to a near crawl, and I zoom past the bumper to bumper traffic, delighted that I am faster than the BMWs and Mercedes and other fancy SUVs that I don’t know the name of that glint and shine with polish in the sun. 

I can’t go too fast because I am constantly weaving in and out of cars. The construction for the city’s first subway line is well underway and has wreaked havoc with the traffic—my street is now one way, and the once open and lively bazaar is enclosed on all sides by tall blue tin walls that “protect yours, mine, and their safety” during the construction. I make it to the center of the city and I stop at a red light, marveling at the near silence that envelopes me in the middle of a long line of cars heading home after a tiring day’s work. I can hardly believe my ears and I wonder if the government has instigated a no-honking campaign. We sit together quietly underneath towering skyscrapers interrupted by the dome of a mosque as we wait for the light to turn green. 

I make it to the gym and the ladies at the front desk greet me with smiles and hellos (“back so soon!” they exclaim).

I walked into the jiujitsu dojo and immediately noticed that Coach Wang had lost a ton of weight. His potbelly was gone and his face was slim. Compared to last fall, he was extremely youthful looking. He looked very small and almost skinny! 

“26 pounds,” he told me when I exclaimed about it. He said he was cutting weight for an upcoming competition in Shanghai and he was still one kilo overweight.

We caught up. Then we rolled. He was slow and calculating in his movements, and eventually he submitted me. I was happy and impressed by his improvement.

He said I had gotten stronger, and my technique had improved. He reported that the power and skill of my legs in particular had gotten better.

I said that I'd participated in three competitions in the States since I'd been gone.

Coach Zhi asked me to give him some advice: What do you do against a stronger opponent? What about an opponent who has better technique than you?

I didn't really know how to answer. I told him that in competition and on the street, you don't have time to stop and think, you just have to think to yourself, “I gotta kill this person.”

"But don't actually kill them, right?" he joked, laughing.

I also rolled with Lin, a white belt, and submitted him. I told him he'd improved.

“You're only 19!” I said, “You have so much time. You see I'm 26 and I'm still a blue belt!”

“And I'm 35 and I'm a white belt!” Yin Jiaolian said, laughing. “If only I'd met you when I was 26!” he said. 

Age and progress is a funny thing. When you start something new means a lot and also doesn't mean anything at all at the same time.

I did a few more rolls with Lin, who submitted me at one point. Everyone said, “hasn't he improved so much so quickly?” I agreed. 

I helped Coach Wang a little bit more. He wanted tips on guard passing, mount escapes and the front collar choke. 

When we rolled, I passed his guard several times, and we worked on side control, and we worked on some escapes and I rolled with each of them once more. 

The adorable, skinny girl with braces came up to me. I gave her a hug, and she said, "Oh! You're back!" She put both hands on her face and jumped up and down with her mouth open. 

She asked me some more questions: "Did you enjoy Christmas with your family? How long will you stay? When and how did you get here?" She looked shocked when I told her I'd come on the train from Nanjing: "That's so far and such a long ride!" 42 hours exactly.

Before I left, I gave Coach Wang two hugs. Lin hugged me a couple times too, saying he was so glad to have me back. I wished them safety on their road home. 

It was so nice to see them and have a little community, a little jiujitsu family, people I can feel comfortable hugging, and people I'm genuinely excited to see and who are genuinely excited to see me. People who want to see me. 

One of my coaches warns me to change out of my rash guard lest I get cold, and to wear my helmet on the ride home. 

When I leave the gym, it’s already completely dark. A man outside is selling strawberries for 10 kuai a kilo. I buy half a kilo and put them in my backpack. The bus stop attendant recognizes me and we exchange pleasantries before I hop on my bike and head home. The ride home is uphill and it takes me almost twice as long to get home. 

It’s dinner time and I can taste the spicy peppers the restaurants are cooking with. I ride past the business district ablaze with massive jumbo trons blazing blinding light full of never-ending commercials for tea that helps you fall asleep and lose weight, and the new home you’ve always dreamed of. The road is lined with towering concrete office buildings covered in flashing neon lights with Chinese restaurants on the street level. I can see through the large windows of the tables full of male suited businessmen negotiating over drinks and apparently very spicy food.

When I get home, I’m too exhausted to cook. I wash and eat the strawberries but I can taste the pesticide. I eat them anyway, hoping the vitamins from the fruit will cancel out any bad effects. I take a cold shower and collapse into bed too tired to even get dressed or brush my hair. I know it’s going to be a good year. Tiring as hell, lonely like nothing else, challenging, but good. The insomnia I struggled with since last summer seems to have abated with the powerful tug of jet lag and soon I’m lost in sleep, dreaming of the friends I left behind in the States. 

Language and Jiu-Jitsu in Xinjiang, China

 Xosh! Zaijian! Poka! Bye!

When training jiujitsu in Urumchi, my teammates and I used these four words to say “goodbye.”

When we walked out of the gym each night and stood outside the front door, we delayed for a few moments before we went our separate ways for the night. With small talk and with assurances of “I’ll see you on Tuesday at 6!” (or whenever the next training session was), we idled a bit longer than necessary, each of us reluctant to disconnect. A small part of me acknowledged the anxiety rising in my chest as I thought about the return to the loneliness of my empty home. As we started walking our separate directions, we would call out to each other, waving the entire time, in these four different languages as we parted ways: Uyghur, Chinese, Russian, and English.

We consistently conversed in these four languages. The only language I didn’t know was Russian. I always felt a bit pouty being left out of those conversations.

I guess it made sense why the Chinese people got jealous of my conversations in Uyghur, and those who didn’t speak English looked upon enviously when I chatted fluently with the Filipinos.

Training jiujitsu in a melting pot

Urumchi sits at one of the farthest points on earth from an ocean (1500 miles). But that does not mean that the city is isolated by any means. Situated along the ancient Silk Road, Urumchi sits at the intersection of many different trade routes and cultures as it has for millennia: Chinese, Turkish, Russian, and Indian, just to name a few. With globalization and modernity—the city was a hub for trade, transportation, oil, natural gas, and other industries—many had flocked to the region for school, work, or business, and I trained with Kazakhs, Tajiks, Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, Filipinos, Belarusians, Russians, Ukrainians, Americans, Ausssies, and Brits.

The question people always ask me is: What was it like to train with different cultures? As I’ve written about before in another article, the answer is: Jiujitsu really wasn’t that different across cultures. Jiujitsu is a universal language. It is a language of chess, of give and take, of submission and of defense. It is a language of vulnerability and trust. It is a language of community and support. It is a gentle art that embraces flow. We are not so different as human beings when it comes down to it. And we are all one.

The biggest difference was that being a woman in China meant that some people thought I was weird, some people flirted with me, some people ignored me, some people avoided me. But otherwise, we were there to train jiujitsu and focused on that goal.

Coaching jiujitsu in Chinese

When I coached jiujitsu, I taught in Chinese. By the time I moved to Urumchi, I had lived in China for 3 years. I was almost fluent in Chinese and very comfortable speaking and coaching in that language. I didn’t have to think about it—I thought in Chinese and therefore speaking it came very easy to me.

Most of the expats that lived in Xinjiang spoke Chinese, so this was not a problem. Their Chinese was better than their English. Many of them did not speak English at all, so it was more convenient for me to teach in Chinese than any other language. If there was someone in the class that didn’t speak Chinese but did speak English, I would teach the lesson in both languages. With jiujitsu, you have to show the technique at least three times, so I would show it in Chinese twice and English once if need be.

Training and coaching jiujitsu definitely helped me learn to speak better Chinese. From the vocabulary to the verbs, I thoroughly enjoyed challenging myself in this way. I basked in the thrill of putting myself on the spotlight in front of a group of people to teach jiujitsu four times a week. In addition to jiujitsu class, simply the everyday talk in the locker room, dinners after training, and parties on the weekend helped with my fluency as well.

Learning jiujitsu moves and positions in Chinese put a smile on my face the first time I heard them translated. For example, with the armbar in jiujitsu, the key part of the move is to position your body perpendicular to your partner, creating a cross shape with your body and your partners body. In Chinese, the character for the number 10 is a cross [十]. So, the name of that lock in Chinese is not armbar, it’s “10 character lock,” or “十字固 shi zi gu.”

Learning Uyghur

When I moved to Xinjiang, I started learning Uyghur as my third language and this added an extra dimension to my jiujitsu training.

It took about three months of full language immersion before I could start having full conversations in Uyghur, and after that, my roommate, Guzelnur, who also trained jiujitsu, and I conversed exclusively in Uyghur.

When I say full language immersion, I mean that I spent about 6 hours a day studying the language.

I took professional Uyghur language classes at the local college 4 hours a day, 4 days a week. It was there that I learned the alphabet, as well as went over key grammar concepts and vocab, forming a foundation for my language ability.

I also had four textbooks I had brought over from the United States. Using those, I self-taught and drilled the grammar concepts—conjugations, suffixes, and directional words—over and over again. I had a private tutor I met with for two hours once a week, and we came up with everyday useful phrases for me to memorize (At first, “I’m sorry, excuse me, Sorry, I don’t speak Uyghur” and later, directions for taxi drivers and conversations with cashiers), and went over the grammar for them.

I used Anki, a flashcard software for language learning, and drilled 50 new vocab words each week. I also bought some children’s books, listened to Uyghur music and audiobooks and Uyghur radio, and practiced with my roommate, Guzelnur. I also had a language partner I met with once a week for several hours. We would spend about 4 hours speaking in Uyghur and 4 hours speaking in English. He was so patient with me and never broke out of speaking in Uyghur the entire time.

I was completely obsessed with and devoted all of my time to learning Uyghur—there was virtually no other job or goal I had until I obtained proficiency enough to conduct interviews.

Learning foreign languages: A return to humanity and childhood

It was SO fun. I loved learning a new language. First of all, I felt like a child again, and that was freeing. Life became very simple. When speaking in Uyghur, I was in flow state, completely present. Frustrated at times, of course, when someone didn’t understand me, but for the most part, completely attentive. You have to be totally in the moment because you are focusing on the pronunciation, grammar and new vocab all at once. It also made me feel fun and funny, as I would say funny things that would make people collapse into laughter on a frequent basis, whether from a mispronunciation or a grammar mistake that just sounded ridiculous. For example, in Chinese and Uyghur they say, “I drink soup.” So, when I said “eat soup” as we would in English, they would crack up.

You go back to the roots of being human this way. I was young again, curious and constantly learning new things. I felt like my brain was expanding, ready to absorb everything around me like a sponge and this also made me feel young and energized again. Of course, it was exhausting too, and I needed copious amounts of alone time to re-charge. At the end of every day, I collapsed into my mat on the floor and fell asleep instantly.

Once I learned Uyghur, Uyghur people loved me. They giggled and smiled and were sometimes shocked that a foreigner could speak their language. They were fascinated by me and eager to speak to me in their mother tongues. It gave us a sense of privacy too, since if we were around Chinese people, they knew that if the Chinese people overheard us saying something politically incorrect, they wouldn’t be able to understand us.

When I was doing my language pledges (once in 2015 and again in 2016), I only spoke, listened, wrote, or read in Uyghur for six weeks. During that time, during jiujitsu class I only spoke Uyghur to the Uyghurs there.

Conclusion

In the end, I loved training jiujitsu in Urumchi because it brought out the diversity of the city, a cosmopolitan melting pot of many different cultures and languages. It was a privilege to be able to teach jiujitsu in Chinese while I was there, and have the opportunity to completely immerse myself in the Uyghur language during the rest of my life as well.

Most importantly, I met a diverse group of people from all around the world, young people who had moved away from home in search of adventure and a livelihood. They were all seeking work and a better future for themselves and their families and were willing to do anything to improve themselves and their lives. There was a constant feeling of energy and aliveness in the air, a presence that invoked a sense of humanity and embraced the uncertainty of our future.

I wonder what they are doing now, and if they still think of our jiujitsu club. I wonder if they remember those days as a time we were connected and celebrated our humanity and presence.

What is Brazilian Jiujitsu?

When I told people I was practicing jiujitsu in China, they sometimes mistakenly think that jiujitsu is a traditional or popular Chinese martial art. They are wrong. 

First, jiujitsu as we know it in the US today was originally Japanese and later adapted by Brazilians. Second, traditional Chinese martial arts are not fought on the ground. Generally, in traditional martial arts, once your opponent is forced to the ground, the fight is over. However Mixed Martial Arts (MMA), a full contact combat sport that includes ground-fighting, is becoming increasingly popular in China. MMA usually takes place in a cage and consists of a combination of striking and grappling. MMA is one of the most popular fighting styles practiced in the United States. MMA can be any combination of boxing, wrestling, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, muay Thai, kickboxing, taekwondo, karate, judo, or other styles.

The grappling component of MMA is mainly based on Brazilian Jiujitsu, or BJJ, which is known as a game of "human chess" and is a Brazilian ground-fighting version of traditional Japanese Jiujitsu. Perhaps not quite as cool as the Brazilian influenced martial art capoeira, Brazilian Jiujitsu is a ground-fighting combat sport like wrestling. You must take down your opponent to the ground, gain dominant positions for points, and then submit them (meaning that they give up by tapping the mat or the opponent). The main difference between BJJ and wrestling is that in wrestling you must pin your opponent's shoulders to the mat, but in BJJ, you must manipulate their body until they give up by tapping out. This can be done through a number of different submissions, including joint locks, which cause enough pain to force the opponent to give up (like bending the arm or ankle), or choke holds, which cut off blood or air circulation to the brain.

When I was living in China, I started looking for something different to engage with the Chinese community. When I found jiujitsu, I finally found my community engagement and cultural exchange activity, which was a requirement for the foreign study abroad program I was in. The club was a mix of both foreigners and Chinese training jiujitsu, and many for the first time.

The first thing that attracted me to BJJ was that it originally kind of, sort of, in a way reminded me of rugby, which I had played in college, and there is a significant amount of pain involved. There's really nothing else like an open tackle at full-speed or the intensity of a scrum or ruck, and it was a thrill that I missed. I also needed an outlet for my stress and my frustration. I found that release at the BJJ dojo, a community of like-minded people looking for a challenge and a good work-out. BJJ is nothing like rugby at all (besides the fact that both sports allow me to consistently maintain a minimum quota of bruises on my limbs), but it was the initial aspect of pushing outside of my comfort zone and releasing frustration that first encouraged me to try it out. 

The best part about BJJ, besides a great strength workout and learning a new martial art, is Team Malevolent China, the community of people I have come to regard as good friends. There's nothing else quite like being part of a team, and a team that rolls around together trying to put the other in pain is a bond that can't be replaced with anything else (kind of like the bond of living in China together). 

Training for Brazilian Jiujitsu in China is quite interesting because the new BJJ and MMA trends in China embody the tension between the old and the new that Chinese society is experiencing. As China rapidly develops its economy, it finds itself struggling to maintain the traditional ways of life that date back thousands of years while simultaneously embracing Western traditions (like Christmas) and ideas (like consumerism and individualism). The pressure to preserve culture while embracing innovation and new ways of life is a phenomenon that can be seen in many different aspects of Chinese culture, from the food to the language, as well as my own research on urban landscape transformation. The development of traditional martial arts in China is no exception. There are some people that want to maintain strictly traditional Chinese martial arts, but the reality is that the martial arts scene is changing around the world, and MMA and ground-fighting is a new movement. Although I don't think that traditional martial arts will ever disappear completely, it's only a matter of time before ground-fighting and MMA takes hold in China. At the same time, martial artists are using their training in traditional martial arts and adapting them to be used in the cage during MMA fights. Some say MMA will be the next Chinese martial arts revolution.

As important as it is to hold on to the past and maintain traditional values, everything is influenced by new developments from the outside, and such outside influence and new innovations can hold great benefits. In terms of Chinese martial arts, outside influences from Brazil are changing the traditional style of fighting that's been in place for a long, long time. Many would argue that China has a lot to learn from those ground-fighting Brazilians. After all, a fight doesn't necessarily end when someone is taken to the ground. It serves as a reminder that innovation, evolution, change, and outside influence isn't necessarily a bad thing, and incorporating the new doesn't mean that the old must be destroyed. It's about finding a balance between the two and blending the benefits of tradition and innovation. Easier said than done.

It's an exciting time in the martial arts community in China and it's exciting to be a part of these rapid cultural changes. It's fascinating to witness great changes not only in urban socio-spatial patterns, but also the transformations in something as deeply embedded in the culture as traditional Chinese martial arts. 

Chinese word of the day:

柔术- rou2 shu4- literally, "gentle art," aka jiujitsu (a translation from the Japanese word).