🥋 Special Edition: Switching Gears

Welcome back to Tap Nap & Snap - the newsletter that’s going all long-form on you this week with a bit of a personal tale and some armchair philosophy.

This is a piece I wrote a few weeks back to feature in Chris Wojcik’s newsletter - The Grappler’s Diary.

He wanted an article that offered a different experience and viewpoint of the sport than what he has - which is basically the opposite of young, athletic and competing at the highest levels. I’m your guy! 🙌

Before you dive in - Chris is a top-level grappler (finishing 4th at ADCC last year) and one of the best BJJ writers on the internet, so hit that link to head over and check out some of his stuff, I think you’ll like it.

Switching Gears

Six years ago, at age 30, I walked into a BJJ gym for the first time. Like many 'young' men, I'd always been drawn to martial arts but had never taken the plunge.

I was a bit nervous about it and had been convinced to take the 2-week trial by a mate who was even more nervous, which didn't really help things. Despite that, I had recently been doing CrossFit and was as strong as I've ever been, so I was pretty sure I could hold my own.

We started out with the classic break-fall drills, learning how to shrimp, and practised a basic armbar from closed guard before the coach announced it was time to roll.

He pointed to a young girl sitting on the edge of the mat who had probably just started high school and said, 'She's your sparring partner.' I said, 'This doesn't seem fair.' He said, 'She'll go easy on you.' I laughed. He didn't laugh.

The next 5 minutes were probably the most humbling of my adult life to date. I was comprehensively out-skilled, outmaneuvered, and ultimately, violently choked by this tiny child.

I walked out not embarrassed (well, maybe a little), but inspired to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Obsession Activated

That was it for CrossFit. For everything I enjoyed about it, I quickly realised that BJJ had all that and much, much more. That week, I signed up with my local gym and started going almost every day to try and figure out the next piece of the puzzle.

I found myself down all of the classic YouTube rabbit holes and even struggling to sleep as my brain went into overtime, processing the previous day's class. I was proudly putting photos of my first white belt stripe all over Instagram and telling anyone who'd listen just how different their life would be if they came and did a trial class.

Cringey huh? I know many reading this will relate, though; this is the classic 'BJJ starter pack'. The obsession phase had begun.

The first 6 months of my white belt were all-consuming. Nothing was more important than getting to class; I'd be more than happy to skip birthday dinners and backyard catchups to hit that 6:30 session and even stay around for the next one.

As I said, I was 30 years old and realistic enough to know I'd missed the boat on being a world-class athlete, but I still saw it as my job to make sure I was keeping pace with all the 22 and 23-year-olds in the gym.

I wasn't that much older than them after all.

The truth is, at that stage - I could keep the pace. Using brute force and unbridled white belt spaz, I'd match all the young guys in the gym at my level and even give a bunch of the older, higher belts a hard time.

Even though I was technically 'Masters 1' at this point, I won a few against the younger divisions in local competition and worked my way down the path to what I have come to believe is the most exciting moment in jiu-jitsu for almost everyone — getting the blue belt.

No Blue Flu Here

By the time I was due for the blue, I was about 32. I'd changed gyms due to moving towns, but the premise was the same … I saw myself as one of the gym's young guns and needed to train like one.

In fact, the Blue Belt did nothing to quench this idea; it amplified it. Finally, I was the fabled shark I'd heard so much about, and all these guys were in MY ocean.

I kept training every day I could, would spar to win, and would always wake up feeling like I'd been assaulted - but strangely proud and happy about it.

I wore the constant sprains, bruises, and minor damage like a badge of honour until … one morning class session … 'POP'. Well, it was more like 'CLICK', but you get the idea—my knee went.

It wasn't this catastrophic blowout that had me stretchered off the mats, it was a strange sensation that left my knee feeling weak and clicking every time I moved it in a certain way.

Over the next few weeks, I kept training, but it really started to bother me. It would get stuck in certain positions and hurt like hell from time to time. It bothered me enough to go and get the dreaded scan and confirm that there was a minor bone adema, partial ACL and bucket handle meniscus tear.

Ahhh, the ol' triple threat!

What Happened To My Youth?

Now, I know that I’m older than some and younger than many on the mats - but in my experience, nothing makes you feel your age on the mats like your first big injury. It was frustrating, infuriating, and frankly, existentially challenging.

I was at the mercy of what my knee decided to do each day. Some days, I'd wake up, brace it, and get in for a session - praying the whole time that no one would land awkwardly on it. On other days, it'd stick in place, pop again, and make me feel like I'd dropped back to day 1 on the recovery journey.

Outside of jiu-jitsu, I loved to run, swim, play other sports, and generally walk around without crippling pain - and this was all largely off the cards for a long time.

There were a tonne of physio appointments, meetings with doctors, and cancelled plans - as someone who gets a lot of mental health benefits from their physical pursuits, it was a miserable time.

Needless to say, I was training a lot less at this point too and based on how I was measuring the whole thing - I was falling behind the pack. I wasn't in there enough to feel connected to the gym and my training partners, or that I was improving at all.

I definitely lost a bit of love for the sport.

Limped On Through To Purple

Thought I was gonna quit, did ya? I had my fair share of moments considering it, but I'm stubborn, if nothing else.

I got on a waiting list for surgery - but after a lot of good chats with osteo friends and physical therapists, I pulled out at the last minute and committed to a solid rehab plan + strength & conditioning program.

I slowly found my way back to the mats and began training again as carefully as possible. I went light, picked my partners wisely, and said 'No thanks' when I needed to. Over time, I gained a lot of confidence back in my movement and felt like the knee was getting stronger and in a much better place overall.

But clearly, the game had changed.

I was no longer there to prove I could match it with the young guys. As much as a part of me still wanted to (and still wants to), I know it's way more important for me to be able to get back there regularly, catch up with the crew, learn some fun stuff, and just keep moving.

We also have a little one now and it feels much more important to be able to match her pace than keep up with those who are 10 to 15 years my junior on the mats. They're going to get a lot better than me a lot quicker from here - so, the goal isn't to try and beat them; it's to learn from them.

This switch to prioritise consistency and longevity over intensity not only allowed me to manage injuries (yep, plural) and stay in the mix, but it also turned the blue belt into a purple belt.

Old Man Yells At Cloud

We all do BJJ for different reasons. Some of us aspire to be the best in the world. Some of us aspire to be the best in our gym. And some of us aspire to be a part of something that simply helps us stay happy, healthy, and connected to our friends.

So, why have I gone on this giant rant about 'switching gears'?

Apart from helping myself come to terms with it - I think it's useful for everyone to keep in mind that at some point, no matter why you do BJJ, you're approach to it will inevitably have to change.

Even the scrappy Ruotolos and wild Tackett brothers will become old men in time - and they will have to accept that they can't do it the way they used to. Their competition glory days will be distant memories, they won't keep up with the new guys and they will have to find a new way to play the game - or walk away.

Maybe you're nowhere near this point. Maybe you are firing on all cylinders, chasing down that ADCC / CJI dream, and getting closer to it every day. What an awesome spot to be in, give it everything while you can and inspire the rest of us to keep pushing ourselves too.

But if you're finding yourself slowing down a bit, getting 'outgunned' by the younger lower belts, or just realising that you want to be there for different reasons than you used to be - don't be disheartened, it's something literally everyone has to do at some point.

I'd like to believe that jiu-jitsu can be a lifetime sport for nearly anyone if they're willing to make the changes required when they're called for.

As I write this, I'm getting closer and closer to 37, and my knee feels pretty good, but my lower back is currently killing me. I'll be up early to help coach the morning class - so I'd better make sure I get my stretches in and keep the inversions to a minimum for a while.

It's a good time to switch gears again and try and work the top game, I suppose.

P.S. - If you've enjoyed this, I highly recommend listening to Ep. 304 of BJJ Mental Models with Trey Hucks on the idea of 'Beer League Jiu Jitsu'.