Recently I had the honor of being promoted to Black Belt from my dear friend and long time coach, Professor Bruno Bastos. Although it has been over a month since my promotion, I still swell with pride each time I tie it.

Remembering what steps I took to deserve this gift is easy; I put my life into that two inch piece of cotton.

My story, I've assumed, isn't much different than most. I found something that wouldn't let me sleep so, I chased it till I couldn't sleep without it. I set goals and have met most of them but, regardless of outcomes of any endeavor, I never stopped. Because of this relentless pursuit of reckless abandonment, I am at peace.

Wearing a Black Belt doesn't change anything. The pursuit of it changed everything.

It was late 2005 when I found out what Mixed Martial Arts was. I was at a local dive bar listening to some shitty, local metal bands and waiting to hear my sister's boyfriend's band. (I assumed they would be just as shitty. I was wrong.) Someone started some shit somewhere near me and I somewhat got involved. Long, incomplete story short, I was recruited to the local MMA club, West Texas MMA run by a rough and tumble Judoka Cowboy, KC Windham.

My first day there, I put on a gi top that smelled like bad peanut butter and was two sizes to big. The class wasn't large, maybe 8-12 guys on those hard ass puzzle piece mats you can buy at Target. About half way through I started to wonder what the hell I was doing here an why I smelled the way I smelled? Overall, my first experience in a gi was bad. I hurt, I smelled, and my athleticism almost didn't matter.

Confused and angry I was tired of this peanut butter smelling bullshit and ready to punch some faces!

I'll never forget what happened next.

KC approached myself and 4 other guys and said, "Alright guys, here's the deal. We don't have an MMA team per say. So, this is how we're gonna find out who's gonna stay and who's uhhhhh a pussy." (I shit you not.) He then separated us into pairs that were around the same size then announced,

"Alright! One of these puzzle pieces down here, ya see?" Pointing to a 1 1/2' x 1 1/2' segment of the mat. "Lead foot in front, power foot in back. First person to move their foot from the puzzle piece isn't part of the team. Two minutes, bitches."

I'm looking at my partner like:

K.C. drops two pairs of 16oz gloves on the mat and walks to the timer leaving me wondering how serious this shit was. I strapped up and put my left foot forward and looked across to see another angry ass dude that wasn't gonna let some punk in a yellow rash guard beat him up.

"Alright. Buckle up!" quipped the cowboy.

Bell rings.

All hell breaks loose. In my mind, this guy is trying to kill my Grandma. He's stealing my last dollar. He's trying to eat me. He's, he's, he's kicking my ass!! Evidently he was thinking the same thing and he was going cromagdon on my ass. He broke my nose, I broke his.

Bell rings.

Neither of us moved. We wanted it. Had no idea what the hell that was but, we wanted it. I went home that night feeling like I had found a place where my abrasive attitude and aggression were not an issue to be avoided but an issue to focus on and correct. A place where no one was looking for acceptance; merely peace of mind or a healthy outlet.

I'll touch more on the 1st days of jiu jitsu training later this week and a few more fun stories!