Reflections On Wednesday Morning

The Fight To Win Tournament scheduled for 9/24 was mysteriously canceled a few days before it was to be held. I was a little bummed at first, as I wanted to go Super Saiyan on everyone.1 But the good news was that our second Open Door Seminar, hosted by my instructor and our team to promote fraternity in the Austin BJJ community, was held on that particular Saturday instead.

And what a seminar it was. Though the location only permitted space for approximately fifty, an amazing ninety-five people signed up. We received at least one representative from six different academies – and I’m not sure if that includes the fellow from Colorado who was in town for the tournament and, instead of going home after it was canceled, stayed for our seminar.

I’m going to submit official requests, in triplicate, for permission to cover one of the techniques here on the blog (like last time). For now, suffice it to say that it was an excellent seminar, and I have no doubt that all the attendees learned something valuable.


Tuesdays are one of the days when we forgo technical training in lieu of sparring. We do six-minute rounds, with a one minute break in-between, for an hour. In case you do not realize, my audience, a one minute break between rounds is just enough time to tie your belt with fingers stupefied by adrenaline, just enough time to realize that you are irrevocably tired, your lungs aren’t working, that your next match is going to be harder than the previous one, that that brown belt is not just trying to beat me but is trying to make my mother cry.

Before the rigor, before the exertions, before the training session (and after) it all makes sense though. We train hard so that it will be easier on the street, and on the competition floors. We train hard because it makes us better. I’m just writing to say that remembering these crucial facts can be, sometimes, difficult – as I wake up groaning in the morning over a squeaky bed, using all the colorful language I’ve learned over the course of twenty-something years, petrified with soreness, and grasping for the water and motrin I keep by my bed, like “Someone. Help. Me. Please. !”

Good training yesterday, friends. Thank you.


1. It would be really embarrassing if I lost after saying this.  I’m obviously joking.  It’s a joke.


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