Right
about now you are probably wondering what to get me for my anniversary. My jiu
jitsu anniversary. This month marks my third year! Don’t worry; I'll give you
some gift suggestions in my next post.
| I'm gearing up for my holiday list. I’ve been really nice this year! |
Yep. Three solid years. I've come so far.
I’ve learned so much. I've gotten so much stronger and more confident in my
abilities. But one thing still hasn't changed.
I
still feel like the consolation prize.
In
the three years I have been training, other people (both men and women . . . maybe
even more men; take that, Keith Owen!) have come and gone. I am now one of the
senior members of my gym. But when it comes time to roll, some nights,
depending on who is there, I still sit on the sidelines like a wallflower. When
it’s time to partner up, eyes still dart wildly about the room trying to make
eye contact with someone else before me. Not the ladies, mind you. The ladies
seek me out, they come over with smiles on their faces, happy to train.
There's
no one on this whole Internet who could analyze this more than I have. Do I have a stinky gi? I bleach regularly,
even if it means my gi won't last as long. Is my breath less than fresh? I
brush and use mouthwash before training. I even soak my mouth guard in
mouthwash. I wash my feet, and other parts, before class. Am I a
spaz? Who isn't from time to time? I admit I have a small person’s game which could
throw people off. But in three years I’ve never hurt anyone more than an
occasional misplaced knee or head, maybe a bruise here or there, and usually my
partner’s had something to do with it, too—a confluence of wrong moves.
I saw Cousin of Shark Girl the other day.
“Hows jiu jitsu going?” he asked. CoSG recently earned his brown
belt. Hooray!!!!
I shared with him my frustrations.
“That's too bad.”
We talked about ways an instructor can, and should, guide the
class so that this doesn't happen.
Brother of Shark Girl overheard the conversation.
“You know what it is?” He chimed in. “It's that when you roll with
my sister, you never win. You can't win. Even if you win, you haven't really won. She’s 100
pounds. And if you lose. . . .”
I laughed. Whether his statement is true or not, this condition
stunts my progress, frustrates my training, and just plain makes me feel bad. I
have never cried on the mat from pain or fear or humiliation, although I have
felt them all. The other night after waiting for a partner to
switch in with me, I left the gym, got into my car, and drove home crying.
“Have you thought about going to another
gym?” CoSG asked.
“I have.” But even
though I feel passed over, this is the gym I've come up in. I know these guys.
I've been working with them for a long time. The next gym will most likely have
the same problems and it will take three years to prove myself all over
again. Same shit, different gym.
Sigh. And so it goes. The more things
change, the more they stay the same. The more I make headway, the
more I am reminded that I am really on the sidelines in this sport.
