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…

Going Backwards To Go Forwards

I started this week with the lurgy.

After the intense highs of last week, waking up on Tuesday feeling like a month-old-sock was a devastating blow. But (after a particular period of woe and introspection) it’s given me a chance to rethink my training strategy.

It takes a peculiar type of ballsiness to seek out a hobby where you invite others to attack you.

Couple that with the highly visible competition scene, and the endless flow of “I just benched 200kg, went rock-climbing and did a three-hour kettlebell workout, now I’m off to training” status updates, and it can seem like everyone is training harder, faster, heavier and more often than you.

Jiu Jitsu guilt sets in, and it is not always your friend.

Or more accurately, not my friend. If you’re 18 years old and just need a bit of competitive fire to get you out of bed in the morning, maybe it works.

For me, however, comparing myself to that 18 year old prodigy has often been a fasttrack to self-flagellation. Because as much as I might lament the merlot-fuelled decades, and envy the effortless movement and technique of those who took up BJJ in their teens, aping their training regimes isn’t necessarily the best way to go about things.

For one, a late-thirties body can’t just plough on through without rest and recovery (I’ve even noticed a decline in “springback” since my mid-thirties). And for two, beating yourself up every time you have to take a break totally wrecks your love of the sport.

Having hit a physical wall just one week into a five month trip was threatening to bury me. For my own sanity, I needed to find a BJJ lesson that I could learn from my sick bed. Here’s what I came up with.

From now on, I’m going to concentrate on the following when it comes to training:

1) First and foremost, find the fun again. Enjoy it. Go into each session looking forward to the challenge and work hard. If sickness or injury make that a less viable possibility, eschew the “but I haven’t done enough,” martyrdom, rest up and recover.

2) Put the overactive guilt complex to different use, and find smarter ways to get that RnR. Smarter training patterns, better eating habits and lots of Zzzzzs.

Right now, the sleep bit is pretty compromised, Needless to say, the California Suites Hotel doesn't boast a $40 a night rate because they've scored a discount at the custom mattress store. Our bed creaks, bounces and jettisons you floorwards every time your other half so much as stirs from their slumber - a recipe (on both sides) for a sleepless night.

We are also, thanks to a meagre bedding allowance, having to use our spare gis as pillows.

I am however hoping that our new apartment will have a less volatile sleeping platform. If not, you’ll find me on the sofabed.

3) Compare my performance just to myself. Not to the World Champion. Not to the 18 year old kid (ok, at Atos, they’re probably a World Champion too). But you know what I mean. My progress, my scores, my numbers, my game. Improve on that and sack off the comparisons.

Wednesday’s BJJ class was an excellent chance to try out some new perspective, quite literally.

Having spent the morning watching Andre’s interview with Budo Jake in which he talks about a new generation of guard pass, we spent a lot of our next mat session sitting on our backsides with our legs intertwined.

Andy is sick today, so we have recreated the move poolside for demonstration purposes (we haven’t taken up rolling on concrete).

Reminiscent of some kind of partner-based situp drill, this is actually the start position of a seated De La Riva pass. At least in theory, we have yet to master the complexities and orientation of the move. We might both be purple belts, but as Professor Galvao tactfully put it, “you guys haven’t done this move before, have you?”

Bypassing the usual “stand up, pass guard, sit back down again” rigmarole felt more like a game of 'Twister' than the patterns we were used to, and it’s hard to tell when you’re working and when you’re just tying yourself in comedic knots. Still, and here’s my evangelical sentence of the week, it’s inspiring to be learning Jiu Jitsu as techniques are developing, and not just in a “I saw this cool thing on YouTube” capacity.

Over in the Suples fitness studio, it was Tacfit time, and a definite chance to work on point 3 of the resolution.

Originally developed for military personnel, Tacfit (Commando) involves six exercises, exactly performed and mirroring fight movements, hammered out eight times each in 20 seconds on, 10 second rest bursts.

It’s kind of like Tabata in terms of timing, except in Tabata you aren’t keeping your other arm up to shield your face from punches (at least not in any class I’ve been to).

As if Front Lunges, Plank Push Knees, Sit Thru Knees, Basic Pushups, Spinal Rocks and Tripod Overheads, times 48 rounds, isn’t punishing enough, this week we were using our ten second rest breaks to note down how many reps we’d completed.Whilst Maurizio and Stephen shouted “get your butt down lower,” “stop wobbling,” “where’s the explosive energy?”and “put down that water bottle” at us.

Apparently the stress of physical exhaustion, combined with mental fatigue and overwhelming feelings of sadness and fury are also integral to the training, developing an athlete’s ability to focus under high pressure situations.

One wobby-handed, scrunched up score sheet later (it echoed my bodily state), we learned the twist.

Despite being told to maintain a steady pace throughout all eight rounds of an exercise, our egos had lead us into the usual “more is better/peak and slump” patterns. Unfortunately for us, it was our lowest scores across the drills that were being added up. The fact you knocked out 20 reps in as many seconds during round one didn’t count. The bit where you berated your very existence and scaled down to invalid pace, with a face like the orphan in 'Les Miserables', did.

Post analysis, I had some valuable insight and definite areas to improve. Overall, I hit 43, which isn’t terrible, but with aspirational scores in the 60s, I won’t be exhausting the range of Tacfit quite yet (there are also harder variations for the more experienced athlete).

I learned, from the wild discrepancy in scores between exercises, that whilst my legs and glutes are strong like a banyard ox, my arms, wrists and shoulders are weak like a farmyard chicken.

I also found out that doing three of the six exercises on a Bosu ball (to lessen the impact on those weedy wrists) had artificially jacked my scores up, and the next step would be to do them “properly” but with even less reps.

So, yup, scores are handy things, but sometimes you’ve gotta go down to go up.

We finished the session attempting to crack our own backs with Joint Mobility - as Andy is once again demonstrating beside the pool. Joint Mobility is one of those underrated arts that deserves its own post, so I'll be updating the blog with more uncomfortable looking photos later.

So, onto Week Three and a couple of crazy-ass highlights to look forward to:

1) Metamoris tomorrow. The wet dream of pretty much any BJJ fan, and of course, Andre Galvao will be competing against Ryron Gracie.

Quite often I return to the room to find Andy hunched over the laptop, making “ooh” and “aah” sounds and furtively watching the preview videos.

We’ll be there in person, wearing the t-shirt and cheering on the Professor. Excitement doesn’t really cover it.

2) Cristina Cyborg is coming to teach women’s Muay Thai conditioning classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays as of the 16th October. The Strikeforce veteran, and a woman who attacks a tractor tyre like it just walked up to Mr Cyborg and offered him a good time. Not quite sure how this is going to hit the training budget, so it's still fingers crossed for now, but if I manage to score a place I'll let you know.

Nothing left to do but concentrate on that rest and recovery resolution.

For Andy that means finessing his Berimbolo...

...whilst I focus on the more horizontal techniques.

The Atos Attitude

Three days after landing in San Diego, we took our first class at Andre Galvao’s Atos academy. We had made a visit to 4425 Convoy Street on the Saturday, but that was to mainly gawp in awe and trepidation, before scurrying back to the Suites to speculate what it would be like to train there.

My own relationship with martial arts, and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in particular, has been up and down over the years. After some hard-partying in my teens and twenties, I fell into kickboxing around 2004, during a two-week pre-holiday gym binge. I’ve always been entranced by contradictions, and relatively arsey to boot, so when the instructor seemed less than thrilled to have a girl in his class, it only made me want to prove him wrong. And at a statuesque 5’7’’, making my body stronger, fitter and athletically capable seemed more achievable (and mentally healthy) than the size-zero aesthetic championed by all the women’s classes.

Over the years I’ve felt a little chuckle every time someone asks what I do in my free time. I enjoy seeing the shock on their faces when they realise that the woman in front of them chooses to roll around on the floor, grappling with a variety of men and their sweat, for relaxation. And the day that I got my purple belt, back in 2011, was one of my proudest achievements. But with obsession comes a whole heap of heartache, and there have been some definite slumps over the past four years of BJJ training.

As anyone who does it knows, Jiu Jitsu is hard, progress is slow, and your ego and body take a pounding. On a day where you beat the odds (being female, 10 or 20kg smaller and a decade older than anyone in the class) it feels great. But after a run of weeks or months where you’ve been smashed into the mat and pinned down by complete beginners who have zero official technique to their name, it can feel pretty lousy. The black dog of “who are you kidding?” kicks in, swiftly followed by “you really should have started this when you were younger” and “everyone’s wondering why you’re wearing a purple belt”. If anything is going to mess with your flow and rolling, it’s being caught in a cycle of introspection. But, and this is where BJJ is a cruel mistress, whilst walking away will temporarily alleviate the embarrassment, long-term you will miss it. ’50 Shades of Grey’ can take a hike, this is sado-masochism at its very finest.

And this is, for better or worse, where I find myself on this trip. Since last summer my mat time has been seriously sketchy, my technique is rusty, and my body could do with an overhaul. In terms of timing, only a lunatic would decide to embark on a five-month BJJ sabbatical. Whether it’s my body or sanity, something looks likely to break before Christmas.

Here we are on the first morning of training. F*ck knows why I am smiling.

Andre Galvao is a multiple world champion. His wife, Angelica, is a world champion. A quick glimpse through the internet confirms that most of the folk on the mat are competing, and pretty much all of them seem to be winning. It’s no lucky accident.

The first class, where we focus on back control, is relentless, precise, and nearly two hours long. We do one position, over and over, flipping between drilling it (for two minutes) and specifically sparring it (for five) for six rounds. Note, I did not say flipping between drilling, sipping drinks, chatting about our weekends and sparring. It might be fiendishly hot, you will certainly be fantasising about the water cooler with the fervour of a Pattinson fan at a Twilight premiere…but until Andre decides it is time for a break, you stay on the mat, and you work. Hard and with zero excuses. We finish off with five rounds of non-specific sparring. There is a distinct lack of dickishness or egotism, but once again, the intensity is up there at competition level. Your partner will smile at you, but once you touch hands, you may as well be in the Mundials.

Our second BJJ class of the week, on Wednesday, confirms the same level of precision and relentless exertion. Format-wise we drill the same trio of De La Riva moves continuously for around 45 minutes, before dividing into groups of three, with one person on the bottom and the other two jumping in to attack for nine minutes at a time. Overall, it’s another two hours. At one point I get kneed in the eye and quickly realise that stopping to feel sorry for myself just isn’t an option. Even more so, I am embarrassed to have sworn out loud in front of the class, and manage to cap it through the next couple of eye jabs and scrapes with a bit more dignity and restraint.

A peculiar kind of ‘luxury’, I have two amazing brown belt women kicking my ass. Angelica Galvao is the Pan American Champion 2012, Abu Dabi World Pro Trials Champion 2012, Houston Open Champion 2012 and bagged third place in the 2012 World Championships brown belt division. That’s if my research skills serve me correctly, she’s way too polite to tell me directly, though her incessant pressure, aggression and strength would seem to rule out any element of doubt. Chelsea Bainbridge-Donner, the other brown belt, has, according to her blog, been training BJJ for circa 12 years. That’s about eight more than me, and in Atos years, about a lifetime. Peculiarly, these facts comfort me as I am wristlocked into oblivion.

The Atos academy is supported by a fitness studio, Suples, next door. Having sampled the delights of Joint Mobility*, Bulgarian Bag and a women’s conditioning class, I can confirm that Suples is run to the same exacting degree as the BJJ side of things.

Ex navy SEAL Stephen Nave and conditioning obsessive Maurizio Tangari are perpetually on hand to correct every last detail of your technique, all of the time, whether you want them to or not. Their nurturing brand of sadism translates quite often into ‘motivational’ shouting, which is the same as normal shouting, just with slogans on the wall.

The ceiling might read “Be someone special” but they should probably add “someone whose body burns like napalm” in brackets at the end.

The upside is that the studio has the kind of fitness toys that a martial artist dreams about – bone dummies, normal dummies, bars, bags, ropes, kettlebells, soft kettlebells, cycley-wheely things – and the drills are precisely tailored to mirror fighting movements (no running machines or wide stanced press-ups here).

The downside is that every single one of those toys will be used to torture you past limits you never imagined you had.

In the past week, I’ve regularly gone from “I’m just getting back into it, and I’ll take it at my own pace” through “how on earth do I control this bag/weight/rope whilst speeding up yet again”, “I’m not sure how much more I’ve got”, “I haven’t got the energy to control my face anymore”, “I’m gazing into the abyss of muscle failure/cardiac arrest”, and beyond, all whilst being yelled at.

On one particular occasion I wept silent tears onto the mat as my arms failed to complete a punishment push up. The shouting continued. Being good at something is cue only for a heavier weight, or increase in speed or technique. Even Andre gets shouted at.

Atos has a drinks machine, containing a range of energy-type beverages. Post workout or BJJ session, you will gaze into this machine, searching for an elixir to heal all misery. Nothing will help you enough.

One week in, and I can safely say, there is nothing comfortable about this kind of training. Mentally and physically it will break you. There is a very strong chance of Post Training Stress Disorder. But in an odd way, I console myself with the thought that what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. And (as I sit coated in Tiger Balm and aching in more ways that I thought possible) suddenly the idea of heading back onto the mat with a big white belt seems more manageable. I’m proud of myself for surviving. And if next week I last ten minutes longer before I cry silent tears into the exercise abyss, I’ll call that progress.

(*it still hurts. Think forcing your joints into mobility with a blend of mental and physical persuasion.)