Friday, November 14, 2025 by C. Michial Jones
In the year following my radical surgery, I lived in the “wait and see” window. I maintained a grueling rhythm: twice a week at Reclaimed, twice a week at MMA Minded, and running the Yushikan. I was pushing my body, trying to outrun a monster I couldn’t see.
But during my one-year post-op follow-up, the reality shifted. My PSA levels were rising. At the cancer center, the news was a gut-punch: the cancer was still there. Because it had a year to spread, it was now a ghost—too small for scans to pinpoint, but present enough to trigger an aggressive new plan: eight weeks of daily radiation and monthly hormone therapy.
The War of Attrition
The treatment was a different kind of “sparring partner.” The hormone therapy shut down my testosterone, sapping my strength and altering my body chemistry. The radiation brought nausea, deep exhaustion, and painful skin burns.
There were days I didn’t think I could move. But my wife, Amber, became my corner-man. “You’ll feel better if you go,” she’d insist. So, I went. I would leave the hospital, sleep in the car on the drive to Wabash or Swayzee, and step onto the mats feeling “puny” and broken. I was training not to win, but to remain human.
The Purple Belt: Honor Amidst the Fog
One night in November, after a particularly draining treatment, Rocky France called me forward and awarded me my Purple Belt.
I’ll be honest: I felt like an impostor. I felt like Rocky was giving me a “sympathy belt” because I was sick. My body was failing me, I was struggling to hit basic moves, and I felt I hadn’t “earned” it in the traditional sense. Furthermore, the promotion wasn’t received well by everyone. The political friction that often haunts the martial arts world reared its head, and my time at Reclaimed came to a close.
Redefining the Rank
It is easy to feel like a “real” martial artist when you are 30 pounds lighter, full of testosterone, and winning medals. It is much harder when you are a “ghost” of your former self, battling radiation burns and hormonal depletion.
But Rocky France is a man who died and came back. He doesn’t give out “pity belts.” He saw a 48-year veteran of the arts who refused to quit when most men would have stayed in bed. He saw a practitioner who understood the “Soft” (Ju) because he had no “Hard” (Go) left to give.
The Purple Belt isn’t a reward for your performance on your worst night; it is a recognition of your consistency across the decades and your resolve in the trenches.
Conclusion: The Impossible Goal
The path of Budo is often a lonely one, and the “crowd” tends to thin out the higher you climb. I still have rounds of injection therapy ahead of me, and the “monster” is still in the room, but my perspective has shifted.
That once-forgotten memory of obtaining a Black Belt in BJJ—a goal that seemed impossible in the spring of 2006 and even the winter of 2020—now feels within reach. Not because I am the strongest man on the mat, but because I am the one who won’t leave. The radiation may have burned my skin, but it couldn’t touch the spirit.
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