Gravity

It was one of the first things I learned on the mats, and at the time it didn’t really seem that important.  Now, it’s one of the first things that I teach on the mats, even though some might not think it’s that important.  It is a necessary skill to any martial artist, and one of the skills that translates outside and off the mats. It's the ability to fall. In my experience, Gravity always wins. It’s the undisputed champion of the world.  Everything is trying to find a way to the ground.  And, sometimes, I have found opponents and partners doing their best to help Gravity win.

I once fought a Judo Olympian.  He was an incredibly tough opponent.  I remember that I made the mistake of clinching with him.  As soon as our bodies came together, he found a grip, his hips rotated, and I was airborne.  In that moment, fighting in front of a few thousand people, I could suddenly see my own feet—and they were pointing at the ceiling (which meant my head was pointing at the floor).  I even remember, quite clearly, that very moment when I was seeing my feet.  Despite the adrenaline and the rush of that moment…the thousands of spectators, the cheers, the shouts, my corner screaming…despite that, my brain took a moment to admire the smoothness of that throw.  I was on the way to a hard landing and my mind was saying to itself, “dang, that was really good.”Because Gravity always wins, and sometimes we have friends who are trying to help it.

Early in my martial arts career I learned that the worst thing we can do is to reach for the ground—to try to stop the fall.  When we reach, we injure ourselves.  We dislocate shoulders, bend elbows the wrong way, crash our heads forcefully onto the mats.  The only way to deal with the fall is to accept it.Because we’re all going to fall at some point and it’s almost always going to hurt.  That’s the nature of the fall.I am reminded that falling is part of life.  Hurting is the price we pay.  We are better for the falling, if only we can accept it.You rejoice in this, though now for a short time you have had to struggle in various trials so that the genuineness of your faith—more valuable than gold, which perishes though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 1:6-7)

I know that I sometimes I create my own fall—I’m surprisingly clumsy.  I trip, I slip, I lose my footing.  I only wish I was just talking about the mats, or only about my physical existence.  Spiritually, emotionally, cognitively—I fall there all the time, too.  And usually, it’s my own fault.  I set my own traps and trip myself all the time.  And then Gravity wins—spiritual Gravity, emotional Gravity, cognitive Gravity.  I fall, and I can see the ground coming.  I know it’s going to hurt.  I know it’s going to hurt a lot. And I want to reach out to stop it.  I want to break my fall.  But I must accept the fall, because there is beauty in the falling.

Anybody who says size doesn’t matter isn’t paying attention.  Size very much matters.  I once fought a very large, very athletic, very strong man.  He had made weight—barely.  I saw him weigh in the night before the fight, dehydrated and emaciated.  The next night—on fight night—he wasn’t so skinny.  I swear he was thirty pounds heavier than he had been.  I hadn’t cut nearly as much weight as he had—he was a whole lot bigger.  And, halfway through the first round of the fight, I locked in a triangle choke on him, almost textbook perfect. But it barely phased him.  He didn’t use any escape I had ever learned.  He simply stood to his feet with me hanging off of his head and arm, then he lifted me like a weighted barbell, arching his back until I was hanging above his head for just an instant.  An instant before Gravity took over and I started back toward the mats at a recklessly high speed, powered by his determination and strength.I knew I was going to take a fall. I was going to take a hard fall.  I felt the ground coming and I tightened my body into the technique, refusing to reach for the ground, refusing to let go.  I felt the ground coming and I felt when it came.  I felt the impact and I felt his weight.  I bounced off the mat and I heard the crowd roar (they love that sort of stuff).  But I had survived. I was conscious and in the fight.  I accepted the fall and continued on with the fight, knowing that if I had found the choke once I could find it again.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us. (Romans 8:18)

There are times when the fall isn’t my fault.  I am frequently at the mercy of others, a victim of their poor choices.  Their consequences become mine.  I am betrayed, I am discarded, I am treated with contempt.  And, again, I can see the ground coming.  Gravity always wins.I don’t want to feel that pain.  I don’t want to know that hurt.  I want to ignore it, avoid it, and pretend it hasn’t happened.  I want to avoid the fall.  But avoiding the fall hurts more than the fall does.  And I think it usually hurts longer, too.

And not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope.  This hope will not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us. (Romans 5:3-5)

I was talking to a friend about this recently and reminiscing about the old days.  When I knew I had a fight on the horizon—usually a few weeks out—I would surrender myself to my coaches.  We would set a date when fight camp would start, and I knew that fight camp was going to be rough.  The purpose of fight camp was not to win, it was to suffer.  It was about mindset, determination, and a willingness to embrace discomfort so that I could prove to myself what I was capable of.Fight camp was about learning to accept the fall, to know that Gravity always wins and that I could survive.  Because there was a victory waiting on the horizon.  But I couldn’t taste that victory if I didn’t first taste that impact.  The taste is bitter, but the taste is necessary.

I’m not going to pretend that I like the impact.  It hurts.  It teaches me things about myself that I didn’t necessarily want to know.

But there are greater things on the horizon—things waiting for me on the other side of the impact.

First I must exist inside of the impact, sit inside of the pain.  Make myself vulnerable to the disquiet.  That’s where the good things live.  That’s where I find them.

Recently I have discovered that I am quite uncomfortable with sadness.  It’s probably my least favorite emotion.  I might well do anything possible to avoid it—but I can’t.  Sadness is a feature of my existence on this mortal coil.  Even Jesus knew sadness.

Jesus wept. (John 11:35)

So I think I’m going to sit in some sadness for a little while. I’m going to see what it has to offer and I’m going to find the victory waiting there on the horizon.  I’m going to accept the fall and what it has to offer.