A bunch of years back, I entered my first no-gi jiu jitsu competition.
I was bricking it!
We’re standing around for the rules meeting, and I’m clocking the guys in my division. Then I spot him. One of those lads who looks like he’s wearing a Superman suit under his skin.
My inner monologue kicks off immediately:
“Look at the f**king size of him.”
The organiser starts calling out match-ups.
“Please don’t be matched with that guy… please don’t be matched with that guy…”
Of course, I get matched with him. (Me and my mate had already christened him Mini Brock Lesnar.)
We step onto the mat. My heart’s racing like a lab rat on Red Bull. Then he takes his t-shirt off.
“Oh for f**k’s sake! Really dude?!”
At that point I had a little moment of bravado:
“He’s just a man. Same as me. Let’s go.”
The buzzer goes and a few seconds later he shoots a single-leg, I’m flat on my back, and I spend the next five minutes fighting for my life while he tries to submit me from every angle imaginable.
My final thought during that match was very clear:
“Yeah… he’s not like me. He’s WAY stronger.”
I lost that match. And the two after it. Fair and square.
But here’s the thing – I helped them beat me. I froze. The nerves ran the show. I walked away thinking:
“Bollocks to this.”
Next competition? Same story. Mostly losses, one win against someone brand new. Cue the ego kicking in to protect me:
“It’s a young man’s game. Not for you, mate.”
So I half-arsed training, turned up sometimes, skipped loads, did just enough to say I was “still training”.
Then one day my coach, Martyn, posted something on Facebook that hit me right between the eyes:
“Don’t bitch about the results you didn’t get, from the work you didn’t put in.”
A bitch slap of truth right there!
I’d been self-sabotaging. Comfortably. Quietly. Convincing myself that “effort” was optional. That’s when it clicked.
This wasn’t about medals, or winning 0r being the best. This was about something way older.
When I was about seven, I was fast. Proper fast. One of the quickest kids in my year. Sports Day rolled around – the big one – where the fastest kids from all the schools raced. For me, that was the Olympics and all I had to do was place top three.
The gun goes. My legs turn to jelly, heart racing, my sister screaming from the sidelines…
…I finished fifth.
I was devastated! Back then I didn’t know what had happened…looking back now, it’s obvious – I beat myself. The nerves won. After that, running stopped being fun, and I quietly walked away from something I was good at.
Fast-forward 20-odd years, and I realised I felt exactly the same stepping onto that BJJ mat.
So I made a decision…no more coasting, no more excuses, no more letting fear dictate my limits. I’d keep competing until the nerves stopped owning me.
The match that finally did it?
I fought a guy called James Orton.
He beat me – cleanly. Better technique, better jiu jitsu but I walked off the mat grinning from ear to ear.
Because he beat me – not my nerves!
I’ve never cared about being the best. That was never the point.
Jiu jitsu, for me, has always been about personal development and physical development. And that match proved something important:
If you don’t quit, you have to make progress eventually. If I’d thrown it all in, I wouldn’t have had that realisation.
And honestly?
That lesson has carried way further than the mats.
