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Illustration by Drew Shannon
I could feel my windpipe slowly start to close as a high schooler squeezed my neck with both of his forearms. I probably should’ve been worried but I couldn’t help but laugh. How did I find myself here, lying on the floor and getting strangled by someone too young to drive?
It all started when I took a trial class at a Brazilian jiu-jitsu academy. I’m a casual fan of Mixed Martial Arts for many years and Brazilian jiu-jitsu is one of the martial arts in that mix, so I knew of the terms used, but that’s about as far as my knowledge went. I hadn’t done anything more athletic than run for a streetcar since I had turned 15 and was allowed to stop taking gym class.
I was just looking for a hobby. Originally I was going to take a pro wrestling class but my wife told me, in the most supportive way, “You’re too unco-ordinated, you’re going to break your leg jumping off the top rope and I’m not looking after a toddler and you.”
When I started jiu-jitsu, my greatest fear was that I would look silly wearing a Gi, the traditional uniform consisting of a heavy cotton jacket, drawstring pants and a belt. I was paranoid that someone I knew would see me looking like Dwight from The Office or a Mortal Kombat character that had really let themselves go in middle age. So I only went to classes, where you just wear athletic gear. That way I would just look like a regular, out of shape guy instead of an out of shape guy in an outfit that drew attention to how out of shape he was.
I was also worried about getting picked on, like I had in gym class, but everyone was exceptionally nice, which is even more impressive when you consider that sometimes I’ve accidentally put my knee on someone’s neck or face. It says a lot about me that my biggest fear when facing a 270 pound, far more experienced athlete isn’t getting my arm broken but rather my feelings hurt.
Eventually, I got over my fear of looking silly and bought a Gi so I could take part in more classes. Although if my fear was looking silly, I probably shouldn’t have bought the cheapest Gi off of Amazon without reading the sizing chart. I look like I am training in a very large dish towel.
Make no mistake, I am terrible at jiu-jitsu. After months I still forget how to perform simple moves like a knee slice or arm bar. Not to diminish the skills of anyone else at the academy, but it is easier to catch someone in a chokehold when they put their head directly between your arms when trying to perform a basic takedown technique.
I once had to tap out because I couldn’t breathe, not because of some expertly applied choke but because five minutes of medium-level grappling had left me so winded I thought I was going to throw up.
My son is now doing the Tiny Tigers BJJ. At four, I still don’t know if he fully understands what jiu-jitsu is but he loves the theatrics of his Gi (which he calls his jiu-jitsu costume) and the wrestling stances (which he calls poses), and he loves that he gets to take classes at the same place as Dad. I love that we get to share in learning jiu-jitsu but also learning that it’s okay to be new at something. Plus, I’ll know my son’s tricks if he ever tries to best me in hand-to-hand combat.
Taking months of jiu-jitsu classes has not actually done much to improve my jiu-jitsu skills. But it’s taught me something more important. It’s important to try something you will be bad at − something outside of your previous experience and skills, something outside of your natural predilections. You might find yourself surprised by what you’re capable of, even if you get strangled by a high schooler.
Scratch that last point. The most important thing I’ve learned is if you break a rib while doing jiu-jitsu, don’t ignore it for a week hoping it will go away. But all that challenging-yourself stuff is a good lesson, too.
Callum Wratten lives in Toronto.
