Why I Love Jiu-Jitsu: What Losing Over and Over Taught Me

The first three times, I never made it onto the mat.

I went by the opening hours the gym had posted. It's almost a two-hour round trip, and all three times it was closed.

For most things, I'd have given up. But I'd been carrying jiu-jitsu around in the back of my mind for years. At school I was curious about it, but it was a niche sport and, once I looked into it, not a cheap one, so I let it go. After I started working and had my own income, I found a gym in my city — but with that commute, I hesitated for a long time again.

That day, after going back and forth one more time, I picked up the phone, booked a session, and finally stepped on the mat for the first time.

I had plenty of worries at the start. But the gym had a great atmosphere, there was hardly any sales pressure, and everyone was friendly. So I stayed.

It's been six months. This post is about why I've come to love it more and more over that time.

What I like most is the losing

In the early days, breaking through in jiu-jitsu is hard and you lose constantly. That's why plenty of people start out enthusiastic and stop showing up after a while.

But I actually like that kind of losing. It lets me think, find the problem and solve it, and that process has given me a lot.

I also try to make training interesting: think about what I'm doing as I do it, and give my partner feedback, so we both get something positive out of it. That's how you and your partner get further together.

Here's something a little embarrassing.

I'd always stayed active. When I first started jiu-jitsu, whenever something hurt I assumed it was a normal reaction to training; the veterans love joking that "sore muscles mean you're building muscle", and I believed it. I wasn't paying much attention at that stage, and I ended up rolling with people a lot heavier than me.

Then one day in training, the pain suddenly got unbearable. I got a CT scan and found out I'd fractured a rib. I took a full month off before I could get back on the mat.

My lesson now: not all pain is "building muscle". I hope I don't get hurt again, haha, and that I can keep training healthy. (After that, I wrote up what I'd learned about safety for beginners: BJJ Safety and Etiquette for Beginners.)

It's like chess — and like programming

Jiu-jitsu doesn't only train your body, it trains your mind. You make a move, your opponent answers, and you have to think about the next move and the one after that, like chess.

I'm happier calling it "grappling." I'm past the age of being an athlete, so I'm not chasing belt colors or results. I'm after one thing: being a little better than I was yesterday.

It's also like programming: there are templates and patterns in a lot of places, so you learn the template first and then worry about the variations. I've watched John Danaher break offense down into four steps, and here's my own understanding: first take the fight to the ground; get past the legs; build the pin up one level at a time; once you're in control, go for the submission. Control first, submission second. (That's my read of what he says — go by his own teaching for the details.)

For a beginner like me, it gives me a very clear question: where am I right now, and what's the next step?

There are too many techniques to master them all, and different people suit different moves. My approach is to try a lot on my own, see which ones fit my body and rhythm, and slowly lean that way.

It makes you humble

No matter how confident or strong you were before, on the mat you'll run into someone a size smaller and lighter than you who uses something you don't know to pin you so you can't move. When that happens again and again, it gets hard to think you're all that.

I've also noticed that the real experts are usually low-key. They have nothing to prove, and they don't need everyone to know how good they are.

There's a story I've heard, and the details may be off.

From what I've heard, in Danaher's early morning classes there was a partner named Boris who came from wrestling and was described as one of the toughest people in the room. He insisted on doing every rep properly, and teammates said that if they could dodge only one person, they'd dodge him. He never thought about competing. A young GSP also came to that early class every day, and he was one of his main partners.

Boris was always saying he was going to quit, but no one took it seriously, because he trained so hard. Later, so the story goes, on his 40th birthday he walked into the gym, shook everyone's hand, said he was "retiring", and never came back.

After retiring from fighting, GSP still trains all the time.

For some people it's a chapter of life, for others a lifelong practice — and either way, you can do it seriously right up to the last day. Life is a practice, and you get to make different choices.

(I first heard about Boris in the GSP × Danaher interview. The details are also in an old r/bjj thread and in a retelling at the jiu-jitsu outlet BJJEE.)

In my head, the strong only challenge higher mountains, and they're willing to help the weak. Danaher has said that a coach's goal is for students to surpass them 01:00:32. For a white belt like me, the luckiest thing is that someone is willing to slow down and train with me. I hope that one day I can do the same for the people behind me.

About passion: no need to rush

The earlier you find something you love, the longer your happiness lasts. But a lot of people can't find it quickly, and that's fine.

A lot of love grows out of small experiments. It was like that for me with jiu-jitsu: first I was curious about it, then it sat in my head for years, and only then did I walk into that gym. A very few people know from age five that "this is what I was born to do" — most of us don't.

If you're hesitating too

A few traps I fell into, which might save you some trouble:

1. Call before you go. Opening hours, whether there's a class, whether you can book a trial. Don't waste three trips like I did.
2. If the commute is long, try it once or twice first. Check the atmosphere before you decide to commit.
3. If the pain feels wrong, don't write it off as "building muscle", and don't start by rolling with people much heavier than you. That's how I broke my rib. If the pain is unusual, tell your coach first, and get it checked if you need to.
4. Ask your coach and the senior students. Most people are happy to help.

Write your losses down

Six months in, I increasingly feel that losing has value — as long as you can remember it.

You learn a lot of moves in class, and a week later all that's left is a blur. You get pinned in the same position several times and still can't remember how to escape next time. If a loss doesn't stay with you, it's just a loss.

What I want isn't complicated:

• the easiest possible way to recall the moves after class;
• to slowly build my own skill cards, in my own words;
• to know which position I keep getting stuck in, and what to work on next.

That's why I built BJJ Sequence. It isn't magic that makes me stronger — it just helps me forget a little less and repeat the same mistakes a little less.

Whether you use it or not, here's what I'd say: don't be afraid of losing — try writing your losses down.

— chokebit3xp