FourOuncesToFreedom.com - December 13, 2007

by Stein Weinstein

His name is Henry, and he is holding me down. Without using his hands or arms.

I am on my back on the mat, and he is laying perpendicularly across me, with his chest pressing onto mine. I am pushing against him and squirming with all my might, but I cannot get him off me. In fact, I can hardly even move him. He is the exact same size as me, but--with his hands literally behind his back--he is pinning me to the ground. Finally, he laughs and sits up, calm as he was before we started. I am sweating, out of breath, frustrated, and angry.

"Why can't I get you off of me? What am I doing wrong?"
He shrugs. "Everything."

My name is Stein Weinstein [obvious pseudonym], and I am at The Rickson Gracie International Jiu-Jitsu Center in Santa Monica, California. It's my first Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class, and Henry is the black belt who is teaching the class.

"I don't understand."

He just looks at me and smiles, "It takes some time. Go roll with the class, you'll pick it up. Eventually."

I go back to where everyone else is. There are about 20 guys, all in white gi's (kimono-like robes used as work out clothes in jiu-jitsu, judo, and several other martial arts), rolling around on the ground in varying degrees of embrace. Honestly, it looks vaguely homosexual to me. I partner up with a Hispanic kid, at least ten years younger than me, and 30 pounds lighter. I played sports in high school and still stay in shape, so I should at least be able to hold my own.

Within seconds, he has his legs wrapped around my hips and his arm wrapped around my neck. He is choking me out from behind. I tap, he let's go, and we re-start from a neutral position.

A flurry of his hard cotton gi rubbing on my face, and I am in the same position. I tap out, and we re-start, again, from a neutral position.

This time I keep him off my back, but he wrenches my arm so badly I squeek out a yell that he takes as a submission. It is. At this point, perhaps two minutes have passed, and I am sweating like I ran ten miles. I'm completely out of breath, my ears and face are rubbed raw, and my shoulder hurts.

He looks at me empathetically. "First day?"
"Yeah."
"OK, I'll slow down some."

We start again, and this time he lets me lay on top of him, the way Henry was with me, perpendicularly across his chest. Within seconds, he has managed to completely flip me over and we are in a reversal of the starting position--now he's on top of me. I struggle and push and try to bench press him off me, but nothing works. What seems like hours pass, though it's probably only a minute, and Henry calls out, "Switch partners."

I intentionally find the smallest guy in the room. I weigh about 180 pounds, and the guy I find is swimming in his gi. If I dipped it in lead, he wouldn't have weighed 120.

I struggled and fought as hard as I could. It didn't help. He worked me over even worse than the first guy. He kept wrapping his legs around my waist, and then either choking me out with his legs, or almost breaking my arms with his hips.

Though I am married to an actress and I work in Hollywood, I have never been so frustrated in my life.

"You're really good at this."
"Uh...not really. I'm still a white belt. That's the lowest level."
"Fuck you."

Henry calls, "Switch partners," again, but I can't. I'm physically unable to. I pull my gi top off and sit on the sideline, panting like a dog. I eventually get up and go to the bathroom when I have to puke.

I come out of the training area, beet red and still panting. My wife has watched the class from the waiting room.

"Hey. Are you OK?" she asks.
"I just puked."
"Really. It doesn't look that hard."

I just stare at her and snort. I have just learned that Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is really really fucking hard.

Posted by Jeff at 5:46 PM