#002 - Leaving Foreverland
Most people in my life know that I was heavily involved in martial arts at some point. Few understand how heavily exactly and at what level. I was just the guy-you-asked-UFC-questions-to in so many people’s lives. Is GSP ever going to come back? Will he ever fight Khabib? Is that Conor McGregor guy that good or is he just all talk? I was an expert opinion in casual conversations. I kept my involvement so private that it was an abstraction.
For some, I was actually fighting in the UFC and for others, I was doing katas in a karate gi.
But I was good. Not great, but I was committed to it like I committed to few things in my life. I wasn’t just showing up for class and learning moves. I was training six days a week. I was so dedicated that I elevated above the level of guys-showing-up-for-class-and-learning-moves. For close to a decade (2006-2015), I was teaching the moves. I teached no-gi brazilian jiu-jitsu and amateur mma class in Tristar Gym, in Montreal.
Here’s me, teaching a student a thing or two under the watchful eye of UFC veteran Mike Ricci.
Tristar is a world renowned gym where mixed martial arts royalty trained: Georges St. Pierre, Rory MacDonald, David Loiseau, Ivan Menjivar, Miguel Torres, Robert Whitaker, Alex Garcia, John Makdessi, I could go on. I wasn’t technically or athletically on their level, but I came up through the same curriculum. I’ve learned what they learned. Well enough to apply successfully in fighting situation against other non-professionals. Well enough to be endowed with the responsibility of teaching it.
It’s the dream of many mutts to be adopted by a pack of tigers. To find their place among a certain elite. Whether it’s through sports, crime or high-level professional activities, objective measurements of status are badges of honour. I’ve earned the privileged of being called "coach” for close to a decade through monk-like dedication to my craft and the benevolence of coach Firas Zahabi who wanted other students to respect my level of commitment.
But I walked away from it all in 2015 after twelve years and never looked back. Six and a half years later, I now understand this decision tells a lot more about what kind of man I am than all the blood, sweat and tears I left on the mats.
There are two UFC veterans and a legendary coach on this photo. None of them are me.
Why I joined
I did not join Tristar because I needed a hobby. I had planned to do it before even moving to Montreal. Going to college really was an excuse to move closer to a place where I could transform myself. I’ve jointed Tristar because I’ve spent the first twenty years of my life feeling weak and afraid of everything. I wanted to beat that weakness out of myself. Firas told me years after he started training me that I was the most unathletic person he’s ever trained. I wanted not to be that guy anymore.
Sure, I was dreaming of UFC glory like every other twenty years old starry-eyed idiot, but I dreamed for a particular reason: I wanted to do something difficult. Something that most human beings weren’t capable or simply willing to do. Something worthy of admiration. I wanted to elevate over every bully and dismissive idiot I’ve encountered in my life and I’ve encountered a lot of them. I wanted to burst through the limitations other people had set for me and I did.
I was borderline feral then. All I did was study, hit the gym and talk to strangers on internet forums. I was so dedicated to martial arts that I chose my literature classes according to their schedule, so that they would not interfere with my training. I put myself through some boring-ass lectures that borderlined psychological torture in order to pursue this transformation. I felt no responsibility to anyone or anything except my self. I wanted to be stronger, smarter and meaner.
In retrospect, I’ve really downplayed the importance Fight Club had on me. To other people and to myself. I’ve jointed Tristar because I wanted to beat my old self to death. I wanted to suffer for a purpose. To reach Foreverland, a state of homeostatis between who I was and who I wanted to be. I wanted to be somebody else. In retrospect, I’ve reached my destination a lot earlier than I thought. It might’ve taken three or four years to do it. I became who I wanted to be.
I felt like putting a bullet between the
eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its
species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers
and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke. (Fight Club)
Why I left
I was never very good at projecting myself into the future. Ask me where I plan to be in 5 years and I’m always going to answer the same thing: "here?" One day at Tristar, I put the gloves with a very green Mike Ricci. He would later become a decorated professional mma fighter, but he maybe had six months of stand up fighting then. I had three or four years under my belt. He just whooped me. He didn’t hurt me or anything, but he showed hand speed I couldn’t compete with. It was maybe 2007? 2008?
My sense of purpose started eroding there. Because I didn’t understand yet that I had gotten what I wanted from martial arts and understood right there and then that my UFC dreams were perhaps a little far fetched. That all the hard work and dedication in the world were perhaps not enough. Sure, I could’ve done more. I had a poor understanding of my weaknesses then. I could’ve worked more on my body and I suffered from gun-shyness from years of physical and psychological bullying.
But there would still be super athletic, genetically gifted people who could go infinitely further than I ever could if they applied themselves and Mike did. Gym activities were ramping up due to Georges St. Pierre’s UFC success, I was given more responsibilities and I yet, I could feel my dedication slip away. I was working on a master degree then. I had met Josie and my level of real-life responsibilities kicked up a notch also. I was not entirely dedicated to my self anymore. That work was done.
I stayed for WAY too long, but I eventually left. I wrote a short email to Firas telling him I would stop performing my teaching/matchmaking duties. He answered that he understood and told me not to get fat (I haven’t gained a pound since leaving). I left what most unfulfilled young men long for. The acceptance and respect of equally dedicated peers. I walked away from it all quietly and never looked back. I visited the gym twice since then, but never actually trained martial arts again. I was done.
I am not a martial artist. I know martial arts enough to feel physically secure in almost every situation, but martial arts were a mean to an end to me. I’m a writer. It’s what I do. It’s what I like. It’s what comes naturally. It’s my greatest skill and the one I constantly work on. I haven’t given up on doing that one difficult thing. That objective measurement by which my legacy will be judged. But it’s not going to involve a cage match. This is my purpose and my burden all at once.
I will write something to be remembered by or die trying. I know that much and I’m at peace with that. I did not want what I thought I wanted and I suspect this is the case for most young men.
