When I was in high school, we (the student body) referred to a particular group of students as “burnouts.” These were the guys and gals who wore the soiled jean and leather jackets and/or who were generally people the average student would avoid. They all smoked. Most of them did some sort of drug. A good portion of them held a sorry disposition. None of them were aware of their reputations though, which made the entire ordeal rather entertaining. They were the burnouts who hung out with themselves and we were the rest who hung out with ourselves. Two groups divided by starkly different cultures. Everyone ended up pretty decently though, so I’m guessing it was a kid thing – being all divvied up like that. As adults, we smile at one another and generally get along just fine.
This post isn’t about the burnouts in my high school though. It’s about something much more serious. It’s about being burned out by Brazilian jiu-jitsu. An affliction that’s very real and it’s something I’m afraid I’m suffering from at this very moment.
If you’ve read any of my recent BJJ related posts, you’ll probably have noticed that I’ve begun complaining about how things have evolved in my classes. If you aren’t aware, I’m an instructor at The Foundry in Farmington, Maine and have discussed the issues I’ve been experiencing with teaching as well as how training in general can become somewhat boring. After all, jiu-jitsu isn’t as deep as some practitioners might lead you to believe. After a decade, the entirety of it all can become extraordinarily repetitive.
Back in the beginning, I was obsessed. I trained, on average, five days per week and attended three different academies to learn Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, and Muay Thai. As a kid, I loved wrestling with my friends and when I began training BJJ as an adult, it seemed like wrestling reincarnate. For approximately eight years, I loved jiu-jitsu. It was challenging for me. I met many interesting and talented people and we sparred together to see how we stacked up against each other. My training was a huge part of life.
The night I was promoted to brown belt, something changed. I began teaching classes and stopped attending them. I was fine with the arrangement because as an instructor, I focused much of my time thinking of and preparing for what I’d teach next. I enjoyed the process immensely.
As the years progressed though, I was faced with a few unsettling truths. First, I noticed that I was getting older. That didn’t help my game. The younger students were becoming more aggressive while trying to submit me as a brown and eventual black belt and I found myself trying more diligently to fend them off. In doing so, I learned how to become much more clever with my game, which brings me to my second discovery; I beat nearly everyone I chose to roll with. I have always tried to vary my opponents based on age, weight, and skill level. As time passed, I noticed that my very passive and clever approach worked well for me and by utilizing that approach nearly every time I sparred with someone, I won. It’s not something I’m necessarily proud of, but being a 51 year old man (as of today), it’s something I need to do to both come out as the victor as well as to keep myself relatively safe on the mats. At my age, I’m not about to scramble at full speed with an 18 year old rugby player. That’s just stupid.
What I’ve realized as an instructor that’s the most distressing though is how utterly boring jiu-jitsu can become. To start, it’s 95% men who train. I’ve exclaimed this to my romantic partner on many an occasion. It’d be nice if we had a bit of flavor in class with a mix of both men and women. Throughout history, I’ve heard this sentiment time and time again from the widest variety of people. Also, the jiu-jitsu world is an ever shrinking one, student and training partner-wise. So many new students walk through gym doors, only to train for a month and then quit. What nearly every gym on the planet is left with is a small, very dedicated group of what I like to refer to as lifers. These are the people who end up becoming good friends and really, these are the people who keep me going. Ours have relied on me to learn and I adore teaching them. The disheartening aspect of teaching though is losing those who have quit. Their quitting may have caused someone of a complex in my brain though as time has passed by. Did they quit because of me? Something I said? Did? Who knows and really, I can’t care too much about the exceptionally high turnover of a BJJ club. Turnover is high everywhere.
Jiu-jitsu can be tough in the beginning, especially for people who don’t have much of a mat sense. If a person is awkward on his or her feet, that person will likely be awkward on the mats as well. I’ve never been awkward anywhere, and not being awkward has allowed me to learn technique quickly and effectively. My learning has given me a comprehensive bird’s-eye view of jiu-jitsu as a whole. Eventually, given enough training, everyone who tries will get the hang of the sport and will become good at what they do. It’s inevitable. The thing is, there’s a difference between how instructors and students perceive teaching and training. A student looks forward to what they’re going to learn next and how he or she can apply their learnings to their next match. An instructor is always on the hunt for what he or she will teach next – and that’s the problem I’ve found myself facing. There’s only so much to teach. Yes, there are “new” concepts and angles being developed all the time, but realistically, much of this new stuff is repackaged old stuff. A blue belt who’s been training consistently for years, but who hasn’t learned a new technique since earning the belt will beat 90% of the people he or she encounters. So really, it’s not so much what a person knows, it’s how they know it, if that makes sense.
For the past year, I’ve been going round and round in my head, disappointed by the limitations of what BJJ has to offer. I’ve been training since 2008 and I’ve seen a lot. I’ve rolled with and have submitted dozens of brown and black belts and I’m certain I’m good at what I do. I teach effectively and my students like me. I’m confident that I could travel anywhere in the world to teach a class and do a decent job. The question is, what’s next? I’ve basically succeeded. Give back to the BJJ community? I’ve been doing that since 2017. Continue to learn as a black belt? Why? I’m already good enough and I’m more often than not victorious. Learn how to become a better instructor? Why? I’m already effective and when I’m faced with a class that consists of 85% white belts, the weight of the confines of what I’m able to convey is heavy. It’s like I’m stuck. At a standstill. There’s really nowhere to go from here and I’m afraid that my current attitude is going to force me into retirement. I love what I do though so the idea of no longer getting my rolls in after class is stressing me out. It’s just that my brain has indicated to my soul, in no uncertain terms, that it simply isn’t interested in sitting through a class as a student, learning anything new, whether it has to do with training or teaching. What to do?
And by the way, what I’ve shared above doesn’t pertain to me alone. I’m confident that every black belt who’s ever taught for years has, at some point, had the same or similar thoughts milling through his or her head. The only difference between those people and me is that I chose to articulate on this blog what I’ve been pondering recently.
