How to Be Afraid of the World

More man stuff. BJJ. Marcus Aurelius. New poem, new tunes.

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At the beginning of September, I headed back to my jiu-jitsu class six months after having my torn meniscus surgically repaired. Since springtime, I'd gingerly worked my way through the physical therapy portion of the recovery. First, I took long walks with a weighted vest, then swung a golf club, then jumped on top of a box, and finally by the end of August, I was cleared for all activities. "Did you go back to jiu-jitsu yet?" the physical therapist asked. When I told her I had not, she looked concerned. "How come?"

I shrugged, but it was obvious—I was too afraid to go back.

For most of my first year of training, I was a scared middle-aged man trying to be less of a scared middle-aged man. Some days were better than others, and many times, I'd show up more confident than I had the week before, only to leave completely demoralized, feeling less like someone who could handle themselves in a physical altercation and instead extremely aware that they could not. Here's one moment I wrote about in a previous post about BJJ:

One of the more giant people in the class rolled over on my ribs, and I went to bed that night, concerned that something was seriously wrong inside my body. I woke up the next morning in complete agony and ran to the toilet, convinced my spleen or some other major organ had exploded, and I was about to start vomiting blood. I told Julieanne to call 9-1-1. "Wait, really?" she asked.

When the ambulance came, they sat me down on the curb, started taking my vitals, and asked me what happened. I told them about jiu-jitsu class and my ribs. They asked me on a scale of 1-10 how bad the pain was, and I said, "ELEVEN!"

I was fine. It was an "intercostal strain," when the muscles under your ribs swell or tear—a very common BJJ injury. Still, I stayed away for a few weeks and wondered if I should quit now to save myself any more embarrassment.

But I promised myself early on when I began to enjoy that if I got hurt, I would heal and then return. Random dings and strains are typical, especially as an older, jumpier white belt like me. There are also legitimate injuries from time to time–hyper-extensions, tears, dislocations, etc. That's what I signed up for—all part of the process.

In mid-August I finally went back but I would only do private classes with my professor, Mauricio, to test my body and gain some confidence. The gains were minimal, but enough, and by September I decided it was time to jump back into the group classes. I was rusty and tentative, but that wasn't a surprise. Then I got paired with a new guy I hadn't rolled with before, and after we were finished, I felt a stab in my hip. "Why am I doing this?" I thought. So I took another week off and then went back to private lessons again, but Mauricio kept pushing me to go back to group classes and sign up for another tournament. But I backed off again in early November—I was legit sick, then had an staph infection—but I also realized I’d some how become more afraid than I’d been since my first day of class. It was horrible.

Mauricio is also the owner of the gym. He grew up in Sao Paolo, and his English is still hit-or-miss. Sometimes, he asks me about online advertising because that's what he thinks I do for a living. He's trying to do all the small-business-owner things, mostly Facebook ads and email blasts, some with varying degrees of success. (His "Black Friday" membership deal was sent out to thousands of people as "Black Day.”) Last week, I had another private lesson with him—my first in about a month—and afterward, we discussed his plans for boosting membership in 2025. He said he’ll try to do the same things gyms do, preying upon people's desires to change their bodies in the new year to live healthier lives—comparing BJJ monthly rates to gym rates and then the added benefits of learning a martial art. I suggested he also add "Be less afraid!" to the list of BJJ benefits. "Many people are afraid of the world right now." He looked puzzled. "Why are they afraid?"

I told him I joined because I feared everything, had no idea how to function in certain situations, and wanted help. “And also…” I extended my arms towards the window, scanning around the city and the Hollywood sign. Then I realized I was telling a man with two cauliflower ears who grew up in the shadow of Brazilian gangs that Hancock Park is a frightening place to live. He changed the conversation. "Come to the group class this week. We miss you." I said I'd attend the 7 a.m. class the next day. He made me promise. "I'm gonna force myself to go no matter what." He smiled. I noticed his forearm muscle popped out when he gave me a thumbs-up.

I showed up at 6:50 the following day. It was cold and foggy, but I was already sweaty and nervous about sparring and training with new people—new people who would smell the fear on me. But when I got there, it was only me and Mauricio. "Looks like another private today, aye, A.J.!" I was so relieved I could have cried. But then, at 7:01 a.m., two other men arrived. One was about my size and older. The other one was a big, big dude. A purple belt, no less. A couple of others trickled in, too, but I knew, at one point, Mauricio was going to make me spar with the big purple dude. The time came with a little under ten minutes left in class. We dapped up, and he immediately sat his heavy, long legs on the floor. "I don't roll hard," he said. We began, and I tried to circle him and get in close, but not too close, or else he'd drag me in and get on top of me. I stayed untouched for about ten seconds before his arm shot out, grabbed my lapel, and pulled me into him. Then his left leg shot out and hooked inside my leg. Before I could do anything, he had complete control over my body. I was stunned at how quickly it had all happened. It reminded me of one of those nature videos when an octopus slithers onto an unsuspecting crab then sucks out its entire insides before it can even process what’s going on.

As he pulled me into side control, I could already feel his weight slowly collapsing into my lungs. I tried to wiggle out of it, but I was wasting more energy and fading fast. He was gently coaching me the whole time. "Relax, you got it. Keep breathing." I didn't. I gave him my arm, and he did a half-hearted key lock on me and let me live. He was actually a really nice guy.

I got home by 8:30 a.m. I drank coffee with sore ribs and a throbbing left ring finger. I hadn't felt that great in a long time. With my opposite hand, I scrolled through my phone to see what was happening in the world. I flew past the tsunami warning in Northern California and then turned it off before I finished reading about the shooting in Manhattan. All that will still be there for me tomorrow. — AJD

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