Tag: BJJ Thoughts

So you started jiu-jitsu.  Love your original gym.  Made amazing friends.  Training regularly.  Never really thought about competing.  Along comes a NAGA or maybe a Grappling Industries.  For some stupid reason, you signed up.  Now your palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.  Just like Eminem, you’re trying not to vomit up your mom’s spaghetti.  You competed.  It wasn’t that bad.  Maybe you even won gold.  There’s an IBJJF Open coming soon.  Why not?  Your palms are sweaty…

Flash forward and somehow you’ve stumbled into being something of a competitor yourself.  Your sights on bigger medals.  Titles that impress others.  Gold that eludes you as you stand further down the podium than you want to.

Or maybe you simply rose up the ranks.  A well-worn purple or brown belt hanging around your waist.  You’re a bit bored, though, because you’ve climbed the ladder and struggle for tough rolls.  The sort that push you to improve and keep you showing up.  The way being a clueless white belt felt.  Now you’re spamming wristlocks on blue belts and yawning as you smash purple belts.  The only person that challenges you is your instructor and even then it’s a daily coin flip.   You wish the guys who used to beat you, but for various reasons quit, would show back up.  You yearn for a fleet of badass black belts to move into town like some motorcycle gang.  At the least, you wish for some tough open mats in driving distance.

Or you moved for a job, marriage, or different weather.  You never gave much thought about joining a higher profile gym.  Yet one is in the same city.  In driving distance even.  You check the commute.  Not bad.  You check their schedule.  Lots of options.  You check their monthly rates.  Doable.  You start to feel like Bilbo Baggins fingering the one ring.  After all…why not?  Why shouldn’t I check it out?

Or, quite simply, you always dreamt of training there.  Obsessed with their athletes.  Replaying highlights before bed.  Buying all their instructionals.  Never missing a match.  Doing your best to imitate their style.  If you had a genie and one wish left, the wish would be to train at this high profile academy.  You sell your couch and TV and anything that won’t fit in a suitcase.  You pack your Gis and decide to see what all the hype is about.  Scared/nervous (scervous? nared?), but you’re doing it.  You’re making it happen.  Palms are sweaty…

No matter your reason, you now find yourself training at a high profile competition gym.  Let me tell you what to expect.  At least in my experience.  Spoiler alert:  It’s not easy, but it can be worth it.

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Once in a Lifetime

When you join any new gym, it’s tough.  Your friends aren’t there.  Your jokes aren’t landing (yet).  Even the flow of class or instruction feels “off.”  Folks roll harder with the new person (stranger danger) for various reasons.  You’re not used to their style and vice versa.  No matter what, the first week or two (or three) after joining a new jiu-jitsu academy is rough.  Even if you are generally pretty, pretty, pretty good.

When you join a competitive school, especially a higher-level one, it feels even tougher.  It is tougher.  You quickly learn where you are in the pecking order and it may not be where you imagined yourself.  After being one of the best grapplers at your old gym, you might be second guessing yourself when world champions pass your guard with ease.  You question your jiu-jitsu, your belt rank, and even your desire to train.             

What you have to remember, though, is why you moved.  Or why you felt attracted to training at this competitive gym.  Often it’s because you felt bored or unchallenged.  You wanted to test yourself and grow.  Now?  It’s certainly challenging.  Which is what you wanted?  Right?  RIGHT?!

Try to remember the monotony of your prior training.  You trained with the same people on the same days, playing the same game over and over and over.  Now is a chance to shore up new holes or learn new techniques or evolve like you never experienced before.  At least at this (higher) level.  As low as you feel in the early going, there’s only one direction to move…up.

When I moved to AOJ, I was a purple belt that had medaled (as a purple) at Euros and Master Worlds.  I remember the gauntlet of other purples rolling their hardest against me, trying to scrub the skin off my face with a cross face and doing their best to add to their highlight reels against the new guy.  I resorted to playing half guard again and again and again.  Grinding out sweeps and over under passes.  Yet I never considered myself that sort of player.  My DLR (my main guard before I moved) didn’t last two seconds against anyone at AOJ.  I got whooped for days and weeks.  Or at least struggled to stay afloat.  Quite simply, it sucked. 

I didn’t want to default to playing half guard.  It’s not why I moved to California.  I could learn that anywhere.  I wanted the pretty jiu-jitsu associated with the Mendes Brothers.  Leaving me to choose between swallowing my pride and working on my guard retention, guard pulls, and DLR stickiness or grit my teeth and eke out training “wins” by playing half guard and grinding my face through over under passing.  I knew my goals – short and long – and the second option created a barrier between now and then.  I swallowed my pride and got passed.  A lot.  Then something happened.  I learned how to play a unique version of DLR.  One my late-30s knees (with 40s around the corner) could sustain.  Getting passed became rarer.  Sweeps became common.  Wins and medals piled up.

It wasn’t easy, but even on the worst days…I simply had to remind myself why I wanted to train at AOJ of all places.

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Should I Stay or Should I Go

After a week or two, the reality of training at a highly competitive school hits everyone.  Folks comes in with a smile and a sense of wonder.  They’re finally here, stepping on the mats, lined up next to world champions, and ready to test their abilities.  Then the cold truth hits them.  They aren’t at that level (yet).  Or at least the level they imagined for themselves.

Frankly, it’s a slap in the face.  When I joined, thankfully, the reality of being in my later 30s blunted any hits to my ego.  I wasn’t a Tainan or Cole.  Getting subbed by teenagers didn’t change my motivations to be there.  I wasn’t trying to “make a name for myself” or prove I could hang with (future) adult black belt world champions.  That was never my intention, yet that’s not true for everyone.

I remember when an athletic brown belt joined AOJ.  He was tough in No Gi because of a solid wrestling pedigree.  Clearly talented and moved well.  He jumped right into comp class and was placed in groups with guys like Tainan Dalpra and Johnatha Alves.  A tough introduction to AOJ, but honestly a compliment if you know how Gui picks the groups.

Meanwhile a purple belt about my size, but in his mid to late-20s, joined around the same time.  He moved from South America after winning many local competitions.  After sizing him up, Gui put him into competition training groups with me.  He was admittedly a handful and with a dangerous guard, but I enjoyed the challenge.  I did well against this purple belt, which only matters to this story.  After a few rounds together, he asked how old I was (10+ years on him) and how long I’d been training (overall less than him).  I saw him calculating the math.  If training at AOJ made me difficult for a 20-something competitor to deal with, what would that do for someone like him?  You know…if he stuck around long enough for the training to pay off.

Meanwhile, I saw the wrestler sitting on the benches after another tough comp class.  He held his head in his hands as he talked to a couple of other guys.  It made no sense to him.  Why did it feel like he couldn’t hang with Tainan and Johnatha or even guys not quite at that level?  Hell, he struggled against me in the Gi (No Gi being a totally different story).  All of it made no sense.

Flashforward a few months (even years later) and the wrestler no longer trained at AOJ.  I never heard of him competing…really at all.  The South American?  Now a black belt at AOJ that won a ton of titles as a purple and brown belt (Masters).  One stuck around.  One didn’t.  One could take the hit to his ego after realizing what training there did to anyone willing to put in the work.  The other…couldn’t take the hit to his ego. 

I’m not calling out anyone in particular, but I saw this a lot at AOJ.  Folks stick around for a week or two or three and then find another place to train.  A few others quietly keep showing up.  Day after day.  Week after week.  Month after month.  Then something happens.  They start blooming.  Gold medals and titles start stacking up.  The plant grows to the pot, but you have to stick around long enough to blossom.

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How a samurai ties their shoes…

I heard the the following saying recently.  “When you want to become a samurai, you need to learn how they tie their shoes.”  Essentially, what makes a samurai a samurai?  It isn’t the sword or the armor or even because someone refers to them as one.  Instead it’s the small things (daily habits, mindset, how they hold themselves, etc.) that add up over time.  Until one day that person simply is a samurai.  The compound effect. 

Another way to put it, “who do I have to become to get what I want.”  Many people want to become a world champion or be considered the best in their field.  Yet two things tend to happen.

First, people don’t want to put in the effort.  The dream is there.  No doubt.  Yet they don’t (habitually) do the small things.  Things like showing up when you’re sore or continuing to work new positions or finding the tougher rolls that will claw at your ego.  Instead, it’s easier to default to a comfort zone and keep dreaming.  This is the largest obstacle for most folks.

Second, is putting in the wrong sort of work.  This is a bit more tragic.  Someone shows up every day – motivated and hungry – yet their efforts are misguided.  They don’t have the right people around them to point them in the right direction.  Put another way, they lack samurais to emulate.

I’m a huge proponent of templates.  Much of my success (on and off the mats) stems from seeing someone in a position I want and learning how they reached that standard.  Many times it’s not inherent talent or blundering luck.  It comes down to the small things repeated over a length of time.  Many times it’s mundane tasks deemed below someone’s time.  As simple as repping out drills, asking questions, or showing up with a  positive attitude.  It’s the little things that end up mattering the most.  In other words, how they tie their shoes.

Being at a high profile competition gym provides you firsthand experience in how they achieved that level.  Whether it’s the aesthetics, class structure, techniques, or something else, it’s all there to be absorbed and copied.  Spending time there will teach you how to tie your shoe.  That is if you want to become a samurai.

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Looking Sharp

“Do you ever realize we just play our A-games?”

This was a question muttered in my direction from a solid black belt, as we lined up in comp class waiting to be assigned training groups.  Groups designed to challenge you.  Each round a dogfight (in the normal sense and not in the half guard sense).  Rushing to your A-game before your partner slides into theirs.  Too late?  Better have a backup plan to negate their entries and meander back to yours.  Each grip, movement, off balance ready to tip the scales either way.  The round ends and you prepare to do it all again.  For an hour.  Mentally, physically, and emotionally draining.  Tomorrow will be the same thing.  And the day after that.

Your rest day is the weekend or the day before a competition.  If you even choose to rest.

“Do you ever want to puke when we start class?”

A different tough black belt with an even tougher job.  No one would question this guy’s guts.  As we cluster in our groups, waiting for the day’s instruction, I want to puke or pee or anything to yank me off the mats.  Yet we don’t.  Even when we do puke (just a bit of bile) or get a bloody nose, we swallow it back and keep going.  Every.  Single.  Time. 

I wouldn’t say all this sucks, but it’s no day at Disneyland. 

Something happens, though, when you suffer through the nerves and grind.

I imagine metal melted down and folded over and over and over again until it starts resembling a blade.  Then the blade sparking against the grinding stone until razor sharp.  Now taking shape into a sword. 

I’m no sword.  I’m old and brittle and small.  Maybe closer to a dusty ceremonial blade found in some crypt.  Or a rusting, bent steak knife shoved in the back of a drawer or tossed into some ditch on the side of the road.  Yet parts of my jiu-jitsu are sharp.  Like the pointy end of my examples.  Or used to be (see also: rust). 

It didn’t happen by accident.  It happened because I kept showing up despite knowing I’m dealing with everyone’s A game and feeling like I want to shit myself (or puke) every single day of comp class.  There’s something rewarding about that – seeing the results of hardship.

You know there aren’t many gyms that could’ve forged that sort of edge.  Hence you take pride in being able to cut.

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Keeping up with the Joneses

A good competition school gets results.  Medals and titles stack up like poker chips in Rain Man.  More than just the head coach or their family stand on top of the podium.  The room speaks for itself.  What’s the saying?  A rising tide lifts all ships. 

I remember a random Friday class.  A bit lighter attendance as all Fridays tend to be.  I get it.  It’s nice to head to the beach or mountains a bit early.  Avoid traffic.  Get a head start on the weekend.  Tempting.  Very tempting.

We glanced around the mats between rounds and started counting the titles.  Belt, age, size, gender didn’t matter.  The room was loaded with folks that had won major IBJJF competitions at least once in their competition careers.  There’s something empowering about that.  We are all the Joneses and we’re all trying to keep up with each other.

You see Jimmy drilling between classes, you start drilling between classes.  You notice Linda studying film and asking questions, you start studying film and asking questions.  You overhear Bob signed up for the next IBJJF Open, you sign up for the next IBJJF Open.  It’s not necessarily a rivalry, but following each other’s lead.  You see their results and you start noticing what brought them to that level.

And trust me, they’re noticing you and your results.

It’s a vibe or culture.  Almost unwritten expectations to continue this steep trajectory.  The room continuously raising its level and you paddling to keep your head above water.  Again, it’s not for everyone, but…it will make you better.  By a lot.

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There’s dozens of us…

I feel (felt) horrible when I lost a competition.  It took me years (and moving to AOJ) to understand why.  It took me years and a black belt to understand a different lesson (and a different blog entry).  For now, though, let’s discuss why I felt terrible.  I disappointed myself.  My sacrifice and hard work didn’t pay off.  I hadn’t figured out how to win a major medal, even at the Masters level.  My time and energy (and money) felt like a waste.

Let me jump ahead a bit.  What does it feel like to win a major IBJJF tournament?  I can’t speak for winning an adult black belt world championship, but I can speak for many other gold medals.  Even though I cried a few times, it’s not as satisfying as you’d imagine.  It’s relief and vindication of sacrifice and hard work.  That’s really it.  That’s the take-home message once your heartrate plummets back to normalcy and you shove your sweaty Gi back in your backpack.  You’ve figured out – at least a little bit – what it takes to win something that “big.”

I was never that happy or overjoyed.  I certainly never screamed at the rafters.  Just relieved and vindicated.  And hungry for pizza.  Can’t forget that.  I knew, though, there was more work to do.

When I lost, though, it was frustration more than anger.  Although it manifested in sulking and solitude.  I felt I’d done “enough” for that gold medal.  Reality punched me in the stomach, yet a pizza still sounded good.  Obviously there was more work to do.

With a sigh, I wake up the next morning and start writing down what to work on.  By Monday, I’m back to training.  By the next week, I’m squinting ahead at the next goal.  In a month, it’s almost totally forgotten.  Am I talking about losing or winning?  Yes. 

I thought I was alone in these feelings.  This weird cycle of crippling aggravation after a loss and an almost blasé attitude when I won.  In 24 or 48 hours, back to the routine with a bit of high-stress data to work from.  Rinse and repeat.

What I learned, though, is all of us operate like this.  We care (honestly) way too freaking much about something as niche as jiu-jitsu.  Even the highs aren’t worth it because then another mountain appears in the distance.  The next goal to conquer.  Why do we do this to ourselves? 

When I won Master Worlds as a brown belt (spoiler alert), I remember Pablo Lavaselli asking me what I wanted to work on come Monday.  Not “how does it feel” or any other platitude.  What can I do to improve?  Not even for anything – another competition, a super fight, a grudge match with my gym rival.  None of that.  Simply for the sake of improvement.    

What happened Monday?  Amongst other things, Tainan critiqued my matches and showed me how to shore up some mistakes.  No parade.  No confetti.  Just how to get better.

I didn’t take offense to either response.  It’s because they knew.  We knew.  We all know what it’s like to carry that mentality.  It’s frustrating and rewarding and addicting, but in another environment it seems insane.  A bit too much.  Obsessive.  “It’s not that serious.” (And it’s really not.)  But it’s hard to tell that to your feelings.

What’s the quote  “those who were seen dancing were considered insane by those how can ‘t hear the music.”

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I’m just one point of view for training at a high-profile competition gym.  For me, especially for that time and place, it worked out well.  I wanted the challenge.  I found good results.  I learned a ton about jiu-jitsu, competing, and most importantly myself.

Every morning, running around the white mats with the smell of coastal California in the air, I felt blessed to be there.  I was there just about every morning.  I paid attention to every word of instruction.  I did my best to implement the lessons.  I watched how others digested their performances – not so different than me – and how I could do similar.  I tried using every resource available while training at AOJ – drilling time, questions/answers, other motivated partners, comp class, traveling to competitions, observing high-level champions…etc.

Quite simply, I felt like I fit AOJ or AOJ fit my needs.

I also saw that AOJ wasn’t a good fit for some folks.  I can’t speak for their experiences or why AOJ didn’t meet their expectations.  Again, I’m just one viewpoint.   As I travel, though, everyone asks what it’s like to train at a high-profile competition gym (like AOJ).  For me, it was incredible.  For others, not so much. 

Hell, I can’t even guarantee I would’ve enjoyed a different high-profile competition gym. 

The only advice I can really stand on, though, is give it time.  The challenge comes with a price (somewhat literally).  Your ego will be challenged.  You’ll wonder if it’s worth it.  You’ll likely think of quitting or finding an easier path.  You’ll have amazing days sprinkled between humbling days. Don’t quit because it’s hard because that was the whole point.  Right?  RIGHT!?  As the saying goes, “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.”

I like coffee.  In particular, I enjoy a half-sweet vanilla latte.  Some days I enjoy a simple 12 oz. latte with two shots.  Other days, maybe feeling a bit rundown, I’ll splurge on a 16 oz. latte with 3-4 shots.  Yet through my travels, my coffee habit (see also: addiction) tends to wax and wane.  In Alaska and Seattle, I grew addicted to morning lattes.  Maybe it was the weather (anything to warm you up), but really it came down to the coffee cultures in both.  Lots and lots of convenient and good options. 

When we moved to Atlanta, I ceased drinking lattes except on rare occasions.  Why?  A lack of good and convenient options.  And I’m not counting the Starbucks on every corner of every city in the US.  As much as I love coffee, I won’t bother if my options are nothing more than a chain.  In my travels, though, I’ve found great coffee options no matter where I’m at – California, Cincinnati, Canada, and even Connecticut.  Sometimes, though, it takes a bit of digging.  Other times…way too many options (like I should complain about that). 

I learned that coffee shops tend to fall into three broad categories.  Option 1:  Starbucks and wannabe Starbucks or maybe even “proudly serving Starbucks.”  Uniforms, aprons, and glass encased mass-produced pastries.  A certain corporatized aesthetic that screams “franchise.”  You know the coffee won’t be great, but it won’t be horrible.  Maybe a midgrade experience.  Option 2:  The coffee snob’s coffee shop.  Stark white or concrete interior.  Not a lot of seating.  Few decorations.  Probably meant to mirror grabbing a cappuccino in Italy where you belly-up to the counter, toss down your drink, and talk about the weather with Giovanni before heading out for the day.  No flavors except maybe simple syrup.  Either the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had or (more likely) not great.  Option 3:  A hole in the wall place packed with second-hand sofas and local art.  They roast their own beans or buy locally.  Near the bathrooms a community board brims with advertisements for local bands, writing groups, lost pets, and every festival you can imagine.  You’ll find your favorite barista and they’ll whip up your order as they ask about your dog (or cat).  Almost always, the coffee will be great. 

Of course there are exceptions.  Of course we all have our personal preferences.  Of course some coffee shops buck the trend.  Yet I’ve found a correlation to how the coffee shop portrays itself to how the coffee will be.  Maybe scratching a little deeper, it’s part of the overall business design.  A Starbucks (or wannabe) wants to formalize their product.  A coffee snob’s coffee shop probably expects you to pick up on the hints of juniper and lemon that any flavoring would hide.  A hole in the wall wants you to hangout and feel at home.  To each their own.  I just know what tends to work for me and where I tend to find a latte that warms my soul.

The same for BJJ schools.  I’ve discovered (for me) the 5 Cs of initially evaluating BJJ gyms.

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C #1:  Cobrinha Statement

Ruben Charles Maciel or Cobrinha is considered one of the best BJJ featherweight competitors of all-time.  He’s won IBJJF Worlds five times.  He’s won ADCC three times.  He’s won IBJJF No-Gi Worlds four times.  He’s won IBJJF Pans four times.  He’s won IBJJF Euros two times.  Finally, he’s won IBJJF Brazilian Nationals one time.  This is without mentioning any other amazing matches or his coaching accolades. 

Yet if he introduced himself – besides being confused you didn’t know who he was already – he’d probably lead with winning the Super Grand Slam in 2017 (winning IBJJF Worlds, Pans, Euros, and Brazilian Nationals, but also ADCC).  To his mind, this is probably his greatest individual BJJ achievement.  The first to do it and only one of two athletes (as of writing this) to reach this accomplishment.  Essentially a year of winning every major tournament in BJJ or submission grappling.  Working through injuries.  Eking out win after win.  Not giving up on the dream.  Staying dedicated and disciplined.  Gold after gold after gold after gold after gold against some of the best in their division.

Despite all the accomplishments Cobrinha could lead with, this is probably what he’s most known for or at least what he values of all his accomplishments (for good reason).  The same goes for just about every BJJ school and particularly coaches of that school. 

Schools and coaches always lead with their “biggest” accomplishment (in reference to martial arts/BJJ).  Sometimes it’s decades of experience.  Other times, like Cobrinha, an impressive competition record.  Maybe it’s their lineage.  Or maybe they have a well-rounded knowledge of martial arts. 

Whatever it may be, it’s pretty easy to ascertain what a school or coach emphasizes.  Why?  They lead with it.  They put their best foot forward.  If it’s a fairly competitive school, they’ll probably talk about competition results or frequent participation or team titles.  If they are more self-defense oriented, they might discuss the roots of jiu-jitsu for that purpose.  If they are big on the community aspect, that’s going to be front and center somewhere on their social media or webpage. 

Which gets us to what I first look for.  I go to schools’ webpages (if they have one) or their social media (Instagram, Facebook, etc.) and notice what they portray.  Are there lots and lots of pictures of smiling kiddos?  This probably means they have a strong kids’ program and are family-oriented.  Are there a bunch of pictures of folks with medals or standing on podiums?  That probably means they emphasize competition.  Do they post a lot of sweaty dudes with no shirts on flexing for the camera?  Well…that’s probably the vibe.

If I’m still not sure or maybe their school doesn’t have a robust social media presence (when traveling through the middle of nowhere, this happens), I dig a little deeper.  I read through coach or instructor bios and notice their Cobrinha statement(s).  What do they lead with?  Experience?  Lineage?  Competition accolades?  Philosophy?  What exactly seems to be the reason for this coach or instructor to continue to be part of the martial art?  I’m not necessarily judging anyone, but I am searching for what to expect before setting foot on their mats.

Which leads me to the four main categories I tend to notice.

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C #2:  Community

Vibes are everything.  If you’re going to spend hours and hours at some place, it’s pretty tough it simply isn’t your cup of tea.  The good thing about the growth of jiu-jitsu is that, in all likelihood, there’s a gym that fits your vibe and there’re folks that enjoy the tea you’d never order.  To each their own.

What do I mean by vibes?  Essentially the community – the people, the leaders, the overall feel of a gym.  Are they welcoming?  Does it seem like folks are friendly with each other?  Is this a place you want to frequent and not feel like you’re crashing a party?  Do you feel safe training there?  Are people supporting each other’s training goals and needs?  Do you feel you can be yourself and “vibe” with the gym as a whole?  Fundamentally, is this a place you could spend a bunch of time sweating, training, and socializing (even in passing…pun intended)?

How does one even assess vibes, though?  It goes back to the Cobrinha statement – it’s how a gym portrays itself on their website or social media.  Does a school show smiling folks of all sizes, ages, genders, and abilities?  Does the school emphasize off-mat events like holiday festivities, competition watch parties, and the like?  Are they involved with the wider local community?  Do they celebrate off-mat wins – a marriage, a new business, a birth, a graduation, competing in non-BJJ events?  These are all signs that a school has a strong sense of community. 

Inversely, does their website feel like you’ve stumbled into some shadowy part of the dark web?  Is their social media full of growling dudes talking about warriors in a garden or sharks in the ocean?  Do they highlight only one or two competitors (likely the head instructor and their immediate family)?  Or does the gym lack any sort of personality at all – just a basic website and a mostly abandoned social media page?

Fundamentally, what exactly is the gym trying to portray to the world or potential customers?  Who are they trying to attract and are you that demographic (or want to be)?  And that’s without even stepping in the door.

Community erases a lot of “faults.”  It can attract the right people, someone that can fill some of the gaps.  If your community is great (and you show it)…you’re going to attract talent and it’s going to be known as a gym that people want to train at.  Which is a lot better than the alternative.

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C #3:  Cults

No gyms have a perfect community.  Some get close or close for you (or me or your buddy Jimmy).  Different strokes for different folks. 

At a gym with no sense of community (or a toxic one), you can have all the talent in the world, but it’s going to be hard to retain them.  Often that talent leaves when it’s convenient for them.  It will be a transactional gym devoid of consistency.  Some days the mats will be full.  Other days it’s a ghost town.  People won’t be there to see their buddies.  They’re there for the rolls (at best) before heading to the next gym.  Everyone feels like they’re just passing through or it’s all clueless white belts that pick up the hints that there are better gyms out there. 

There are a ton of ways to flag a cultish gym – absolute authority, discouragement of cross-training and criticism, becoming involved in students’ personal affairs, us vs. them mentality, pressure to buy products or services beyond basic membership fees, isolation of members from non or former members, along with a bevy of others.  The thing that no one admits, though, is that all gyms have some of these features.  Maybe it’s something like a dress code or the head instructor is naturally charismatic.  One flag doesn’t mean the gym is toxic or a cult.  Yet once the flags pile up, you might need to start thinking about turning in your robes before being asked to drink the Kool-Aid.

For me, being a traveling black belt that has been around the block a little, I pick up on different cues of a toxic or cultish gym.  It all starts with the website or social media.  Do they emphasize “loyalty” or “family” (like Dom Toretto from The Fast and Furious) a little too much?  Is there a sense of “us” vs “them”?  Do they belittle other gyms, especially gyms in the same city or area?  Do they denigrate techniques and styles they don’t teach?  Do they try to come across as the “best” even though there’s no demonstrable proof that they’re indeed better than the average gym?  Do they lean into lineage more than tangible results from their students or instructors?  Do they talk about the “sanctity” and “purity” of the art?  It’s like the used car salesman trying too hard to sell you the Ford Pinto.  If a gym leans too much on intangibles and not reviews or results, something starts to smell fishy. 

What really gets my alarm bells ringing is what I refer to as the “local legend.”  Essentially it’s a black belt/gym owner that has grown into some sort of regional folk hero.  The students practically worship the ground the instructor(s) walk on.  Don’t get me wrong, there are some coaches out there worth the hype (ahem, Gui Mendes, ahem).  Some places have built a wonderful community that reflects the nature of the head coach/owner.  Yet too many gyms benefit from their students’ naivety.  The students are in awe of the black belt that’s been smashing them all for years.  They treat him (usually a him) like some sort of god.  Untouchable and unquestionable.  As a traveling black belt, I can feel this vibe immediately.  I’ve been around world champions.  I’ve trained at elite schools.  I know the difference between a Ferrari and a Ford Pinto. 

Whether it’s through social media, the gym’s website, or in-person, it’s clear everything is about the black belt and maybe one or two of their folks (usually family members – their wife, their kid, etc.).  There’s no room for anyone else or their goals.  As a traveling black belt, these gyms always get my hackles up because I know every roll against the instructor (and their inner circle) will be to the death.  God forbid I (or anyone) gets the better of them.  Ideas and techniques will be withheld (unless you want to pay for an overpriced and half-assed private lesson).  Ego runs rampant throughout the gym, although many times their level of success flounders at the local level (if that).  Quite simply, you either kiss the ring or you’re left out in the cold.  No thanks.

I understand there’s a delicate balance between a gym owner and their students.  A gym owner wants folks to train at their gym.  Part of that attraction is demonstrating you know what it takes to be successful in some capacity and continue to keep up with an ever-evolving sport.  As a student, you want to train under someone that knows what they’re talking about and has accomplished what you’re seeking.  Yet there needs to be room for the students and their goals.  Not an easy balance.

For too many gym owners, though, it’s all about what they want or need.  Most of the year “training up for a competition”?  Who is running the classes?  When do the students benefit from your experience?  Traveling all over the world teaching seminars or recording instructionals?  When do the students get to learn that content?

As a customer or client of a gym, I want my jiu-jitsu to benefit from attending classes there.  I’m not there to stoke the ego of some random black belt.  I’m there for my goals and my own progression.  I would hope that every other student or member is in the same boat.  We aren’t there to worship some random upper/black belt.  We’re there to benefit from the teaching, coaching, and guidance of the instructors.  Sometimes that’s tied to the instructor/owner’s success – knowing what it takes to be a world champion, etc. – yet at some point it should be about what the students are getting out of the relationship.  It should be about the students’ success.  Why else are we spending our money on gym dues?  To be a grappling dummy for the head coach?  No thanks.

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C #4:  Competition

Maybe we have different filters for evaluating gyms, but I still fashion myself as a competitor.  Or at least was a frequent competitor throughout the colored belts.  I still enjoy training with the idea that what I’m working on should hold up to competition standards.  That means being able to pass and sweep and maintain pins until securing a submission.  I also believe in continuously evolving and keeping abreast with the latest BJJ innovations that manifest at the highest stages of the sport.  In other words, I think competing is an important part of BJJ.

When evaluating gyms, I tend to gravitate towards places that value competing.  They can list their competition successes.  Even better, they can show their students’ successes.  Are a multitude of folks placing or winning a variety of competitions?  Is the school sending quite a few students to local tournaments?  Are a few of the more driven students or instructors training up for major competitions?  How do they generally do?  It’s okay if they aren’t winning gold, but is it competitive? Are they moving up the podium year after year?  Are they taking the losses in stride and working to improve for next time and the time after that and not just individually, but as a group?

Not that I expect gyms to be full of gold medalists, but I appreciate a healthy competition mindset.  Pushing each other to get better and hit our goals.  A group of us hopping in a car and driving to the local IBJJF Open.  Cheering each other on, no matter the final outcome.  Willing to put in the extra credit work to get better outside of normal class times.  Gym owners or instructors that give the freedom for the more driven athletes to thrive. 

Not every school can be an AOJ.  I get that.  Yet they can emulate that success by putting themselves out there on the competition mats, taking what they learned, and constantly striving for perfection.  Studying and implementing what the “best” are doing – training modalities, techniques, etc. (not including PEDs).  The work ethic is beyond the norm.  Beyond mindlessly showing up to class, getting a few rolls in, and then disappearing until next time. 

In other words, I look for gyms full of people working to be The Man in the Arena. 

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C #5:  “Competition”

Just like cult gyms are community gyms gone wrong, “competition” gyms are competition gyms gone wrong.

A lot of gyms fashion themselves as competitive.  Really, though, what’s the alternative?  For some gyms, this works in their favor (see: community).  For many, admitting they aren’t a competitively successful gym leaves a bitter taste in their mouths.  Instead, these gyms tend to overcompensate.  This is what I term “competition” gyms.  In other words, I’m really leaning into those quotation marks.

These gyms seem like a fairly standard competition gym.  They have a bunch of classes and folks roll hard or intensely.  They probably have a few so-called competitors and likely offer a competition-style class (however defined).  There are a bunch of scary looking folks on the mats, usually eyeballing drop-ins like a scene in a spaghetti western.  They refer to each other as “killers” or “monsters” or similar terms.  “Jimmy is an absolute killer.”  “Sarah is a total monster.”  They hold an open mat a couple of times a week and it’s invite only or known for being tough and rough.  Not so bad, right?

Here’s the kicker – no one does all that well at competitions (to include MMA).  In the words of Seinfeld, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”  The problem, though, is they have a million excuses.  They don’t like this or that ruleset.  They’re always getting screwed over by refs.  They’re always injured.  Although none of these excuses keep them from self-proclaiming how good they are.  “I would’ve…”  “I could’ve…”  Nor does it stop these guys from cranking submissions or rolling like it’s the finals of an ADCC on anyone that walks in that door, including their own teammates.

For me, after training at one of the premier competition schools (AOJ), I know what a good competition school should be doing (or emulating).  I know what a well ran competition class looks like.  I know what healthy passion feels like.  I know how to tiptoe that line between intensity and keeping each other healthy and safe.  I know what it means to prioritize competition wins over class “wins.”  I’ve seen what it takes to be on top of the podium over and over again. 

When a gym is more about appearances, talk, and shirtless pictures after class with almost no results, that’s a “competition” school.  When a gym is more worried about winning on social media and in the gym – their bodies and partners’ bodies be damned – they’re a “competition” school.  If a gym’s solution for competitive disappointment is excuses and “more hard rounds,” they’re a “competition” school.  If your claim to fame is “trust me bro, we’re killers” and you either don’t compete or are always going home after the first round because (reasons), you’re a “competition” school.

I don’t want to come across as elitist.  I know not every place can be an AOJ.  Yet I also see a lot of gyms that fashion themselves as total badasses and yet they possess no tangible results to back these claims.  Instead, it’s the sort of gym that feels more like a Fight Club than a gym helping you hit those (lofty) competition goals.  For me, being 140 lbs and 40+ years old, I say “no thanks” to those sorts of gyms.  I have nothing to prove.  I’m fully aware I’m small and old and beat up from life and this sport.  Yet somehow I keep going and somehow I’m able to train 2+ times a day and compete fairly often (with good results).  One trick…avoiding these “competition” schools.

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Not everyone has the same filters for a jiu-jitsu school.  Considerations like distance, class times, Gi vs No Gi ratios, and…can all play a factor for you.  Whenever I move, though, I don’t like to waste time (or risk my body) trying out every possible gym in the area.  Instead, I look to see how they portray their business.  Who are the clientele they’re trying to attract and (frankly) am I in that demographic (or want to be)?  To understand that, I dig through their website and social media to find their Cobrinha statements.  In other words, how do they present themselves to the world.

Of course I visit schools and lean into the free classes to evaluate whether I’m a good fit for them and vice versa.  Of course I see whether a gym corresponds to how they portray themselves online.  Many times it’s fairly accurate.  Other times maybe the mats are empty and the only pictures you see online are when it’s a special occasion.  Or maybe the instructors/owners say all the right things on their website, but the reality is quite different.  That happens, but at the least I can narrow down from the initial red flags.

Nonetheless, I recommend sitting down and thinking about how you initially evaluate a gym.  What goals you have and what sort of gyms tend to align with those objectives.  Inversely, think about how you portray your gym online and what sort of folks that might attract.  Is that who you want?  Are they aligned with your gym’s goals?  Many times goals change over time.  One thing, though, that tends to stay constant is finding a place with a solid community that you can (or want to) fit into.  That much I can’t emphasize enough.