Faded dye. Loose threads. Peeling rank stripes.
On the surface, my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu belts are a display of my martial arts progression. But in each worn belt there are stories of sweat and tears, triumph and loss, challenges and growth. Like the changing colors of a seasonal rank promotion, I myself have changed, adopting new skills with each belt added to my collection. These scraps of fabric are more than my prized possessions; they're an album of my life's most defining moments.
Crisp white and too small, my first belt was worn by a girl who was eager to learn self-defense, but was anxious to try something new. Enraptured, I'd watch higher ranked students grapple, excitedly envisioning myself performing the same graceful Kosoto-gari throws and powerful rear-naked choke holds that I saw on the mats. However, expectations can be a harsh antithesis to reality: any visions of my future martial arts prowess crumbled upon encountering dive roll drills.
Deceived by its simple, somersault-like appearance, I vaulted my crouched body with gusto, only to flop onto my side like an exhausted cat. No problem. I positioned myself for another attempt. The same "floppy-cat" predicament ensued. Again! This time I rolled into my teammate. Frustrated, I began to ask my coach for pointers, but stopped upon realizing I was holding up the drill line. Over and over, each effort yielded the same undesirable results. Shame coursed through my veins as I returned to the back of the line.
Now, when I watched my classmates spar, I looked on with envy; it seemed like they were speeding towards a rank promotion while I was drowning in my own incompetence, marked to forever remain a white belt. This dismal attitude followed me until I met my training partner, Ann. She was a higher-ranked teammate and seasoned athlete, so I was flustered by the thought of her seeing me struggle. But when it came time to practice our dive rolls, I was surprised to see her fumble like me. Unlike me, Ann wasn't one to struggle on her own: she shot her hand into the air, immediately getting our coach's attention. With a patient smile, he walked us through the technique, occasionally allowing Ann to stop and check that I understood; within minutes, both of us could perform solid dive rolls. While this moment brought a surge of pride, it also opened my eyes to my biggest shortcoming – lacking the courage to advocate for my needs.
Realizing this problem, I set on the path to correcting my mistakes. Whenever I struggled with a move, I made an effort to consult my coaches and teammates, working to build both my skills and rapport. Forging bonds with my teammates also allowed me to adopt moves from their grappling style, sparking an appreciation for the lessons learned from each training partner. With each week that went by, my progress became more noticeable. Where there were previously gaps in my technique and hesitation in my movements, I could now see my skills improving and my desire to speak up develop. No longer was my white belt crisp and new; it was now faded and grayish, hiding memories of difficult, yet rewarding matches in its stitching.
Ultimately, my biggest mistake was struggling by myself. While jiu jitsu is an individual sport, it's not an isolated one. Ann, my coaches, and my teammates were more than my competitors; they were my best learning resources and closest supporters.
Since wearing my first belt, I've learned to change my despairing attitude to one of openness and determination. Challenges will continue to come my way, whether they come in the form of a jiu jitsu opponent or a grueling exam. Only I can put in the work to achieve my desired outcomes, but I've come to see that I don't have to face my difficulties alone. Now, I look to the future with anticipation for the next obstacle to overcome. Who knows? Perhaps a black belt awaits.
