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team patches. Getting a team patch was very important to me. As in any sport, wearing the insignia of your gym means that you “represent.” I was especially proud to receive my Competition Team patch. It’s amazing how a piece of fabric can make you feel like you belong.
    Getting back to tattoos: A great number of Jiu-Jitsu folks have tattoos. Most have more than one. And I’m sure if I asked them, each person could tell me the meaning behind each piece of body art. I can feel that. Interestingly, Coach is not in favor of people getting tattoos of the gym logo or Lotus Club, our parent organization. He says members will typically ask him if they should; he suggests they do not; they go ahead anyway; and then they either quit or move away and join another gym. Well, I would get a tattoo of our gym. I would because I am fiercely loyal and owe my life to this gym. I’m pretty sure that if I moved away from here I wouldn’t roll anymore. I know I ended up at Foster because I was supposed to, because I needed to. Maybe if I win a gold medal, I’ll get one. Should I ask Coach for permission or forgiveness?

6
Off the Couch and on the Mat
    I had been striking for a few weeks when Coach Rick asked me to come and watch a Jiu-Jitsu class. “What’s that?” I had never even heard of Jiu-Jitsu except that it was in the gym name. And I had never seen a class because striking class was the last class of the day. I was enjoying striking just fine and didn’t see a need to add anything else to my repertoire. But he was persistent. He wore me down.
    About Rick: Rick is big. Let’s say, maybe six-two, 270 on a slim day. Hence his nickname Brick—Big Rick. When Brick is not rolling, he is a welding instructor. I think it’s a combination of genetics and the constant use of heavy equipment that gives Brick forearms the size of most mortals’ calves. When Brick puts on a baseball choke, you have to tap or its “broken bat” lights out. (It takes 5,000 pounds of impact force to break a bat, and only 38 pounds to break a neck . . . science geekism.)
    Brick has his own tale of moxie. In January 2009 (the day before his forty-ninth birthday), the inconvenience of a nagging headache sent Brick to the doctors. Instead of the prescription pain reliever he expected, Brick wound up in neurosurgery to have a brain tumor the size of a tangerine removed. The tumor didn’t kill him, but not being able to roll almost did. He had to wait six months for his skull bones to heal before he got the green light to hit the mats again. I might also add that it took about six months for him to grow enough hair to end his Frankenstein impersonation.
    Brick also complained about “losing too much weight,” because he couldn’t work out. Is that another insult to feminism or what? I had to work my ass off to literally work my ass off. Apparently, if I was Brick, I could have put a dent in the couch and bought a smaller pair of jeans.
    The pinnacle of his recovery is that a year or so later Brick competed in the Pan Jiu-Jitsu Championships and won two gold medals, one in his weight division Senior 3 age 44 and up, and one in the Open, where all weights compete together in that age bracket. Coach also promoted him to brown belt.
    So one day, I went to watch a no-gi Jiu-Jitsu class, which is also called submission grappling. A few thoughts came to mind: Whoa, that’s a lot of touching; those guys are really sweaty—slimy-looking actually; looks kinda aggressive. I played collegiate volleyball, which is a non-contact sport. Basketball and touch football were the only level of contact sports I was familiar with, and they were “normal,” because at least they involved a ball.
    Brick: “When we gonna see you again? What are you doing Saturday morning? Come and watch another class.” At that point in my life, there wasn’t much filling my weekends, and Brick smiles like