Oh, get down off your high horse. You know you feel the same way.
Last night, I practically salivated when I saw a family come in, looking to sign up. An older dude, kind of on the small side, and his youngish son, destined for more muscle but right now stuck in that awkward puppy stage, with too-big paws and a gangly lope. The promise of their mother, too, a new female partner. Will she be small and wiry, or Swedish-masseuse burly? Who cares?!? Fresh Meat!
I am at the stage of my jiu jitsu career where I might as well be pregnant. You see, I don’t really eat a lot of meat, and never beef. But when I was pregnant, I couldn’t stop shoving the stuff down my gullet. My body was saying, “Give your brat some protein!” And I did. That year, I think I single-handedly ate the whole Thanksgiving turkey.
|Mmmm! I love me some unicorn!|
That is how I feel right now about newbs—the more the better. Yes, I am frustrated when they come in with their hefty muscles and their guns blazing. But, they can’t all be like that, right? And even if they are, I figure I’ve got a couple months tops to outsmart them before they figure out enough technique to add to their strength and foil my jiu jitsu plans.
Right now, I need practice, I need to play around. And with the boys at my gym, I can’t really do that. I just hold on for dear life. I need some training partners that I can dangle on the end of my paw while I try to figure out exactly the right angle I need to get that sub just right.