What I Learnt At Atos

Today was our last BJJ session at Andre Galvao’s Atos Academy. We opted for the competition training. Something about the way we could have a four day break afterwards made us weirdly brave (not brave enough however, to have warmed up with the 10am class beforehand).

Two hours in we were more sweaty, exhausted and sore than we had previously thought humanly possible.

I had (accidentally) sampled a competition class before, on a day when Andy was injured, so was wise to the painful practices that went on in the 12-2pm slot (13 minute same-person-stays-on rodizios anyone?) but it still hurt.

Michael Liera Jr. pushed us through movements, specific sparring and speed drills in a manner that would have made Professor Galvao proud. Put it this way, at 12.45pm I felt utterly destroyed and like the class should definitely be winding down, and then we did another hour.

But as the Convoy Street part of our adventure draws to a close, I feel kind of sad.

I can’t speak personally for Andy (though having listened to me bang on every day on the bus trip home, he could probably speak for me) but our 11 week gatecrash of the Atos environment has taught me some amazing lessons. Even if I haven’t yet mastered that darn leg drag.

1) For a relatively small club, Atos has a disproportionately high number of world champions. We’re not talking “once got an honorary bronze at a local competition here”, we’re looking at several times a year, several years running at the top of the global podium.

Having watched those people train (and sampled the rate and precision with which they rip my limbs to pieces) it is a worthy result of hours and hours of drilling, every day of the week. You might just be touching hands on the mat, but mentally they have already passed your guard and secured 7 points, because they’ve done it 40 times at speed against every person in the class. Actually, mentally is the wrong word; they’ve done it so often it’s as automatic as breathing.

If you’re training for a competition with them, it’s amazing. If you’re up against them, be afraid, very, very afraid.

2) Given that disproportionate rate of world champions, you would expect to find one or two egos in the dojo. To be honest, if I even placed in the Worlds, I’d be wearing my medal to class every day. But you’d be wrong.

You’ll be able to identify the champions by the way they slice through your legs as if they were tissue paper, but bragging is kept very much on the downlow. And regardless of my very unchampionlike performances on the mat, everyone has gone out of their way to help me improve.

I think it’s a top-down result of having an eight times world champion with an obvious love of teaching and a devotion to his students’ wellbeing at the helm, but you get the feeling any progress you make is part of an overall victory for the club.

Which, given we could have just as easily been the BJJ equivalent of live mice fed to a tank full of snakes, is rather nice.

3) On the subject of winning, Atos fully endorses the “feel safe to make the mistakes during rolling” mentality.

People here spar hard, like they’re in a competition, but there is a distinct absence of douchebaggery, and no-one is going to mock or berate you if you try something and make a mess of it. The only mistake you can make is to just lie there, under those world champions, and stop trying.

If you score points or a submission, you’ll touch hands and start again. If they do, the same thing happens.

There’s a certain freedom in knowing it doesn’t matter if you have a bad day on the mats, and over the months I’ve seen myself slowly shifting from absolutely petrified, reactive defence lockdown to more practical defence, more continuous escape efforts and a submission attempt or two. This for me is big progress.

4) Respect is a big thing at Atos. Everyone works when Professor Galvao tells them to. Noone swears at each other or messes around.

But overall it’s a family environment (in both the literal and metaphorical senses of the word).

It’s not unusual to see Sarah, Andre and Angelica’s daughter, playing by the side of the mats, or with her dad before class. Many of the club members come as a family package and there’s hanging out across all age groups.

I’m not sure whether it’s because there are two brown belt women in regular attendance, or because Andre is so obviously enamoured by his wife, but as a woman I have never found anywhere as comfortable to train. Sleazy comments, pickup efforts, or antiquated “I don’t really want to go with a girl” putdowns are noticeably absent. I felt equal, if smaller and a bit naturally weaker, to any male student on the mat.

5) Jiu Jitsu is changing, it’s a fluid, ever-morphing commodity. We’ve all seen the traditional stand up guard passes and collar chokes, but there’s a whole world of new moves that are being invented to foil the old-school repertoire.

If you train at Atos, you’ll soon notice the predilection for close-range, seated moves, and inversion.

Well this week anyway (they’ve probably devised something more devious already).

We were in town just long enough to attend the Atos yearly grading, an event which even 27 x world champion Renato Laranja chose to rock with his presence. It ran an hour or so over time, and was filled with Professor Galvao’s proud stories of his students. And (in a completely unpredicted turn of events) both me and Andy picked up a first stripe for our purple belts.

Professor Galvao, Angelica, Chelsea, Mike Carbullido, Michael Liera Jr, Manny, Rick D, Matts Langford and Smith, Y J, Carlos, Jason, Sabara, Savannah…the list goes on and on, but I want to say one big collective thank you to everyone at Atos for making us feel so welcome, and helping to restore my interest and confidence in Jiu Jitsu. I’m very proud to wear that stripe, the t-shirt, and reflect your training in any way.

We only wish we could have stayed longer, and of course, we’re already busy saving for our allgalvao.com subscription…

A Mendes Minibreak

On 21st December, we fly back to the UK for Christmas.

Datewise though, our apartment is up on the 17th, when the new tenants take over. Our Atos gym membership runs out today, and our San Diego (crazy)bus passes are done by the weekend.

So for the last four days, we’ve decided to chuck everything up in the air again, and head up the coast to Costa Mesa, and the Art of Jiu Jitsu Academy.

For those who don’t know, this is the home of Rafael and Guiherme Mendes, berimbolo specialists and “new jiu jitsu” practitioners. Berimbolos and “new jiu jitsu” are exactly the kind of spankiness I’d love to be rocking on the mat, and whilst four days is barely long enough to watch in awe, let alone learn, we (me and Andy, not me and the Mendes) decided that coming back to the UK, only to look back and go “why didn’t we bother to take a trip up the road to the Mendes’ bros?” would be cause for regret.

They also work out of an all-white building, with paintings on the walls and a “white gi only” ruling, which is worth witnessing in person (even if my own practices are less artful).

As an added bonus, the Art of Jiu Jitsu Academy is also part of the Atos family, which bypasses that whole ungracious "pop in and train with you for two months, then head off to your competitor's school" faux pas.

In fact, plenty of the folk at Andre Galvao's academy have also experienced the Mendes first hand. Most of them have assured us that training there is "hard but great", though Manny's "it's like here, but there's two Andres watching over you so even less chance to slack off" has made our "twice a day, including the competition class" plans seem somewhat ominous.

So, the hire car is booked, we’ll be living in a Motel 6, and the only thing I need to do between now and then is brush up on the US highway code.

From walking/cycling around the Cali streets over the past couple of months, I assume this means you can run people over at will when turning right at the traffic lights, but I’d better check…

Blonde and Blonder

I mentioned back here how I was getting braver on the mats.

I couldn’t have predicted it, but the combination of gruelling training pace and endless supply of arse-kicking world champions is strangely liberating. Pretty soon you realise that there’s a place beyond “it’s over” (whether for hydration, exhaustion or depression reasons), a place where you carry on anyway. God knows it’s not skilled or pretty, but it definitely exists, and in a weird way I suspect it might be good for you.

And it’s an attitude that’s extended beyond the gym.

In typical chicken and egg fashion, it’s impossible to tell whether the training, or the chucking everything away and travelling across the planet to do it, kicked off the change, but I’m learning not to fall at the first hurdle. The inclination to chuck plans and schemes into the bin as soon as someone says “but wouldn’t that (insert concern here)…” is still very much ingrained, but I’m starting to take a step back, weigh up the options, and in a lot of cases, find a way around it. Or just do it anyway.

And post-tattoo, this mid-life rebellion has lead me straight to the bleach bottle.

For those that don’t know me personally, I’ve always been a dark creature. By birth brunette, I had a brief wash-in plum phase in my twenties, and have spent the last decade or so with jet black locks. Personality-wise too, I’ve proudly erred away from traditional “girly” and towards the alternative.

So, in no particular order, here are the reasons I shouldn’t go blonde:

1) I have so much black dye in my hair, it’s going to take several bleaching sessions to get it up to the colour I want it (ideally platinum, but will settle for that light “inside of a banana” colour they so rave about on hair websites.)

2) During that process, my hair could go dark red, bright orange, and dark blonde, none of which are colours that I aspire to.

3) It will totally fry the condition and my bank balance.

4) Having big, heavy boys, and smaller, technical girls, hang off my head in BJJ isn’t going to help that.

5) Nothing in my makeup/wardrobe/demeanor matches a sunny yellow-headed type.

So, those are the reasons why not to. Weighing up the “for” options:

1) Ever since I wore a light wig at a fancy dress party, and boys were especially nice to me for 15 minutes, I’ve wondered if the blonder types really do have more fun.

2) In addition, I have an instant crush on anyone rocking the punky blonde thing.

3) Whilst not cheap, it is substantially cheaper to go to the hairdressers repeatedly in California than in London.

4) Andy and an entire school-full of BJJ folk are the only people who will see me whilst I’m transitioning. No rocking up at the office with ever-changing fuzz on my barnet.

5) I’m going grey anyway, so “natural” isn’t really an option anymore.

A more sensible person would probably have seen a bit of shakiness in some of the “pros” but heck, sensible people don’t generally jet off around the world on a whim. Bring on the peroxide.

So far, I have spent about 8 hours in the hairdressers (4.5 hours the first time, 3.5 hours the second). I have had several turkeys’ worth of tinfoil layered all over my head in varying different patterns. I somehow skipped the deep red phase, but landed slap bang in carrot orange territory. And I am possibly paying for my hairdresser’s soon-to-be-born child to go through college.

The results? Well, the first time I had it done, I jumped every time I saw myself in a mirror. Despite living in the land of the blondes, I still feel like I’m subconsciously shouting “look at me, look at me” just by walking down the street. After a lifetime in the shade, the bright side is a bit of a shock to the system. And I’m now eying those neon items in my wardrobe with caution.

There’s one more bleaching session to go, next Friday. Before then, I need to get some moisture back into my frazzled hair – which means most evenings are spent plastered in goo and residing under a shower cap (lucky Andy).

Any initial shyness at unveiling a whole new hair colour twice at the gym will soon be overruled by my needing to wear a lycra swimming hat during sparring – at best, my hair ends up looking like this post-training, at worst it’s been shedding all over the mat.

Some days I love it, some days it bugs the hell out of me, but this trip is all about getting braver and breaking free of some of those “I can’t possibly…” patterns.

I’ll keep you updated.

One Month In At Atos

So, it’s been just over a month since we left the UK (give or take a couple of weeks, let’s call it “creative license” rather than “plain old laziness”).

We spent the beginning of November in Boston (more on that trip later) and the shift in location and temperature, along with some chunky moments holed up in a hotel room, gave me an ideal chance to look back and reflect on our metaphorical journey.

When we were planning the San Diego leg of our sabbatical, our ideas as to how it would be were mixed.

We were excited about training at an elite BJJ gym, and harboured fantasies where we would indulge in matplay on an almost 24/7 basis, soaking up information at warp speed.

On the flip-side, and given my six months or so of sporadic and psychologically troublesome training, I was also secretly terrified that I might rock up for my first class, get smashed about, cry pitifully and publically and then give up for good.

I’m not sure how well I kept this feeling under wraps – we did have a couple of roundabout discussions about how the trip might be a great chance for me to take up drawing.

As it happens, and perhaps unsurprisingly given the “let’s chuck everything we know out of the window and do something different and unplanned” nature of the trip, the reality of the first month has worked out, well, different from our predictions.

First up, and I’ve mentioned this before, the intensity of the Atos training came as a big shock.

This is a reflection on me rather than any of my UK teachers or clubs, but there are ways to use chitchat, loo breaks and brand new whitebelts with zero defence to cruise through a class. That doesn’t happen at Atos. After each session you will want nothing more than a four-hour bath, your body weight in carbs and hibernation.

If you’re on a whirlwind gym tour, or are ramping up for competition season, there might be logic in charging on through the physical destruction regardless and just clocking up the mat hours. But as I crashed straight into illness at the beginning of week two, and with a full eleven weeks ahead of us, I was forced to reassess.

So, one month later, what’s different?

Well, first up I’m training less.

I know some of you will see that as a step in the wrong direction, but I’ve realised that going into a session exhausted, sore and bitchy is a guarantee that I’ll forget the techniques, perform horribly in sparring and leave the class feeling frustrated. Jiu Jitsu is a sport where you ask people to bully you, there’s no room for a simultaneous “it’s so unfair” inner monologue. And whilst one or two off days might be par for the course, skipping the rest and then experiencing a 4:1 ratio of sh*t:passable was threatening to kill my love of the sport entirely.

It’s still a work in progress, but on those days where my gymwards journey is plagued with “Oh, the wind is too cold/my rucksack is too heavy/the bus driver is too rude” type commentary, I just turn around, head homewards and try and get back on form for the next session.

On the subject of unfairness, Atos is a place where pretty much everyone is likely to be bigger, stronger or more technical than you (more normally a combination of the above). There won’t be anyone you can tap for a quick ego boost and you will work your excuses all the way down from “they’re a world champion black belt,” through “they’re a world champion brown/purple/blue belt” to “they just won the kids section at the Worlds.”

Around the time I got schooled on the mats by a 17 year old, and out-Bulgarian bagged by a couple of 11 year olds, I learnt that a new definition of “a good training session” was necessary. These days I try, and again, it’s a work in progress, to give myself a pat on the back for smaller things (like movement, defence, stamina, attempting new techniques etc) and chuck the tap count in the bin.

It’s not the only comparison I’m giving up. My fallback position, and one which has threatened to ruin my BJJ path more than once, is to self-flagellate with the “you were better back in 2009” mantra. Despite being distinctly rose-tinted, and housing a very public burnout, I always envisioned the me of three years ago as fitter, faster and more invincible. And I used that belief to ruin pretty much any session I had since (the good old “well, it was ok, but you gotta work to get back to the pinnacle of yesteryear” defence).

In a rare talking (rather than shouting) moment, and after a particularly gruelling Saturday conditioning session, Coach Nave suggested that a start point of now might be a more helpful foundation for progress. I’m 39, I’ve got some injuries to work around, and my life outside the sport is incomparable (I have one for starters). For the coming months that’s the base material I’m working with.

So, that’s where I’m up to after the first month.

Because I’m only hitting the mats when I feel positive, training is a pleasant experience about 80% of the time (when it’s not, I look at factors that might have played a part before falling into the pit of despair). Thanks to the “no water, no breaks” regime, I’m getting used to challenging myself, and not just throwing in the towel. I’m starting to perform better, and to get my confidence back. And I’m noticing the wealth of new techniques on display at Atos (even if they’re used to kick my arse) and feeling inspired to get to grips with them.

The plan for month two involves a shift in schedule to focus on BJJ first, and conditioning second, and to take in more classes taught by the man himself (Andre Galvao). Along with that all important sofa time, of course…

Love Hurts

Because of the mighty moving fiasco, my third week at Atos had more of a conditioning flavour.

After two days battling with the banking system, and then dragging cases and bikes across town, the idea of inviting big, strong, technically vicious, and potentially heavy world champions to sit on my ribcage proved too much. Even masochists have limits.

That’s not to say the conditioning didn’t hurt. Remember The Atos Attitude? It still stands, even when the only person beating you up is yourself.

First up, and for the benefit of every MMA fan and female BJJ obsessive in my social sphere, let’s talk about Cyborg’s Muay Thai conditioning class.

I will admit straight up that having seen Christiane Santos’ training excerpts all over YouTube, my interpretation of her “Come on ladies, let’s get fit” invite was mentally translated into “I’m going to force you to hula hoop with tractor tyres and squatthrust till your nose bleeds”.

In actual fact the class was pleasantly ego-boosting, with a great rate of pad-work interspersed with conditioning situp/punch combinations.

As luck would have it, the first session had an odd number of participants, which meant I had Cyborg herself holding the pads for me. There is something wildly satisfying, albeit completely based in fantasy, about push-kicking a Strikeforce veteran back across the room (as part of the drill, naturally) with zero chance of getting hit back. My fangirl attitude even made me work harder, mainly because I imagine Cyborg knocks these reps out one handed (or footed), whilst simultaneously sorting her inbox/walking the dog/sketching her next tattoo design.

By the time we did the “one, two, three…Atos” at the end of the class, everyone was “glowing” profusely (well, it was a ladies class) and the two Muay Thai newcomers had been converted. I can only really afford one class a week on our training budget, but for the newfound swagger, I consider it money well spent.

From a nice ladies class, to a “nice” ladies class.

Coach Nave has been off for a week, allegedly on honeymoon, but I suspect on some kind of secret camp where they plot how to bring gymgoers to the brink of tears in shorter and shorter intervals.

This meant that Maurizio Tangari, fellow Suples at Atos teacher, was in charge of the classes. Suffice to say he stepped up, over and beyond the metaphorical plate.

By Tuesday, he had somehow found himself a stick (the only reason you can’t see it clearly in the photo is because he is waving it too furiously), and had reinvented the English language to substitute the words “nice” and “love” for the kind of phrases you shouldn’t utter when young people are training in the same class as you.

It’s going to take years of therapy to untangle the terror I now feel when someone threatens to “throw my love right in your face” or “give you more love than you can handle”.

There were plenty of “nice” exercises in the Women’s Conditioning Session on Saturday, which involved 8 rounds (20 seconds on, 10 seconds off) at each station, circulating through rope beating, running against elastic, rope pulling against elastic, shrimping and bridging with a Bulgarian bag, dragging and flipping the bone dummy and then freestyling the Bulgarian bag again.

Despite my idiosyncratic 80s style pose at the end of the running rope, it was fantastically hard, or to give it a Tangari slant, “just so, so, nice”.

Those of you who want to see us in action, and hear Maurizio’s words of encouragement can watch his YouTube vid.

Friends and family, I issue this disclaimer in advance – despite the title of the video being “Motivated Mums in Action” I am not pregnant, any bulging is as a result of our recent Chicken Dinner binge.

Maurizio is of course the man behind Joint Mobility, which I promised to expand upon last week.

Joint Mobility works on the basis that as we fail to use our bodies through the full range of motion, the oily stuff that facilitates those movements sort of dries up and we get gradually stiffer.

Where we (me and Andy, and I suspect a fair few others who have enjoyed the delights of the class) set ourselves up for a fall was by imagining it to be some kind of delicate pilates/yoga/general rolling-your-ankles type affair, accompanied by low lighting and whale music.

Soothing this is not – the way to get those joints up and running again is allegedly by contorting yourself beyond the point where you want to stop, in acutely precise (down to the joint or muscle you are working on) and difficult movements.

This physical and occasionally mental process (believe me, the point where you stop is usually just the starting point for Maurizio to prod, squish or pull you further) involves a fair bit of “discomfort” and concentration.

As such, “Joint Mobility Faces” are common, and I like to think (mainly because I pull a lot of them) are a sign that someone is working hard.

It’s guaranteed that the movements will make you look at best camp and at worst like you chew your own jumper sleeves. Given the studio is right next door to the gym office and men’s changing room, it’s hard on the ego.

But whilst my BJJ training partners crudely attempt to stifle the looks of confusion and laughter, I console myself with the thought that one day I will be able to unscrew my own shoulders and escape that arm bar.