One Closed Guard Forward, Two Arm Locks Back

Last Thursday morning (BJJ session No. 5), I was able to put my sparring partner, Haley, in such good side control, she spent the rest of the time trying to get out from under me. I even managed to wrap my legs around her waist and lock my ankles together for a closed guard position for a change. It was a toss up who was more surprised, she or I.

Flush with this tantalizing toelock on success, I spent the weekend surfing the net for suitable submission tactics I could employ. Leg locks--too dangerous, we're not allowed to use them while sparring. Arm locks--hard to apply correctly without practice. That left only choke holds, so I perused the Submission 101 website for possibilities. Hmm, the anaconda choke, I liked the sound of that. The regular triangle chokehold, a good basic to learn. Oooh, what was this? The Carlson Gracie chokehold, wherein you loosen the opponent's own gi with a tug, wrap it under his neck, twist and lean in for submission.

This morning during BJJ Session No. 6, I sparred first with Haley's sister, Keaton, who had to sit out of last Thursday's class.

"Oh, are you hurt?" I had asked solicitously.

"No, I was grounded," Keaton shrugged.

Did I mention they're really young?

We had spent the first part of class learning some arm lock techniques, wherein the purpose is to trap the opponents arm in such a way that you can apply pressure and extend the elbow and/or shoulder joints in the opposite direction from which they were intended to bend.

I happen to have these weird double jointed elbows, so I can hyperextend my arms the wrong direction further than many people can. So in theory, an arm lock applied on me would take a millisecond more to take effect, allowing me ample time for escape. However, as fumbling beginners, the arm lock is invariable applied incorrectly, so the sensation that I was feeling was that my partner was trying to break the bones in my spindly little forearms. We alternated back and forth trying to apply armlocks on each other with variable success.

Once we began sparring, Keaton proceeded to demonstrate to me that the "be kinder and gentler to the beginner" phase was over. Although she basically mopped the mat with me, and put me into two joint locks, I did manage to find a modicum of success. My skinny little arms did elude her several times ("Like catching a worm," was her analogy) and I did make it the full 4 minutes without feeling like I was going to have a coronary.

My next bout was with Haley, who was determined this time not to let me get the upper leg. She rapidly threw me to the ground (4 points) and sat on my belly (2 points) and tugged out the corner of my gi. Hey, wait a minute, haven't I seen this move somewhere? The remaining time was spent with her attempting to apply the Carlson Gracie chokehold on me with my own gi, and me flailing about with my wormlike arms trying to prevent her from doing so.

On Tuesdays, I typically go to the evening class held in Wimberley, but I decided to go this morning in Dripping Springs because Joao had called to ask as many women to show up to class for a photo he wanted to use on the website.

We took the requisite serious picture, then the silly picture in which the best idea some of the women could come up with was to give Joao bunny ears. There seemed to be a serious dearth of hams in the group.

"Come on, nice shot with my camera, everyone," I pleaded.

Joao never smiles in his photos-- I think it's an unwritten rule for Serious Martial Artists-- but I could swear that he is on the verge of smiling in this photo.

Pretzels Without Muster

Today I found myself on my back, attempting to throttle a woman who was lying on top of me. It was an experience without precedence for me.

She patted my thigh and I released her, only to find her arms wrapped around my neck, constricting my windpipe. Again, it was a singular experience for me. That is, until it happened again.

What I learned from my third session in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (BJJ) class was that it takes a surprising amount of technique to effectively choke someone. As I manipulated my forearms in a fashion that I believed emulated the instructor’s, he walked by and said in his rumbling Brazilian accent, “No, you’re trying to choke her, not give her a neck massage. Like this.” As he slid his forearms in a crosswise fashion, I did the same with mine and was rewarded by my partner’s tapping out to indicate, “Gaaah, stop now before my windpipe gets a permanent indentation the shape of your forearm!” At least, that’s what I am thinking when I tap out.

So how was it that I found myself sprawled on a mat in an oversized gi attempting to extricate myself from the viselike grips of complete strangers? It was a combination of factors, including the mailer advertising Joao Crus, 2006 World Jiu Jitsu Bronze medalist teaching in Wimberley, my own sad sack, post holiday shapelessness, and that surge of heady indestructibility and absence of thinking characteristic of teenaged boys or women approaching birthdays that shriek, “Get your mid-life crisis here! Time for that Johnny Depp tattoo on your upper thigh! Wait a minute girl, what HAPPENED to your upper thigh? You can fit a tattoo of Johnny Depp AND the Black Pearl, and possibly throw in Orlando Bloom for good measure because he’s such a scrawny thing.” I opted out of the tattoo for the BJJ because it seemed like the more useful mid-life crisis intervention, and less painful one. I think.

While the advertising mailer interested me enough to find out more about the class, it was really the instructor, Joao (the “J” is pronounced like the French “G,” the “ao” is pronounced “ow,” like Zho-ow) who drew me into the class, no arm lock required. His obvious expertise with BJJ and experience with teaching this martial art to women, men and children was complemented by an easy-going charisma that belied the intensity of his desire to instruct others. Thus, I found myself wildly and cluelessly grappling with a cute 16-year-old girl during a four minute sparring session, as Joao circled by and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not judging, just seeing what you will need to work on.” I thought of quite the litany of possible improvements, the foremost of which would be figuring out what the hell I was doing. However, I kept the thought to myself, primarily because I had insufficient lung pressure to force enough air past my vocal cords to whine audibly. Whimpering was possible, but one doesn’t whimper in martial arts as it is considered poor form.

Even with my uncontested novice status of having two official and one unofficial class (in which I came in to “observe,” only to have Joao invite me to participate), I recognized immediately that the position that one does not want to find oneself in is to have both of the opponent’s legs wrapped around one’s waist, with their ankles interlocked. So you can surmise what percentage of the time I found myself in that selfsame position. My sparring partners would give me tips on how to escape from their clutches, but invariably, there I would be sitting, standing, lying on my back or side, with their legs cinched around my hips like a human girdle. The effect wasn’t slimming.

At the conclusion of two rounds of sparring (4 minutes on, one minute to rest, 3 minutes on), my sparring partner unwrapped her legs from around my hips (where else?) and I continued my impersonation of a bathroom mat, the ceiling doing ferocious circles overhead as I lay prone in a pool of perspiration. Who would have thought it would take so much energy to not actually move anywhere? Note to self: must…work…on…stamina…

After our requisite end-of-class stretching, Joao passed out benign-looking slips of paper to the class.

“Your first tournament,” he counseled brightly. “Just do it for the learning experience.”

Well, it looks like I have 6 weeks to learn how to shed about 100 pounds wrapped around my hips. Maybe it’s not too late to get that tattoo…