Why Jiu Jitsu

I’ve had a lot of experiences lately that are worth writing about. However, I’ve been terribly inconsistent about actually writing. Even though I have a lot to catch up on, I want to talk about something that’s taken over my life almost as much as teaching English has: jiu jitsu.

Almost every weekday, after I finish teaching at 5:30 pm, I rush to my room to change into my exercise clothes and pack my gi in my duffle bag, and then I eat a very hasty dinner to make it on the 6:05 shuttle from campus to Chilgok, where it’s a 15 minute walk from the bus stop to the gym. I’m usually there three to four times a week, and I always have to reach the shuttle stop to head back home by 9:15, exhausted and with a few new bruises. I get gross: sweaty and germy from rolling on the mats.

So what’s the appeal? I’ve been asked this question fairly often, because my stories from jiu jitsu class often include such phrases as “I almost gagged when I swallowed someone’s hair,” “Teacher made us swivel on our butts all the way across the gym and it was torture,” “we learned this awesome choke-hold,” and “Shin-Gu bit me*.” Not to mention, there’s almost no way to talk about jiu jitsu moves without it sounding sexual.
*Not a thing that is encouraged or legal in jiu jitsu

So, why jiu jitsu? I’ll give you five reasons:

Jiu Jitsu is amazing exercise.
I think I’ve finally accepted that I have no self-control when it comes to food. Like, I’ve gotten much better as far as stopping when I’m full, but if I have the opportunity to buy a macaroon ice cream sandwich or eat a pizza, I’m going to devour that thing with no regrets. Training in jiu jitsu for the past five months has caused me to lose more weight and get more in shape than I’ve ever been in my life. I feel great, minus the bruises and near-constant soreness. It’s rewarding to see how baggy some of my clothes now look on my frame.

Jiu Jitsu is a game.
I can be motivated to do almost anything if it’s turned into a game. The only reason I got into running for a few months was because I had an iPhone app that told me zombies were chasing me. The only reason I like drinking water is because I can log it on my Plant Nanny app and see my cute lil’ plants grow in the pots I bought with virtual seeds. I love games, and I love challenges. And that’s what jiu jitsu is. You’re trying to win, using strategy and technique. Jiu jitsu has been deemed a perfect martial art for women, because it doesn’t require brute strength to win. You can be little and fast; as long as your technique is solid, you can throw someone off balance enough to defeat them. It feels good to learn a move and, after a lot of practice, use it to beat someone in a fight. We compare it to chess sometimes, because you have to be constantly paying attention to what your opponent is doing and thinking through strategies. There are actual options for reacting to a person’s attack, if you learn and practice those moves.

Jiu Jitsu Is What I’ve Deemed a “Fun” Sport
Sports. Bleh, right? I’ve never really been into sports. I played softball in junior high and for a season in high school, but I was always awful. I lacked motivation because I didn’t like competing with my own teammates for playing time and, in the end, I just decided I was not comfortable with balls of rubber being thrown at my face. And all that running. And paying attention to my surroundings. Ick.

I like jiu jitsu as a sport because I’m responsible for my own victories. It’s not that I have an aversion to working towards a shared goal, but I just didn’t like the pressure that fell on my shoulders to not screw anything up. In jiu jitsu, if I screw up, I’m the only one who’s let down. In softball, everyone is mad if you “didn’t swing because you thought the pitch was too high when really you just paniced” or you “didn’t catch the fly ball because you value the bone structure in your face more than getting the batter out.”

The only pressure that exists is what you put on yourself. It’s nice. It’s self-paced. You don’t have to carry a heavy bag of equipment. People don’t automatically assume you’re lesbian. You don’t have to sing a cheer and clap every time you’re watching a teammate do their thing. It’s sports without all the annoying parts.

Jiu Jitsu is the self-defense that my dad has always wanted me to learn.
Being my dad’s only daughter of his four children, I think I’ve been a constant worry for him. His desire for my well-being and wholeness manifests in being hyper-aware of menace in this world and being very, very protective. Learning self-defense was something he always wanted me to do, probably because my personality has always been very non-confrontational, non-aggressive. I don’t like fights and it takes a lot to make me angry. But my dad is discerning; he knows what’s up. It’s obviously not good to go around paranoid about the world, but there’s no avoiding the fact that this world can be really, really, really scary. You drink a little too much, and you’re raped by a dumpster. You order a drink, turn away, and wake up in the morning without knowing where you are or who’s touched you. Or maybe you’re just shot to death because anywhere, any time, there could be a loaded gun pointing somewhere, and who knows where the bullets will land.

I know jiu jitsu won’t save me from any of those situations. Probably not. But I have a little less fear knowing that if I was attacked, I would have hope of escaping. Even though I’m not learning punches or kicking or how to dodge a bullet, I could throw someone off balance enough to run away. I could break someone’s arm or choke them in self-defense. And if anything, I have more confidence and healthy aggression that I can stand up for myself more and fight, fight, fight for my needs and the needs of others. That feels better than going down a pants size from all this exercise.

Jiu Jitsu Satisfies My Nostalgia for Dance Class
I took dance classes from age four to twelve, and then off and on throughout middle school and high school when the opportunity arose (theater productions, a semester here and there at a dance studio). I miss it a lot, and I wish there were non-awkward adult classes out there for modern and contemporary, because I’d love to train in those types of dance styles someday. But dance classes are a serious commitment and are also much more expensive than jiu jitsu. But the point is, learning jiu jitsu moves is a lot like learning choreography. Where it’s lacking in music and exact beats, it makes up for in a certain kind of rhythm, preciseness, flexibility, and awareness of one’s own body that makes it feel like dancing. Sometimes I feel like this when I’m sparring (basically about half of the dance moves in Sia’s Elastic Heart music video). There are drills we’ve learned that could be mistaken for a dance duet if the people were dressed in leotards, rathern than gis. It’s graceful, but aggressive. It’s precise, but demands flexibility. It’s like dancing.

If nothing else makes sense, at least know that it’s been a great way for me to interact with handsome Korean men and, you know, crawl all over their bodies (in a completely platonic way. Get your head out of the gutter, geez). The gym I belong to is a great community of hard-working, kind, and humble people, with a very skilled and patient teacher. Even though very few of them speak English, I feel like I belong and am constantly encouraged and supported. I earned the first stripe in white belt last night, and I’m looking forward to the challenges ahead.

So, go out there and learn jiu jitsu. Or at least try something different that you never would have thought you would like.

Read more about how I got into jiu jitsu here.

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Jiu Jitsu in Daegu

The gym is a few flights up a stairwell that smells like cigarettes. It isn’t very large, so by the time the fifteen to twenty students arrive, it will be crowded. It’s winter, so it’s cold inside until we warm up and begin sparring. The windows and mirror fog over from the body heat.

The gym is like a small apartment; Teacher instructs classes until midnight and then sleeps until the late afternoon in his office tucked into the corner of the room. It’s like we’re learning jiu jitsu in his living room, except there’s nothing but a fridge and couch in his office to make it a home. The gym has waist-high padded walls and a floor covered with thick, gray mat material. There are two punching bags and a watercooler. Outside, Daegu boasts its most ramshackle view: buildings that look unplanned, the Daegu Health College more like a shady warehouse disguised as a school.

Class begins and we form a circle. Teacher gives instructions and commands in Korean, so I just try to follow what everyone else is doing. According to my foreigner friends who recently encouraged me to try out jiu jitsu, Teacher has learned a lot more English than he knew when they first joined this gym. He seems to know some basic conversational phrases and anatomical terminology related to jiu jitsu training (knee, head, arm, etc.) and directional terms (push, turn). Thankfully, though, the routine is almost always the same, so it’s easy to figure out what we’re supposed to do next. It also helps that there are some Koreans who are pretty fluent in English and they are quick to translate if the language barrier becomes too real.

After we form our circle, Teacher sets a timer and we do push ups, crunches, and squats, taking turns counting to ten for each exercise, the Korean hana, tul, set, etc. occasionally interrupted by an English one, two, three. There are about five of us from the English Village who attend jiu jitsu, but everyone else is Korean. We go through a few more exercises like this.

And then Teacher shows us two to three moves, always demonstrating on Harry, a high schooler whose English is strong and who takes a lot of falls for the class while Teacher flips him this way and that, locking his leg and pulling him down or knocking him forward. Then we get into pairs and practice on each other.

It took me a little while to not feel awkward crawling all over a person. During my first trip to the gym when it was open mat, I had to bite back my giggles as my friend Rachel and Timmy, her husband, instructed me to kneel between Rachel’s legs. And being comfortable with someone coming at you with the intention of pinning you down also took at least a few times before I began to build any sense of aggression within myself.

This is not something I ever imagined myself doing. I have the George Michael from Arrested Development syndrome where, if someone throws something at me or generally tries to get in my face, my instinct is to essentially curl up in the fetal position (which, for your information, is an effective strategy in jiu jitsu, on occasion). But my friend Timmy wore me down into coming with them and trying it out, because I also have a syndrome that makes me bad at saying no. In this case, though, I was persuaded because I like to try new things, even if physical exertion just seems like the worst way to spend my time. I can be persuaded to do most anything if I figure I’m spending time with friends. For instance, one time I went to a barbershop concert with a friend just to spend time with her (another event in which I had to stifle my giggles and be mature about things).

So we practice the moves with each other, usually stumbling about and pausing to say something like, “And then I do…that? My leg goes here, and I sweep yours back? Wait, I’m missing a step.”

And the best/worst part of this whole experience is the position game and sparring. Either way, your goal is to just go at it and try to get a dominate or fatal position (i.e. triangle choke hold, where their head is between your knees, or arm bar, in a position where you could break their arm but don’t). This part is fun because it’s all about technique and thinking your way out of difficult positions. It’s not about strength as much as knowing how to throw someone off balance and prevent them from getting control over you. Rachel described it as chess: everyone has their own style of approaching this “duel” and you have to consider your own strategies. Even though I’m terrible compared to everyone else, I can feel myself get a little bit faster each class and use more effective strategies against my opponent.

Sparring was really intimidating the first few classes I attended. I wasn’t expecting to have the teacher point at me and pair me up with a man, Korean and sweaty and non-English-speaking. I felt very stupid not knowing even how to attack. I was dragged by my feet a lot and put in choke holds where I wasn’t sure if I had lost or not, only because no one ever goes full force on choke-holds and they sometimes just tell you to “tap out” because they don’t want to actually hurt you. I spar with at least three or four people each class. The students are a mix of ages, mostly men and a couple women in their twenties, some middle-aged men, and a few young boys who play on their phones a lot because their parents are paying for these classes.

When I stood on the sidelines that first day and looked at Timmy in panic, saying “Is this optional?!” He asked me, “What are you paying for?” So I walked up to this Korean guy Teacher paired me with, slapped our hands together and then fist-bumped (as you do to start a “spar” or “battle” or “brawl” or whatever), and then I proceeded to get dragged around and put in a choke-hold.

People seem a lot stronger when you feel completely helpless in protecting yourself. But even after just a week, I feel a lot less helpless–still really inexperienced, and I get taken down really easily, like when another supposedly “new” guy grabbed the edges of my sleeves and made it almost impossible to defend myself–but still stronger and a little more capable.

And then there’s Shin-gu, or “Bully” as he’s referred to outside of class by my friends. His big build, very pale skin, and completely hairless head, usually with sweat dripping down his scalp, is an intimidating presence. He’s a blue belt, higher than most, and his favorite pasttime is laying his entire body weight on his opponents (newcomers are no exception) and crushing them while laughing. He did this to me the first time we sparred, and the next time he spun me in circles while I tried to choke-hold him with my arms.

Which is weirdly one of the beautiful things about jiu jitsu. Not this Korean man with no hair, but the fact that jiu jitsu is a lot like dancing, an art form I miss partaking in. The moves we learn are like choreography, however violent, and you have to learn to work with your opponent like a dance partner. There’s a certain amount of trust that you grow because you’re learning from each other and testing your own skills with someone else.

But Bully’s actually a pretty nice guy. He tries to get to know the foreigners with his limited English and you can tell he enjoys this sport. He calls me “Sarah Puma”, which might be endearing or might be an insult, I don’t know. I guess he just likes to, you know, prey on people’s weaknesses and stuff. Classic Shin-gu.

When we’re finished sparring, most of us are huffing and puffing on the ground, faces red and sweaty. The gis (gees) we wear as our uniform make everything so much hotter and sweatier. We begin the exercises we did for the warm-up all over again. This time I’m exhausted and sore. We usually have to hold a plank for a minute, meaning I usually hear Teacher yell, “Sah-dah!” once or twice because I’ve taken too long of a break and am basically just napping on the hair- and sweat-covered floor.

So this is me, trying new things in a foreign country.

Be Nice, Listen, Speak English, No Sleeping: Teaching English to Korean Children

12065617_907615582642412_6275626084768841933_nTomorrow morning, the start of my third week teaching Korean elementary and middle school students, the children will arrive in semi-straight lines, boys keeping each other in friendly choke holds and girls hanging on each other’s elbows. “Hello! Welcome!” we call out, standing on either side of them as they walk to the gym, dragging their suitcases along. They wave back, sometimes with both hands, and abandon “Anyang-haseyo” for “Hello” for the next five days.

The students give us gentle high fives and some teachers tease them by stealing their hats or greeting them in a high-pitched, falsetto voice. Every Monday morning the same jokes, different kids.

When I’m told that my group is ready, I go to the gym, taking with me the students’ passports (an imitation passport that they use to take notes and record their English nickname) and a folder that teachers use for learning background on the group (names, what school they’re from, etc.) and making comments. I then lead my group to a classroom for a quick pretest. I ask them, “Where are you from?” Most often they reply with “Korea,” sometimes adding their city name. Other times they just blink at me, look back at their friends who are watching, and laugh nervously. Sometimes, if the student is more advanced, we can ask things like “What’s your favorite animal?” And they’ll say, “My favorite animal is a cat.” We’ll ask, “Why do you like cats?” They’ll reply, “Because they are cute.” That amount of dialogue is not very common, though. This is why it’s a challenge teaching kids when they only understand a small percentage of what we’re saying.

People asked me when I was preparing to leave for Korea, “How are you going to teach kids if you don’t know Korean?” The answer to this is something I’m still learning. First, I’ve had to accept that they just aren’t going to understand most of what I say. Because that’s not the point. The benefit of immersing students fully in a foreign language is that they’re obligated to really pay attention or be completely lost, which does, unfortunately, happen. But even if they don’t understand everything, they learn to pick up on signals, like tone of voice and gestures. We use a lot of gestures. I’m probably going to come back to the U.S. and open and close my hand anytime I use the word “talk” or “speak.” I also use a lot of thumbs up, because the sound we make when we say “good” is similar to the word that means “finished” for Korean speakers. Basically, speaking slowly and simply, using gestures, and employing lots of repetition is what guides these kids through our classes.

Orientation is their next class and follows a short opening ceremony in the gym where the kids get pumped up and discuss general rules for the week–Do your best! Speak English! Ask questions! Orientation is where we get to pick the students’ names if they don’t already have a name in mind, which is often the case.

Me: We’re going to pick your English nickname. English nickname. *pointing at the words “English nickname” in their passport* You can pick one of these. *Circling motion around a list of English names* English nickname. Do you know which one you want? Do you want me to pick one? *Pointing to myself* What English name? Like, “Sally”, “Kathryn”, “Jessica”…Nickname? I will pick one for you?
Korean child: ???????

As difficult as it is for the student to understand what’s going on, especially on the first day, it’s fun to pick their names for them. There’s a certain power in coming up with these names if the student can’t decide. If I want to name the kids after my family and friends, I can do that. If I want to name them after all the characters on Arrested Development or Firefly, I can, and will, do that. The administration has had to remind teachers in the past, though, to stick to the names on the list because it can get out of hand sometimes. I was told that one student insisted on being called “Lucifer” (presumably after a video game he liked) and when asked where he was headed in the airport situational, he replied, “TO HELL!” Funny, but not so funny to his parents when they found out we called him Lucifer all week.

Also, we’re never supposed to call them “Johnson” or “Daisy”, because the kids are aware (even though I wasn’t???) that “Johnson” means “dick” and “Daisy” sounds like “dwae-ji”, Korean for “pig.” But it really doesn’t matter how normal of a name you give them because they will probably laugh at it, anyway, just like they laugh at the way you mispronounce their Korean names. You know you effed something up when they repeat the way you said their friend’s Korean name and giggle. A teacher I observed my first week gave a kid the name “Clive” and he dropped his jaw dramatically to pronounce the “ive” like the word was too big for his mouth. The kids busted up from how hilarious that word sounded to them.

At some point, you have to reign the kids back in so that you can set expectations. At the beginning of each class, we’re supposed to go over the rules.

  1. Be nice [Because the kids wail on each other as a part of their friendship. The boys will tackle or choke each other and the girls will slap the boys with all their strength–but, most of the time, they’re not doing it maliciously. I’m still trying to figure out the difference between “play” fighting and bullying…mostly I just intervene when it becomes a distraction or someone starts crying. *Teacher of the Year!*]
  2. Listen carefully [Even though you don’t understand almost everything I’m saying.]
  3. Speak English [This is America. We speak English here…wait…?]
  4. No sleeping [Because the kids stay up late talking to their friends and about mid-week start sprawling on benches and openly napping in the middle of class. They’re all set for college.]

The classes I’ve taught at this point are Video Store and my academic class, Music Genres. It takes a lot of lesson plan-adjusting as I learn more about what works and what doesn’t work for students of different English levels. For instance, when we played musical chairs in the first few Music Genres classes I taught, it went pretty well overall. And then I got a class that didn’t understood half my instructions, so when I played the music they just stood next to their chairs and kind of danced around to “Sugar” by Maroon 5, which they love here. (I can’t escape it. I just can’t.) No matter how many times I made a circle motion with my arm and tried to show them how to walk in a circle, they just ignored me and it became a matter of who was too into their dancing at the time the music stopped that they didn’t grab a seat. It was chaos, but I was laughing really hard at them when the DGEV photographer came in and wanted an action shot. So I’m pretty sure those pictures were of me dying of laughter while the kids formed a mosh pit to music that had out of control volume. *Quality education brought to you by Sarah Teacher*

Anyways, I might need to pick a different game for the kids who are more clueless and the middle schoolers who think they’re too cool for musical chairs and basically fought over who was free to stop playing the game and who was forced to march in a circle.

The kids craziness and unpredictability is what makes teaching fun here, though. They have a sweetly naive way of making sense of us foreigners, too. I’ve had many a Korean student stare into my heterochromatic eyes and ask, “Teacher, contact lens?” I’ve been asked a few times if I was married to the teachers I was observing the first week, and then asked if I was the teacher’s younger sister because of our age difference. The children ask “Same same?” and point at YouTube videos with white girls in them and then point at us, because, yes, all white girls look the same. Any female teacher with blonde hair and a braid will be called “Elsa” and there’s always a boy who stops the class at some point to sing, “Teacher…Do you wanna build a snowmaaaaaaaan?” Thanks, Frozen.

When class ends, I shout above the throng, “Sign passports! Sign passports!” And suddenly there are fifteen suspiciously-stained passports thrusted into my face and I circle how many points each student earned for participation and content and sign my initials. And then I release them to their Village Guide and wait for the next group to appear, waving “Hello, Teacher!”

So this is my life now.