WARNING: If you’re considering competing, but haven’t made up your mind, you may want to avoid this article.  Go watch some tournament submission highlight reels, preferably set to heavy metal music, and get pumped up.

People frequently ask me why I don’t compete.  First, let’s clear some things up:

• It isn’t because I’ve never done it and am scared to try.  I have competed before.  The opinions in this article are based on experience through several tournaments, run by several different organizations, over several years.
• It isn’t because I’ve never won.  I’ve won some (and lost some).  This isn’t a whine-fest because I can’t cut it and need to justify not trying.
• I’m not evangelizing.  This is how *I* feel about competing, for myself, personally.  I encourage others to compete.  I coach competitors, often very successfully.

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, here’s the executive summary of Why Eric Doesn’t Like Competing in BJJ:

• Competitive spirit.  Drive to be (perceived as) “the best”.  I don’t have it.  Maybe it’s because I didn’t grow up in America, where sport is life and winning is all.
• In that spirit: I’m not the best.  I know I’m not the best.  There will always be somebody better at my weight and rank and age and experience level.  If I come home with a gold, it just means that guy (really those guys, plural) didn’t happen to be there that day.  This diminishes the value of my “gold”.*
• As combat sports go, BJJ is fairly “pure” – that is, despite the competition rule set, a tournament match is pretty close to A Real Fight.  However, some people are determined to bring home the “victory” no matter what, so they study how to work the system and finagle the rules.  I consider this unsportsmanlike and sleazy.  It diminishes the value of a gold medal.  In an ideal world, the winner would be the better fighter, not the better “player”. (It should be noted that I know some people who win matches and bring home medals with unimpeachable integrity.  These people have my utmost respect.)
• The value of a victory is wildly variable.  Unless you were there on that particular day watching that particular competitor, you have no way of knowing whether he brought home a silver after fighting five deep against tough opponents, breaking a rib, and losing the final by one advantage point; or took gold in a two-man bracket by squashing his one opponent who had to move up in weight because his bracket was empty.  Even in a single match, you get your hand raised whether you submitted your opponent in 20 seconds or scored one advantage point on an almost-sweep and then stalled the rest of the match.*
• To expand on that point, a medal doesn’t mean much.  There are so many divisions that bringing home a medal is almost a foregone conclusion.  Let’s do some rough math on a hypothetical example: IBJJF has nine weight brackets for adult males.  Times five belts.  Times three medals.  That’s 135 medals.  A biggish tournament has about 600 competitors total.  Let’s say half of those fight in adult (as opposed to master’s) male divisions.  So just by walking on the mat, any of those guys has a 45% chance of coming home with a medal – win or lose.
• Luck of the draw sucks.  Most competitions are single-elimination.  This means you can be the second-best fighter in a 30-man bracket, but if you happen to fight the best one in your first (or second, or third, or fourth) match, you walk away with nothing, same as the worst fighter in the bracket.  Conversely, the fourth-worst fighter can get a first-round bye, beat the three worst fighters in the bracket, lose the last match and come away with a silver.*
• Cutting weight is stupid and unfair, not to mention dangerous.  This is one place where IBJJF has it right: they weigh you right before you get on the mat.  Most other organizations have weigh-ins the day before; the guy you’re fighting might be 15lbs overweight because his coach knows how to banana-bag him after the weigh-ins.
• Tournaments are notoriously poorly organized.  You are pretty much guaranteed to spend most of the day waiting for your bracket to be called.  Then once it is called, you had better be there or you’re disqualified (no refunds).  And you’ve got to be ready to jump on the mat right away.  So you’ve got two choices: stay warmed up all day (and be exhausted and dehydrated when your turn comes); or grapple cold, which is a great way to get injured.
• Some people love the adrenaline.  I hate it.  It doesn’t make me stronger or faster; it makes me nauseous and weak – and then I crash.

*A lot of this averages out over time.  But you don’t see people giving you the whole picture when they’re showing off their medal case.

Now, I don’t want this to be a 100% downer article, so it’s only fair if I list some of the positives of competition as well:

• It takes courage and heart to step on the mat all alone, face off against a complete stranger, and put your training to the test in a public forum.
• A tournament is great motivation to step up your training and make big gains in your skill, strength, endurance, speed, etc.
• You can’t beat the camaraderie you glean from going to a tournament with your teammates, watching each other fight (win or lose), screaming from the sidelines, congratulating (or commiserating) afterwards, and going out for a big, unhealthy meal and drinks afterwards.  (I get this from accompanying and coaching my teammates; but *somebody* has to do the fighting.)

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu has its roots in Japanese Jujutsu, which is always practiced in a traditional garment called a kimono or gi. Until the 1990s, BJJ was also generally practiced this way, but as it became an indispensable component of mixed martial arts (MMA), a “no-gi” variant branched off and took on a life of its own.

Gi

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To outward appearances, the BJJ gi looks like what most people associate with Eastern martial arts such as karate, tae kwon do, or judo: long, loose pants; and a long-sleeved robe-like top with a thick collar that goes all the way down the front, worn crossed over and tied with a thick colored belt.

Specifically for BJJ, it is essential that a gi be very durable. A large part of the art involves grabbing, pulling, twisting, and otherwise manhandling the fabric. For this reason, you generally can’t use a gi designed for karate or similar – it will eventually shred. Grappling gis are made from sturdy material and are heavily reinforced in all the right places.

Gi BJJ teaches lots of ways to use the gi for positional control and submissions – particularly chokes. This greatly expands the number and variety of positions and techniques available as compared to no-gi. For self defense purposes, training with the gi translates well to fighting someone wearing jeans and/or a jacket (useful in Texas in our six weeks of “winter”).

Because of both the friction and the grips provided by the kimono, gi BJJ tends to be slower-paced, methodical, and technical compared to no-gi.

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No-Gi

BJJ without the gi becomes closer to the kind of competitive wrestling you’re used to seeing in American high schools and universities. However, the rule system makes it a very different art. The most profound example is that being on your back does not mean you’re losing – in fact, many practitioners play their best offensive game from their back (known as “guard”).

Without the grips and friction that a gi provides, no-gi BJJ tends to be much faster-paced. Positions are not held as long; there’s a lot of movement; and submissions can happen very quickly.

No-gi BJJ is essential for MMA fighting. If you’ve ever watched the UFC, once they get to the ground, what they’re doing is no-gi BJJ (plus striking).

From a self defense perspective, no-gi BJJ is good for “the beach”, or Texas summers where your aggressor is less likely to be wearing lots of grabbable clothing.

 

We want you to be clean when you come to class. But, counterintuitively, it helps you if you’re not too clean.

Eh?

See, your skin has an abundance of flora and fauna crawling around on it at all times. Don’t freak out: it’s good for you. These organisms normally live in balanced proportions, working in harmony with your skin to protect you from invading nasties. Nasties like those often found on grappling mats (and grappling partners) despite our best efforts to keep them at bay. When you bathe, you kill and/or wash away some of those defensive bugs, and it takes some time for them to recover and strike that balance that provides you with optimal protection.

The four hour rule

Note: The following is based on anecdotal evidence – that is, my experience and what I’ve heard from others over the years. These statements have not been evaluated by the blah blah blah and do not constitute medical advice. You are encouraged to seek the advice of a blah blah blah.

This rule of thumb is based on the fact that it takes a colony of microorganisms – good or bad – about four hours to establish a foothold on your skin such that it’s likely to be able to beat out some new invader.

Accordingly, I like to make sure my last shower is at least four hours before I get on the mats. This gives my skin time to form its natural armor.

Likewise, I like to make sure I shower no more than four hours after I get on the mats. That is, four hours from the time I first came into contact with potential nasties. See, even though I’ve got my nice natural shield going, grappling can result in scrapes and abrasions – many too small to see – which can leave areas unprotected.

“Coach, I stink, but I don’t want to miss class.”

Thank you for being considerate. I recommend a wipe-down with a wet washcloth rather than a full shower. Use soap only on the stinky bits – you’ll find that those tend to be the parts covered by your gi, rash guard, or shorts, and hence afforded some extra protection. (There’s a common term for this kind of bathing, but this is a family show.)

Should I use antibacterial soaps? Should I scrub the everlovin’ heck out of myself?

Oh, believe me, I know how tempting this can be. You’ve heard the horror stories. You’ve seen the memes. You feel so unclean; you just want to scrub and scrub and….

But harsh cleaners and abrasive implements are getting rid of the good stuff as well as the bad. Used often and/or vigorously enough, they can even throw your natural bugs out of balance and diminish their protective abilities long-term. You’ll find yourself in a situation where you have to keep scrubbing and bleaching and scouring, and often winding up with infections anyway. Again, this is anecdotal, but the only times I’ve ever had infections were when I was regularly using things like Defense soap or Hibiclens.

These days, I use regular over-the-counter shampoo or body wash and follow the four hour rule. Knock on wood, I haven’t had an infection in years.

A special note about shaving

Shaving (anything) should be avoided before grappling.  There’s a time-based rule of thumb here too, I’m sure, and whatever it is, it’s at least four hours.  Shaving scrapes away not only your protective flora and fauna, but also several of the delicious layers of skin on which they thrive.  I generally avoid the issue by shaving about once every six weeks, on a non-training day, whether I need it or not.