I went to South Africa, and hired this cheap translator.
I started going to Jiu-Jitsu three times a week. My transformation into Batman wouldn't be complete without mastering a martial art. The physical side of it is challenging, but what interests me the most is the mental game that takes place with every roll. "Rolling" is free sparring in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. The best opponents don't use much strength, most of it is technique and positioning. They call me Roger, pronounced "Hajer", after the famous Roger Gracie (whom I share a slight resemblance toward).
For the first three weeks, I would get hurt on a regular basis. I was unable to walk for awhile, I've sprained my ankle, and have bruises all over my body. I'm getting used to it, and have learned a few of the techniques. I'm trying to get back into shape. I wrote a poem, loosely based on my experience:
'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through my shoe
was an incredible pain brought on by Jiu-Jitsu.
Out in the gym, arose such a rattle,
It was me, screaming in agony, as I was submitted in battle.
On nights, my daughter would be nestled all snug in her crib,
while Daddy tried to sleep as I think I sprained my rib.
Every morning, I would get submitted in slow motion,
"Just get it over with, and get the ibuprofen!"
Armbar! Kimura! Get side control!
My instructor would yell as the pain took its toll.
Triangle Choke! Sweep from the guard! Get full mount!
My opponent obeys and I'm out for the count.
And then, in a moment, I heard from above.
Grip his arm, and give him a shove.
I adhered his command, swept from the guard,
and in a split second, his arm was barred.
Screaming in pain, my opponent taps.
"I'm not letting go, until something snaps."
My gym mates were stunned as his body lay lifeless,
"I am the greatest, and my legacy is timeless!"
But who? Who was the man that whispered to me?
None other than the legend himself, Roger Gracie.
"Why did you help me when things looked grim?"
"I was talking to the other guy, now get out of my gym!"
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