Yet another previously written post, but I had good reason to delay publishing.

The writing was slowly appearing on the wall. The beginner Jiu-Jitsu class was becoming too basic. I’d lingered longer than a normal person would because I wanted to soak up every last detail.

Then when a student I’d been helping when he was relatively new earned his fourth stripe, I knew I had overstayed my welcome.

With this new resolve, after class one day, I approached Instructor.

“When do you think I’ll be ready to test?” I asked.

He looked down, thoughtful, then turned to his brother.

Surfer Dude looked at me. “Now?”

I rapid fire blinked at him.

“Yeah, do you want to do it now?” Instructor asked.

“What? Uhhh.” I had not expected this response, and I was not prepared to test on the spot.

“Do you want to watch the demo videos first?” SD asked and suggested I print the test pages which list the moves for each of the four main drills.

I agreed with this plan and left in a daze.

Having made the decision to test, I needed to prepare. The best person to help me was someone who knew enough Jiu-Jitsu to be a knowledgeable “bad guy.”

I texted Sensei: “I need your help. Call me when you can.”

A couple of hours later: “Do you have a heavy trash can you need dragged to the curb?”

“No. Besides, tomorrow is July 4th. There’s no trash pickup. How do you not know this? Where’s your sense of patriotism?!”

“Do you have an experimental vaccine you want to try out on me?”

“Hmmm… tempting… but no.”

After giving him the run-down in a tumble of words, he said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Awwwwwhhhh,” I said, touched.

“And then maybe I’ll be ready to test.”

Always an angle with him.

The following Monday and Thursday, at our usual TKJ times, while my kids made use of the sports equipment at the gym, he and I drilled the moves over and over until I felt I’d practiced as much as I could.

Then came Friday. I opted to skip the regular class, which covered Twisting Arm Control, to conserve energy. That turned out to be a mistake. I did, however, attend Reflex Development. When the students cleared out afterward, I took a deep breath.

Go time.

The first series of moves is the most complicated of the entire test. When practicing these with Sensei, I discovered I could do the Americana on both arms. So, when it came time, I paused for a second when I realized I had grabbed Instructor’s opposite arm.

No problem. I trained for this.

I hoped I would get extra credit for showing my diversity there.

Then came Twisting Arm Control and my first major flub. I forgot to loop the head. If I had been at class that night, I would have had the head loop fresh in my mind and likely wouldn’t have forgotten it.

Unbelievable. I don’t know how that happened. Talk about a rookie mistake.

I pressed on. Drill 1 complete, I sucked water, and air, as Instructor crouched behind his desk writing notes.

In Drill 2, I’m fairly certain no balloons were lost during the triangle chokes.

For the forced variation of the Kimura, I grabbed his arm pit (not as gross as it sounds).

“Nice. You did the armpit grab. Was that accidental, or did you do it on purpose?”

“On purpose,” I told him, surprised by his surprise. I didn’t realize that was a bonus detail. I thought it was the way it was supposed to done.

After Drill 2, he took notes. And more notes.

“Could I have done that many things wrong?” I said. But also: Who cares? It’s giving me more time to breathe!

“I’m writing good things,” he said.

“Oh. Okay.”

Drill 3 began with positional control from side mount. In class, the bad guy always pushed one way, then the other, then tries to bench press you. I countered left; I countered right. I waited for the bench press.

It never came.

“Guard prevention,” Instructor said quietly.

Darn it! I was so intent on the bench press, I missed the indicator for guard prevention. Then, inexplicably, or perhaps because I was flustered, I let go of his arm.

Ach! What am I doing? I grabbed his arm again. Did he notice? I’m sure he did.

Next, he swiveled left, I countered. In class, he would then swivel right. I paused, waiting for the swivel right. It, too, never came.

“Mount,” he instructed.

Darn it again! I knew mount was next. I just thought there would be more testing of control first. Perhaps I over practiced and became inflexible when things didn’t go as expected.

After Drill 3, shamelessly, in full view of Instructor, I lay sprawled on my stomach, arms and legs akimbo, panting. That my face was pressed against the mat that had held bare feet and probably sweat, was gross, but also:

I don’t caaaaaare! I’m dyyyyyyying!

“You alright?” Instructor asked.

“I’m okay,” I said. “But maybe doing Reflex Development before testing was a bad idea.”

He smiled and kept writing.

“You’re clearly in better shape than I am,” I said.

“Everyone’s like this for testing,” he said. “I was like this for my test,” he graciously told me.

Next came Drill 4, standing techniques.

I can do this. I just need to stand up, take him down, stand up, take him down a different way, stand up… and repeat that seven more times. No problem.

I felt like the boxer in the ring, wobbling to his feet just as the ref, counting down, reaches “one.” But the important thing was I got up.

On the second to last takedown, with my hands positioned, one on his hip, one on his knee, I paused. “Hang on. I just need to breathe for a second… Okay.”

Set up step. Go step. Sit to the side. Perfect elbow tuck. (That elbow tuck was killing me two years ago.) Swing the leg over. Hands out for base. And done.

Collapse onto the mat again.

He wrote and wrote and wrote. I panted and panted and panted then pulled myself up and, thankfully, was fixing my hair at the moment he finished writing.

“Do you need a minute?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

Sure, let’s pretend I need the minute because it takes that long to get my hair properly placed in a perfect bun that’s about to be all but destroyed within the next five minutes.

“Why does the hardest drill have to come last?” I complained.

He sort of “heh-heh” laughed, having no answer for that. It’s just the way it is. You need to complete the initial four drills in under five minutes each.

Then your instructor attacks you for a minimum of five minutes, max of six, while you put into practice that which nearly sent you into cardiac arrest for the past twenty or so minutes.

Talk about a great Friday night!

Once again, I staggered to my feet as he set a timer. Then, boom, haymaker punch defense, rear takedown, several rear naked chokes, the last one ending with me saying, “You seem to like me choking you,” which really translated to: “I don’t know what else to do here.”

He gave me a respite when he did some stuff that enabled me to lie on my back while defending myself, but that was only a few seconds in what was otherwise a blur of flailing limbs. He moved so fast I had to race to catch up.

“Ach!” I said as he was rapidly crawling out from under me. I couldn’t let him get away, and thankfully, I didn’t.

Other times he did moves that left me thinking, “I don’t even know what that is.”

At one point near the end, I just stared at his chest, blinking.

I’ve never seen this. I don’t know what to do here. What is this, some Master Cycle move?

He waited a few seconds then said, “Hug the body.”

“Right. Hug the body. Hug the body.” That’s the second move I did at the start of this entire test. You learn it in Class 1. It’s a simple trap and roll. And, in fact, I had done it to him roughly 30 seconds prior to this.

What functional brain cells I had left were hiding waaaaaay in the dusty back corner of my mind.

Exhaustion-induced brain fog is real.

I could never be a Marine.

A few seconds later, a fire alarm went off. Or maybe an ambulance siren. But it wasn’t for me. It was Instructor’s phone alarm.

“Wow. That went so fast,” I said.

He grinned at me as he jogged (!) to stop the alarm. “It’s fun, right?”

“… Yeah.”

In the sense that it’s fun to still be alive!

He explained that he’d finish his notes, send them to HQ, and if I passed, they’ll mail my belt.

“Do you want to know right now?” he asked.

My eyes widened. “Yes.”

“You passed,” he said with a smile. “I’m not supposed to tell people if they passed or not. But you passed.”

Big, tired, sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said.

“You got it.” Fist bump.

On the way out, I lifted my fist in the air. “Yay!”

Driving home, I turned on the radio, wondering what triumphant song would be playing for me. It happened to be “Clint Eastwood” by Gorillaz.

The way the lyrics sound are: “I’m happy. Feeling glad. I got sunshine in a bag… The future is coming on.”

I sang along with a big smile.