Properly, I should start this blog with the back story of how I got into Brazilian jiu-jitsu, how I got out, and why I got back in. But though technically this blog has been around a few weeks now, I was not getting it done.
So here's what I think as I look at dirty gis strewn over every closet and bedroom door I have. Every time I have to wash gis before showing myself at Dark Horse Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu again, I'll write a blog whether or not I want to. I won't worry about how good or bad it is, or if it breaks whatever logical flow I may be capable of. After all, it's about progress.
And I have found that I have an anti-talent for writing about jiu-jitsu. Jiu-jitsu is about motion while words are flat and static.
Yes, some people like my writing about the barbell, but the barbell doesn't fight back. On a bad day, the barbell travels very close to the path I want it to, while on even a good day at BJJ, the opponent travels some path entirely in opposition to what I wanted.
Today, though, I just happen to have the right metaphor. I got to be the coyote who runs off the cliff and doesn't fall until he remembers that gravity can be forgotten, but it never goes away. I had just been launched off a shoulder throw, and I was hanging perfectly peacefully in the air until I remembered that I had to fall, and that this time it was going to hurt.
It's not, of course, that I'm getting older. Rather my youth is receding further away. It's natural, and overall it's a good thing. Here is how receding youth works: the body performs awesomely when it's doing what it wants, but it has lost some resilience, and it gets angrier than it used to when things are done to it.
I do not, anymore, want to take twenty or even five hard falls, but one hard fall still makes a good day. Once again I left Dark Horse taller than I entered it.
