Block Better

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While I was down in Costa Rica, I was very fortunate to cross paths with Sasa--a pro Serbian kickboxer. He first met me when I was using the boxing bag at the youth hostel and made a comment on the infected cuts I had. Somehow from there, I got the courage to ask him to train me. Little did I know we would later build a gym together and a lasting friendship. My training with Sasa took place on Dominical beach under the shade of some palm trees where we cut away the weeds with a machete. Sasa taught me bits and pieces from all fighting styles and I still have scars on my knuckles from punching the wooden post to get my form right.

"Ok, muchacha, you want to spar?" he asked with a bit of a devious smile. I grinned confidently and nodded. I mean, I had experience sparring back in my boxing club, I could hold my own. I don't remember much from those first several sparring sessions besides a flurry of punches, kicks, and chokes that at first left me sobbing with dirt and sand in my eyes (jiu jitsu in sand is just not fun. Ever).





For the first time in my life I realized what it felt like to get hit with a bare fist and upadded shin. Throughout all my training I was so safe--headgear, wraps, gloves, mouthguard. But in a third world country where you may need these skills to survive, that sort of training that coddled me wasn't helping me. A good analogy is modern playgrounds with all their safe, blisterproof, padded flooring compared to old school playgrounds erected from a pile of wood chips with tire swings, wooden platforms, bars, and mary-go-rounds. It was getting a few hard barefist hits that ironically made me feel more alive and in touch with reality.


What I do remember most is expecting Sasa to apologize or go easier on me, or at least explain what I did wrong. He patted me on the head and his advice was two words long: "block better." Everyone I knew in the small town got used to seeing me looking like a mud monster post training. Good thing I had the ocean only a few feet away.

I was thinking about those moments with Sasa today after MMA practice at the Dog Pound tonight. The teammates go easy on me (which I am thankful for, not only because I'd be a crumpled mound of bones and flesh but also because I am able to learn counters when they slow down or intentionally bait me in for a move). Yet every once in a while I'll get a solid hit from one of the guys. I find my automatic thought to be: "block better...move better." Simple as that.

I found that philosophy extends beyond the ring...including control of your emotions through a difficult or uncertain period of time. To not let other people's actions effect you. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion. But as Emerson once wrote, "Men live on the brink of mysteries and harmonies into which they can never enter, and with their hand on the doorlatch they die outside." There is a lot to be learned from getting hit in a fight or, similarly, abandoned by someone you care about. You do not have control of these events. In the end, you have the choice of how to react. Give in to your misery? Or rise above it. Learn from it. The more pain you go through, the stronger you will be when you recover. And for the next time...
Block better.

The fastest path to mastery in a skill, in my case MMA fighting, is by doing it. Now I'll talk about the power of visualization at some point, but sometimes you need a punch in the face to teach you to keep your hands up. Or a painful sparring session to push your limits. "You need that sometimes," said one of the pros I sparred with a few weeks back who gave me my first bloody nose in a while. Call me a masochist of you will, but I love the satisfied feeling of a good sparring session.

Looks like I'll be getting another chance in a little bit less than 10 hours.