Adam
blue belt
I see jiu-jitsu developing a core set of skills that impact my entire life, as well as build interesting and important relationships with people I probably would never have met otherwise.
When it comes to self-defense, I’m more aware on the street now. I’m also confident I have tools if I ever need them. Most people have never fought or trained, so they walk around with a false sense of confidence. I walk around knowing what it feels like to be dominated and to dominate. I’ve felt what it’s like to be crushed on the mat, and I’ve worked hard to develop the skills to prevent that. That knowledge changes how you carry yourself.
When you do something really hard, you develop grit. I’ve done Ironmans and ultra marathons, but nothing I’ve experienced is more of a grind than jiu-jitsu. It puts everything else into perspective.
Jiu-jitsu forces you to think clearly when someone is attacking you. You can’t panic. You can’t freeze. You learn to stay calm, assess, and find solutions—even when things are going badly. Problem-solving under pressure is a skill that transfers to everything: work, parenting, life.
You get humbled constantly on the mat. As adults, we don’t get many other doses of humility, yet we need it. It teaches you to be okay with not having all the answers. You learn that there’s always someone better, always more to learn, and that’s not a threat but simply reality.
Progress is slow and nonlinear. You’ll feel stuck for months, then suddenly something clicks. The mat teaches you to trust the process and stop expecting instant results. That’s a hard lesson, and most things in life don’t force you to learn it the way jiu-jitsu does.
Finally, you learn to separate your ego from outcomes. Losing a round doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Getting tapped by someone smaller or less experienced doesn’t diminish you. You learn to take the lesson and move on. That’s a skill most people never develop.
Q: How long have you been training, and what brought you through the door?
I’ve been training for almost five years. Two years at Midtown, then I quit for 10 years, and now I’m back for another 2.5 years.
Walking in that first time wasn’t hard because I’m game for anything once. But returning, knowing how difficult jiu-jitsu is, was the test. It’s a fork in the road: “I will never do this again” or “I need to learn this.” I needed to learn it.
At first, I was very out of shape and often got injured. After two years, the injuries had taken the joy out of it. But there’s something about quitting jiu-jitsu that doesn’t sit right. It’s unfinished business. It nagged at me in a way other things never have. I dreamed about it for years after I quit. Literally dreamed of classes and training. I was destined to return, but I needed a catalyst. That came when my kids started training. Watching them on the mat while I sat on the sidelines was tough. I wanted to share it with them, not just spectate. And my friend John—whom I had convinced to start—asked why I wasn’t training anymore. I didn’t have a good answer.
When I returned, I was 10 years older but also now had years of endurance training. So I was much better prepared physically. And wiser. The key to avoiding injury in jiu-jitsu is a combination of relaxation, listening to your body, and a bit of luck. By the time I came back, I had “listening to my body” dialed in from all those years of endurance work. Relaxation comes with mat time, which I continue to gain. And luck is luck.
So I thank John and my kids for pulling me back. Best decision I’ve made.
Q: What does your rank mean to you?
A blue belt means a lot to me. It’s easy for some grizzled old black belt to say belts don’t matter. But it matters to me.
Part of it is the time factor. Endurance events have a finish line measured in hours. Belts are measured in years. You can’t cram for it. You can’t just gut out one hard day. You have to show up, over and over, for a very long time. And there’s a subjectivity to it that makes it hit different. You can’t just complete your way to a belt. Someone has to look at you and decide you’re ready. That recognition from people who’ve been doing this for decades is meaningful.
Jiu-jitsu is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, physically and mentally. So even though it’s just a “silly belt,” it signifies perseverance. Struggle. Recognition from experts that I’m progressing. It’s proof I didn’t quit. When I get my purple belt, it’s going to be one of the most important achievements of my life, outside of raising kids and being a good husband. I’m not embarrassed to say that.
Q: When you first started, what were your goals or expectations?
I recall taking it day by day and just trying not to quit, trying to survive. White-knuckling it from the start. That was a bad approach. I didn’t make many friends. I wasn’t investing in the community and the one I was in was very transient. People didn’t stay long in the HQ white-belt room, so it was hard to form lasting relationships in that environment. Eventually, I washed out.
The second time around, I came back with a different mindset. My goals now are simple: skill-building and friendship-building. That’s the recipe for long-term survival in this thing. The metrics shift over time too. Early on, it’s “I want to win rounds.” Then it becomes “I want to understand what’s actually happening.” Eventually, it’s “I want to be doing this at 60.” The goals mature as you do.
I’d recommend that new practitioners focus on building skills. Don’t worry about how good others are. Don’t obsess over losing a round. And build as many friendships as possible. That’s the secret sauce: friendships will keep you from quitting. It’s easy to walk away from a group of strangers. It’s tough to walk away from people you know and care about.
Q: Tell me about your early days on the mats.
The most vivid memory I have is some small guy—maybe 5’2”, 120 lbs—absolutely wrecking me. He was a three-stripe white belt. As far as I was concerned, he was a god. It’s funny, though. Now that I know more, that was the blind leading the blind. But that’s how steep the learning curve is. Someone six months ahead of you feels like they’re a decade ahead. The gap between “brand new” and “slightly less new” is enormous. It’s humbling and it hooked me because I couldn’t understand how this could be… I needed to learn this voodoo magic.
Q: Do you spend time with teammates outside the gym?
As I mentioned, friendship and community are the secret sauce for survival in this sport. I take any opportunities to nurture that.
When a bunch of jiu-jitsu guys get together, sure, we talk jiu-jitsu, but mostly we’re chill and having fun. It’s not a group of thugs looking for a fight; that’s the cultural difference. And I love the diversity. Your training partners span all walks of life—doctors, plumbers, executives, artists, college kids, and retirees. You end up friends with people you’d never cross paths with otherwise. The mat is the great equalizer.
There’s an unspoken bond with people you’ve rolled with. You skip the small talk phase of friendship. When you’ve struggled together, been vulnerable together, tapped each other out, you know each other differently.
Jiu-jitsu also teaches you the skills and confidence to avoid fights. I do not need to prove anything to that guy at the bar. I know what I’m capable of, but I have way more to lose than gain. No thanks. That quiet confidence is one of the best gifts jiu-jitsu gives you.
Q: Have you ever witnessed or been part of a “mat enforcer” moment?
There was a young Marine in town training at our gym over the holidays. He was talking some shit. He probably had no bad intentions, just young, dumb, and full of cum, as they say. I drilled with him, but I knew I shouldn’t roll with him. It was a bad matchup and he seemed ready to kill. So I did what any wise middle-aged man would do—I introduced him to the toughest guy I know in our gym, a fellow Marine, world champion medalist, and stronger than an ox.
Ruben rolled with him and made sure he understood his place on our mat. Problem solved. No drama. Just jiu-jitsu doing what jiu-jitsu does. These things sort themselves out on the mat 99% of the time. Jiu-jitsu attracts good people and bad apples get weeded out fast. This guy above was not a bad apple. He was respectful and even returned on other occasions.
Q: Who are your favorite training partners, and why?
I’m not going to name one person, but I’ll name a few types:
Trusted crew. A small group of friends around my age, all middle-aged guys with a similar mentality. These are my safe but challenging rolls. We push each other, but nobody’s trying to prove anything. We’re all just trying to get better and stay healthy.
Intellectuals. I don’t even know if these guys ever roll hard—which I think people should do, just not every round—but I love learning the nuances from them. Every roll is a lesson. They see things I don’t.
Beasts. I’m no match for them. They know it. I know it. But I’m not a guy they walk over either. I like these challenges. I never turn down an upper belt who asks me to roll. I don’t care if I get wrecked; it’s an honor to be on the mat with them. I recently saw a blue belt turn down a black belt, only to roll with a white belt. That is a recipe for slow progress, just a horrible decision.
Q: What’s a memorable, funny, or surprising moment from training that still sticks with you?
What surprised me most wasn’t a single moment, but a mindset. When I was in the triathlon world, my coaches felt pressure to be the best. To validate their place as a coach, they had to project dominance and certainty. All that stress wasn’t good for them, and it’s not great for learning either.
My professor, Thiago, openly admits he doesn’t have all the answers. He says he learns from anyone and that he loses rounds. He’s very good, so this comes from a place of genuine humility that only something like jiu-jitsu can create. I absolutely love this. It sets the tone. If one of the best guys in the room can admit he’s still learning and loses, so can everyone else. No one has to pretend. No one has to protect their ego. Just show up, learn, and get better.
Q: What’s the worst injury you’ve had in jiu-jitsu?
I haven’t had any serious injuries, but I’m constantly carrying minor ones. Tweaked fingers, sore ribs, a knee that’s not quite right. It’s part of it. Ultra running taught me how to deal with pain and listen to my body—to know what’s serious and what isn’t. I use that skill to manage my way through jiu-jitsu. If something feels off, I rest. If it’s just discomfort, I keep showing up. The goal is longevity. I’d rather miss a few days now than a few months later.
Q: If you could talk to your white-belt self, what advice would you give?
Chill out and relax. Focus on technique, not strength. You should be losing 80–90% of the time—and that’s okay. It’s actually a good sign. It means people aren’t going easy on you. It means you’re taking risks and putting yourself in bad positions to learn your way out. Never say no to a match just because you are scared of losing, but always say no if you are afraid of injury (big guy / spazzy guy). Ego is the friction that slows down progress. Tap early, tap often. Every tap is a lesson, not a loss. Also: breathe. You’re holding your breath way more than you realize.
I’m still telling my current self these same things—it’s a work in progress. You don’t really master this stuff until brown belt, maybe black. Maybe never. Also, I ask a lot more questions of people now—that comes with friendships. I would have focused on building friendships sooner.
Q: If jiu-jitsu disappeared tomorrow, what part of it would you miss most?
I’d feel a void, but I’d fill it. I can do hard things, and there are plenty of options out there. So the main thing I’d miss? The camaraderie that was built on the mat. There’s something different about friendships forged through mutual struggle—choking each other and getting choked, showing up tired, pushing through hard rounds together. That bond is hard to replicate.
I’d also miss the humility check. All those regular reminders that you’re not as tough as you think, delivered by someone 50 lbs lighter than you.
And the moving meditation. When you’re rolling, you can’t think about work, stress, or anything else. It forces you to be completely present. Few things quiet the mind like someone trying to choke you.
This interview is part of the Murder Yoga Cantina series, which explores the people who make up jiu-jitsu culture.
