Friday, November 01, 2024 by C. Michial Jones
A few weeks before my surgery, I was awarded my Blue Belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for the second time. It was a strange moment—holding a new rank while sitting on the sidelines in a sling, my body preparing for a war it couldn’t see. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the belt then, but I know now that it represents a bridge: the one that carried me from my “first life” in the arts to this new, hard-won reality.
The Radical Shift
Surgery was more invasive than we had hoped. The “monster” had grown, protruding from the organ and requiring the removal of the neck of the bladder, a small section of the urethra, seminal vessels, vas deferens and four lymph nodes. It was a radical clearing of the slate.
Recovery has been its own kind of training. For 31 days, I was tethered to a catheter—a humbling and unpleasant ordeal that tests a man’s patience more than any three-minute round of rolling. My wife, Amber, became my “Sensei” in recovery, keeping me home until she felt I was ready to face the world again.
The View from the Chair
While I couldn’t be on the mats, I refused to be away from them. As soon as Amber allowed it, I returned to the Yushikan. I sat in the chair, watching Alec Dunn lead the classes, offering corrections from the sideline. Amber drove me to Reclaimed just so I could be in the room.
In the martial arts, we call this Mitori-Geiko—”learning with the eyes.” When you cannot move, your vision becomes sharper. You see the mechanics, the timing, and the flaws in a way you never do when you are in the middle of the sweat.
The New Zealand Connection: Andy Medcalf
In October, a unique opportunity arrived in the form of Andy Medcalf, Josh’s coach from New Zealand. I was still healing, barely clear of my drains and catheter, and certainly not cleared to train. But Budo finds a way to provide what you need.
While I couldn’t roll with Andy, I spent my days with him. We went shooting, and I sat with him while the others worked. We talked deeply about the “Way.” Andy is world-class, and his insights into how I should approach my training once the doctors release me were a gift. He didn’t see a “sick man”; he saw a practitioner in a transition phase.
Conclusion: The Quarterly Count
Now, my life is measured in quarterly blood tests. The uncertainty is there, but so is the clarity. I have missed the sweat at Reclaimed and the drives to Rocky’s, but I haven’t lost the path.
I am down 30 pounds, my internal “plumbing” has been reconstructed, and my perspective has been forged in a fire very few understand. I am not back on the mats yet, but I am in the room. And in this game, being in the room is half the battle.
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