Flowing with the Go (11 page)

Coach passing Brick's half-guard (photo by Mike Baltierra).

Carly with Morganne and Cody in the chapel at Duke (photo by Quentin Sisco).

It's impossible to keep Coach in side control (photo by Mike Baltierra).

Training with Jean, a black belt from Brazil (photo by Mike Baltierra).

Catching Ed “The Champ” in a bow and arrow choke (photo by Mike Baltierra).

Brick is always ready to hold the harness (photo by Mike Baltierra).

20
Celebrate Small Victories

I
can remember the exact moment when Coach first said this to me: celebrate small victories. He was making light of an interchange between Brick and me, where I was certain that I was correctly describing a takedown to a teammate, and that Brick was confused. I went and asked Coach if I was right. And I was right! I was ha-ha-ing Brick
neener-neener
(in a most respectful way, because he is a coach) when Coach said, “You have to celebrate small victories.” Yes, I do. Dang straight! And especially in this instance, because it was the first time I had enough confidence with a technique to stick up for myself.

From that day forward,
celebrate small victories
became a mantra of mine. While I was training for Worlds, I had many a practice where I felt like I wasn't doing anything right. There was one practice where I was so frustrated, I took off my belt and threw it down because I wanted to leave (i.e., go cry). To this day I feel guilty about throwing my belt—it's sacrilegious—but Brick was holding the harness patiently waiting for me to strap in and do my sprints. Coach yelled over, “If you are frustrated, take it out on the sprints.” Beating myself up was not productive, and no one was going to let me get away with it. When you run the harness you have to think of other things because it's hard work: your legs burn and your lungs scream. After spending the first laps thinking about how pissed I was, I started to think about small victories. If I couldn't find one in my Jiu-Jitsu, maybe I could find one in my effort. I was running the harness—no one else was waiting to take a run. I could do it; my victory was that I was working hard. I was working hard, even though I had performed poorly at practice. And you know what? I actually started to smile during that harness session. My small victory lifted my spirits and changed my attitude.

After each practice, I made myself find one small victory to celebrate. Some days when I really got my ass kicked, my victory might be, “I got out of the
first
armbar” or “I didn't give up (the whole time I was being pummeled),” or “It's not as swollen as last time.” Eventually I was able to find small victories in “I got my sweep on so-n-so” and “I didn't get caught in that choke today (which I got caught in yesterday).”

Celebrate small victories. It was amazing to me how three little words could change my outlook. They helped me to focus on the things that I was doing right instead of the things I thought I was doing wrong. I became able to reframe how I evaluated my performance at practice. By doing this, I began to get more out of my practices.

I also began to use that mantra off the mat. If I was discouraged at work, or was letting my negative sad-self take over, I would stop, breathe, and ask, “What's your small victory today?” I could always find one, which would turn my frown upside down.

My own children and students have heard me ask them about their small victories. Carson was trying out for the high school golf team and felt that during tryouts he played the worst golf ever. All he could tell me about were his mistakes. So I let him vent and then I said, “You need to find a small victory every day. Tell me one good thing you did at tryouts.” And he would find one. After a few more days of this, he began to text me, “Mom, today my small victory was . . .”

Once, in the classroom I had been consulting a student who was distraught over a low test grade, and the student's dialogue was, “I didn't know anything. I'm too dumb for this class.” Without even thinking about it, I responded, “Let's find a small victory here. Let's talk about all the problems you got right; those are things you do know.” Afterwards, the student was not as upset as he was when we started, and I'd like to think that he felt better about himself.

Celebrate small victories. Powerful words that will reshape your attitude, your outlook, and your interactions with others. That's what those three words have done for me.

23
Believe in the Goodwill
of Your Instructor

S
ome women won't roll with certain people. They will only roll with other women, or small people, or the coach. I was explaining this curiosity to someone after telling them a story about a practice where I was partnered with a burly guy I didn't know. We were learning a choke from the back that day. Coach showed the move, and then we went to our area to drill. Drill is when you practice the new move back and forth between partners. I'm well aware of the idea of practicing at “game speed,” but in my experience at the gym, drill was conducted at moderate speed. My partner apparently thought drill was sparring because he was choking me hard. I got lightheaded and saw stars—that's how tight his choke was. I'm thinking that Coach will say something as he's walking around because surely he sees that my partner thinks he's rolling for a medal. But, no, nothing was said. I told myself,
I just have to get through drill, then I'll never
roll with this guy again.

Not to be . . . because on this day, instead of letting us pick our partners for sparring, Coach assigned partners. And who does he choose as my partner?—same guy. The look on my face must have read “you've got to be kidding,” because Coach said, “Oh, so you've already decided you can't do it?”
Humph, I can do it, but I might not live, but
fine—be that way.
Now there was no way I was not going to roll with this guy:
I'll show you.
In Coaching 101, we call this mind-fucking. I dove in and rolled. And the guy rolled hard. Knee-on-belly times ten, heavy transitions, mount to armbars and chokes.

As I told this story to my friend, she was shocked: “What a jerk. Why didn't you say you wouldn't do it? You have to protect yourself. I mean, that's one of your rights.”

“Yeah, yeah, I suppose.”

And then she more thoughtfully asked, “What do you think of those women who won't roll with guys like that?” Without hesitating, I said, “That they are pussies.”

That night after class, however, I wasn't thinking about anyone else's rolling preferences. I was pissed. I mean I was really stewing.

“Damn freaking beast probably hates women. What the hell, I can't believe I had to roll with him—that Coach made me roll with him when he knows that guy is an a-hole.” (Actually, he is a nice guy, but this was my first impression.) I harbored ill will that night at class. I wouldn't even look at Coach after that. I felt like I had been someone's grappling dummy. After class, I grabbed my stuff and stormed outside to my car. Naturally I had a text from coach Brick asking, “How was class?”

I just started bawling. All I could do was talk to myself:

What are you doing?

No one takes you seriously.

Why do you do this?

You are just in there getting beat up on.

And then I took some deep breaths and regained my composure. It's interesting how lucid you can be when Gollum stops arguing with Sméagol in your head. I was struck by a single thought:
James is
your coach.
And Saulo Ribeiro says, “Believe in the goodwill of your instructor.”

At that very moment, it all became very clear. I knew that Coach would not put me into a situation he didn't think I could handle. I knew he had my best interest in mind. And if it was a test, then I had passed. I hadn't quit. I didn't lie there and do nothing during the sparring session. No, I battled. In fact, I think The Guy only submitted me once. Or maybe he didn't submit me at all . . . I don't recall . . . because the entire roll was a whirlwind of survival and rebellion against the injustice of it all. Still, I stuck it out.