Championship Match

I went to my fifth BJJ tournament with the intention to win. As in WIN IT WIN THE GOLD MEDAL.  

Result: I did.  I decisively defeated two opponents in my division and took the medal. On the mat, during the fight, I was amped, yet fluid.  My teammates started calling me macoco, even though Professor was a tad unsatisfied at all the jumpy mistakes I made.  I could have won by more points than I did. After the championship match I thought he was going to make me do pushups for the two really bad mistakes I made.

After the final match was over, and I was resting, it was like a whole new world had opened up.  I can win any fight.  Or, more precisely, any fight is winnable. It was really that simple. What happens on the mat is heavily influenced by my intention when I step out there. I would have been perfectly fine with a loss, but I was going to sacrifice my eyeteeth for success. In short, I fought for it.

And then I started living my life the next day, and fighting for it was all over my life. No, not combatitive. But taking the initiative, everywhere. Letting others speak up when they have an issue and be responsible for their reactions. Let others react to my doing. A little cockyness where required. Bold actions. Contentedness. Even if things unravel I can pull them back, force of will, and make it work. Optimism is the new violence in this age of 44. The will to make the possible into reality is all we've ever needed.

Four days after the gold, Professor rolled with me for an extended period. I've been fortunate to roll with the new black belt from Brazil for the weeks leading up to my tournament: he is younger than me, much bigger, and not gentle.  It took my game from so-so to champ in short order.  But I haven't rolled with Professor in a while.  Everyone finished early, exhausted, and so it was the two of us, our endurance off the charts, ready to roll.  He often escapes my guard and stands up and runs around me on the mat.  I keep my ass wisely planted on the mat, because he can so easily take me down.  But this time he wasn't playing, he was fight-fighting me.  He insisted I stand up.  I went for a crazy slide takedown he taught me 20 months ago; at the same time he tried a forward trip move. I slipped, he slipped, and his shin landed on the top of my foot.  I yelled OW of course and stopped.  He said "do not stop" and I said "yes sir" and we continued. My body was going to do whatever I told it to do.

Comments

[Scott]

Nice work!

[ricardo]

minx...
all that time. the contributions of some lag by a tail these days. i thought you might have lost your spine. cheap grants abound and very little language ability to show beyond the trite iterations of pig latin and the trough that comes with a cliched notion of change -- the only change that i've noticed is that queer men have lost color to the tag of gay as merely an abercrombie catalog. that's uplifting. but, you know how those ghostwriters can be -- people pretending to be someone they're not -- like an iron mask.

[David from the Great White North]

AWESOME! Congratulations!

[ricardo]

congrats to progress on the mat. last posting is relative to recent experience at the eagle via your posting. an anniversary celebration -- so they say. well then, what happened to the festivities ?? perhaps, it's abusive rather than inclusive posturing as sparring yet is rather domestic violence as entertainment. you seem to have made progress to the notches on postings -- it's great to see that some have.

[Joe Clark]

What language is Ricardo using in his comments here?