BJJ Grrl

"Be gentle, kind and beautiful, yet firm and strong, both mentally and physically." ~Sensei Keiko Fukuda

Earning the Turkey

on November 25, 2013

I have another title that also fits tonight’s class as well: “Widow’s Mite Jiu-Jitsu.” Because sometimes you give everything you have, and it looks puny & pathetic compared to everyone else’s. But they’re walking fine after class, and you’re barely standing and have zero grips left. (Thank goodness Tim did not have me do gi drags — I kind of wanted to, I know I probably should have, but I had nothing at that point.)

Short class tonight, but that doesn’t mean that it was easy. Started with rolling. Then a 5-min round of guard passing, and my brain absolutely blanked on guard passes. I could remember three. So I drilled the crap out of those three, both sides. Then partner’s turn.

Another roll. Then a 5-min round of mount escapes, and I could only think of two. So I drilled those two, though one has an alternate exit plan, so I drilled both of those.

Another roll. Then on the wall for 5 minutes of shrimping. With about two minutes left, Tim told me to make it double-time. Only problem is that I still had to do it in line with everyone else, and no one else was going fast. I ended up taking part out of the middle between two lines.

Rolled again. Then on the wall for 5 minutes of alligators. Hate. I started getting nauseated, bah. Andrew was trying to rally the troops by telling us we needed to “earn that turkey.”

I think next was the Shark Tank. Robert’s birthday was this weekend and Tyler’s was today; I guess because they’re two of Tim’s favorite guys, he decided to gift them with a birthday Shark Tank, lol. I took the first round with Tyler, and then Tim sent me out in my own square as tournament prep. Rounds were short — only 2 minutes, I think — but I wasn’t doing much worth anything. I wanted to move, but my body would just say, “Nope.” And after the black, brown, purple, blue, and green (under 16) belt had each had a turn at me, then a couple of white belts decided they were recovered enough to get in on it. Uh-huh. (In slightly good news, I survived those last rounds without getting caught in stupid stuff or strong-arm stuff [even though they were doing that a lot] and even swept them a few times and attacked once or twice. I had no grips by then and my body was so sluggish, else I might have tried attacking more. No one was more surprised than I at the minor successes that I did have. Of course, with the guys who know a thing or two, I was caught early and often.)

Then Tim “let” Robert and Tyler do gi drags, each of them getting half the class. Again, I knew I probably should have done some as well, and some part of my brain actually wanted to (I know, that’s pretty messed up), but I had absolutely nothing at that point and especially not any grips.

After class I sat for a while until I felt good enough to drive home. Robert and Tyler were still sitting when I left, I think.

(Oh, the worst — taking my gi off after class, I pulled the string on the pants the wrong way and make a tight knot. And my grips were shot, so I was all fumble-fingered trying to unknot the thing. I stood there in the dressing room for a while trying to untie those things. Doh!)

I’m writing tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow because this is about all the physical and mental activity I can handle right now.

We’re scheduled to get some nasty weather tonight, tomorrow, and/or Wednesday. So there’s a possibility that we won’t have class tomorrow night, if the weather is bad. No class until probably Saturday.


2 responses to “Earning the Turkey

  1. I’m kind of relieved to hear that I’m not the only person who has ever found themselves standing there in a bra and gi pants, wondering with growing disquiet if I’m going to have to actually get some scissors and CUT the fooking things off.

    • leslie says:

      Ha, yes! It’s happened more than once, but usually I have the grips and finger coordination to deal. Last night was terrible, though, because my fingers would not work.

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