Compact pendulum sweeps


Danger arises when people think in only two mindsets, conversation or combat. When one side is trying to deny that they are in a dangerous situation and are trying to talk their way out of it, the other side has made a choice on some level to do violence and is merely looking for an opening. –Campfire Tales From Hell

Friday evening BJJ in Bellevue. Hot enough to fry an egg on the mat.

Grab-the-ankles sweep. Carlos scootched his hips right between his opponent’s feet and used his feet on the opponent’s hipbones. I tend to roll up almost onto my neck and use my knees, so it’s good to keep in mind that there are other options.

Pendulum sweep. Instead of pinning opponent’s arm across hir chest, we just pressed the elbow in with one palm. Tonight we were also hipping out much less than I tend to do, and using the bottom leg to shove much less than I tend to do. It looked very compact and effortless when Carlos did it. Didn’t seem like it should work. But of course it did.

Opponent is in your guard with tight hold on your belt, elbows tucked. Grab hir wrist (same side) and hip up violently to make a space to slide your other hand underneath to grab your own wrist. Now you can push up and beak the grip. Yank opponent’s arm across hir chest and hip out. Do not stick your far leg between hir knees- this time we kept that far leg on the outside while hipping out quite a lot, then pulling opponent into back mount. Don’t forget to trap the wrist once you have back mount.

I really wanted to spar, but it was just too hot.

Had a good online conversation with an artistic friend- music, books, writing. It’s always stimulating to talk to other creative people.

Ees THAT how eet’s done?


During the rapid improvement period in skill learning, students are motivated by their rate of improvement. Their desire to learn is created by the success that they achieve. Concentration and commitment are facilitated by the rapid rate of technical development. However, once the rate of learning begins to slow down, it requires much more effort on the part of both the student and coach to maintain the attention and work rate. Eventually the leveling off of improvement begins to have a negative effect on the learning environment, which can bring about a reduction in performance. Tony Gummerson, “Teaching Martial Arts”

Two mile walk.

Thurs afternoon gi in Bellevue.

Double-leg setups.

Standup, with judo grips: let go of lapel grip and fake a grab at the leg to make opponent step back. Then you pull guard.

Same entry, only now opponent tosses elbow when you try to place your rt foot on hir bicep. Drop that foot to hir hip (heel OUT!) Move right hand to (cross) grip opponent’s right sleeve cuff. catch hir rt heel with your other hand. Drop your left leg on the mat to hook behind hir other leg. If s/he fails to let go of your lapel, s/he will do most of the work of pulling you up so that you can jump on top.

This is a sweet sweep, but the number of steps is daunting. If I try to go too fast, I start skipping pieces (usually the hooking foot behind the second leg).

As you roll up out of this, keep opponent’s foot trapped with your feet. Don’t let hir bend the leg, unless you want to end up in half guard. This leg trap can turn into a nice kneebar. Of course Carlos walked over and looked at me just as I discovered this. “Ees THAT how eet’s done, Keetsune? Like THAT?” “Uh, no, no sir, that is NOT how it’s done! No sir, no!”

Positional sparring, spider guard, pass vs prevent pass… then King Of the Hill, same exercise. I was fortunate enough to avoid the two big spazzy white belt guys who were flinging purple belts around trying to dislodge spider guard positions with the Captain Caveman Technique. Note that the pass where you change direction and move in backwards like you’re going to sit on their face doesn’t work on Mischa. Tried it twice and failed miserably both times. What DID work on him was a fine strategy of body-surfing versus hanging heavy while he was elevating me and trying to maneuver me into a bad position. I couldn’t stop him from picking me up, but by a couple of strategic postings and by playing sandbag at the right moments, I ended up causing him to inadvertantly maneuver me right into side control, ha ha.

How to survive the Apocalypse


Note: there is no BJJ in this. There is a good deal of running about, which I guess counts as exercise.

Cliff’s Notes version: So my trip turned into the Apocalypse.

Although I don’t usually pay a lot of attention to either weather forecasts or to the PSG Facebook group, I had taken note of repeated warnings of mucho rain looming over the week. After my unpleasant experience last year with the rain, I took it seriously. I packed extra garbage bags, an extra slicker, an umbrella, some extra rain-resistant percussion options, and simply left several rain-fearing items at home. We always get one hard rain- so galoshes are a must anyway.

Kitsune (texting from O’Hare Airport): At curb, lower level, by rental car return. Screaming-orange hoodie with fox ears.

Dru (texting) I would expect nothing less.

I started the week off right by fooking up my very first heralding: I announced the coordinators’ meeting at the correct time but the wrong place. I blame my numbers disability. They have numbered workshop areas, and my brain has a really hard time both retaining those and also recalling which is which. And I’m not the only one. Whenever I announce something happening at “workshop site eleven” I get a dozen people stopping me on the road to ask “Where is workshop site eleven?” So I have to either carry a map with me or be forced to reply “Hell if I know.” The latter damages my air of authority, so I have to carry the map. I really need landmarks instead of numbers.

Harry helped me put up the tent, then I had to set up Dru- who is crippled enough that she can do very little physically. Got both tents up before it started raining. Tried a new tarping strategy this year, since we commonly tarp the tent to within an inch of its life and it always leaks anyway. I figured that if it leaked in the first rain, I could take the tarps down and try something else for the following day. I did not unpack much…. clothespinned a few ziplocked items to to the inside tent seams, and left everything else double-trashbagged on the floor. I extracted items on an as-needed basis, and put them back in the trashbags after use. I was planning to retreat with my double-trashbagged sleeping bag to Derek’s trailer if it got really bad.

The next day (Sunday) was load-in day for the non-staff. I was expecting it to rain all day, but it was beautiful. There was mud, of course.

In bygone times, one of the things I have most enjoyed was community drumming before the welcome meeting. It was the first chance to haul the drums out, and it started the meeting (and entire event) on a great vibe. About six years ago, Groove Troop took over and started doing a performance before the welcome meeting. Then for a couple of years, the sound guys were playing canned music. For the most recent couple of years, neither of those happened- but by then, people had been trained out of bringing their drums to the welcome meeting. I really wanted to restart that tradition. I hesitated to ask a bunch of people to haul their drums down, though…. if someone with more pull than I *did* have something planned, we would have hauled them down for nothing, and I would have felt bad. So I just recruited my twin. We picked up Finn and a couple of others as we went. Harry even came down and drummed on the opposite side of my drum, which was cool. It felt so good to do that, and I’m so glad we did it. Especially as it turned out that that was the only time my djembe got to come out at all.

The end of the welcome meeting was rained out.

We did do the opening rit…. I used a plastic tambourine instead of a drum due to on-and-off rain. For some reason, Groove Troop did not take over the drumming when we got to the bonfire circle as they usually do, so we procession drummers were kind of trapped there for a few hours. Which was okay, but I was tired. Lately I have tended to do processions- and sometimes the rits- and then bail.

Finn (proudly wearing his first real kilt… in the traditional manner): “Oh my God! OH my God!” (hopping about like a rabbit on meth) “Don’t spray your legs with bug spray while wearing a kilt!!!!!!!!!”

Bo was already stressing about the Hunt. Our previous space was unusable because the site owners had built some gardening trellises in the clearing. I wasn’t sorry. I never liked that space. The new space consisted of a section of small-treed woods, a dirt road which abutted the Faerie shrine, and two clearings. There was not enough room in either clearing to contain everyone. The finished Hunters would need to have their recovery space in the clearing #2. Not ideal, but I was okay with this. I just wanted to make sure the drummers would be able to see the kills.

One of the things I hadn’t liked about the previous site was that it made most of the hunters’ hunt spaces inaccessible to the villagers and extremely difficult to access by me and Bo. The Faerie shrine road would allow the villagers to see and send energy to the hunters. (It would also infuse a bunch of faerie energy into the rit, which could be good or bad…. this ought to be interesting….) I wandered in the hunt space a while and found lots of poison ivy, stinging nettles, (some of which we could remove), a stream to cross in the dark, and some disturbing waste. I hauled out some rusty barbed wire, sharp-edged metal signs, pieces of a deer blind with nails in it, and marked the site of a piece of rebar post that I would need Derek to help remove. Resolved to go through this area several more times searching for more hazards before we let the hunters go back there. (And wearing long pants. ow. I am very allergic to poison ivy, and I had to actually lie down in the field and roll in the mud when I came out because the nettles felt like acid eating through my shins.)

Found out, to my dismay, that it wasn’t the lightning that had caused Moonfeather and Selena to banish us to the sweat lodge last year. It was mud. They were anxious about liability if someone slipped in the mud in the hunt area. That upset me because I wanted to soldier on (OUTSIDE the sweat lodge) even if it was raining. This news made it much more likely that we might end up in the sweat lodge again even if it wasn’t actively storming… what were the chances of not having mud in the space, when it had already rained a few times and we were expecting more? I really didn’t want to be in the sweat lodge again…. although Chante was not there this year, so if we had to do it, we could and would. I began to push hard for having the hunter spaces in the field along the treeline as an alternative to the sweat lodge. The top of the field was reasonably dry and non-slippery. Bo didn’t like that idea, and I’m afraid I made myself rather obnoxious pushing it repeatedly. The sweat lodge thing just really sucks for the villagers and drummers, and I don’t want to do that ever again unless the ONLY alternative is to cancel altogether.

The Hunt coordinating team spent much of Saturday, Sunday and Monday having multiple meetings and- er- “discussing” our limited options. The threat of having to cancel altogether was hanging over our heads like the Sword Of Damocles. This was very frustrating to me…. but as Bo rightly pointed out, it would only take one really bad injury for Moonfeather and Selena to put an end to the Hunt permanently.

Monday started with rain, and Moonfeather as usual was extremely resistant to the idea of having the morning meeting in the pavilion. She never wants to do that, I don’t know why. Anyway, we had it in bonfire circle, and it rained on and off, finally deluging us near the end and driving everyone back to shelter. I had the doumbek, so did get to participate in the drumming, although it’s not the same without the djembe. (That thing cost over $100 to ship this year- ONE WAY- it’s getting to the point where it will seriously be cheaper to buy a fucking djembe onsite every year and then give it away at the end of the week.)

I had a dance date with Eric on Monday night, but the rain started pounding in earnest in midafternoon and continued to pick up the pace therafter. An emergency staff meeting ensued. The creek was rising. I am camped beside the creek. I was only mildly concerned. The bank was pretty high, and we had gotten hella rained on before without it getting anywhere near high enough to worry me. Some people sounded worried, though…. I had work to do, but I ran back to camp and got my car keys, my twin’s car keys (which she had given me in case I had to retreat to her car), my drivers’ license, credit card, and the itinerary for my return flight. The drums were safe at Herald Camp in Derek’s trailer. I looked around and decided that life would go on if I lost all the rest. Then set off to Herald- which I did for about the next ten hours almost nonstop, running through knee-high mud and pausing now and then to carry bins, haul tents, and push cars out of mud.

It was raining so hard that you almost had to breaststroke to walk. You couldn’t hear someone standing with their lips touching your ear and screaming at you. I did the best I could, and so did Derek and Dru and my underheralds (of which I had only two…. I had already released the one who was half-blind and had a bad hip, deciding that she was unfit to this challenge). But it was the Apocalypse. When the end of the world comes, that’s what it’s going to look like. I was Heralding The Apocalypse.

They started evacuating hundreds of cars out of the flooding back lot. I don’t know how they did it, but we ended up losing only six cars. Dru was too busy heralding to try to go save her car. (Do I know how to pick my co-coordinators or what? This chick takes her job seriously!) Not that she could have saved it anyway, as in her condition it would have taken her until NEXT Friday to get down to the back parking lot. At some point she threw her keys to Dawnwalker, who ran down the road howling, “What does Dru drive? What does Dru drive?” (This is going to be a new chant in Herald Camp next year.) She ended up turning the keys over to Rhonda, who knew no better what Dru drove. Poor Rhonda was reduced to crosstrekking the back lot, stumbling and skidding amongst hundreds of cars in the downpour, clicking desperately at the key fob and waiting for a returning beep. Of course Dru’s car was in the very back row at the far end. When Rhonda finally found it, she actually dragged a tarp over the seat before she got in- being head to toe mud from repeatedy falling in the parking lot. She saved the car and didn’t even get mud on the seats.

We started evacuating the people along the creek. At some point I found myself with an extra few minutes on my hands and decided to see if I could save any more of my belongings. Since almost everything was still sitting in double trashbags, it was the work of only a few minutes to pull down the ziplocs clipped to my tent seams and toss all the stray items into the trashbags. I ended up with four trashbags stuffed with all of my gear and belongings. I hauled two of them to the road, and there was Brian in his golf cart. He took them, and I went back for the others. There were Talon and my twin- they each took a bag and disappeared. All four bags later reappeared in Herald Camp none the worse for wear. I was now a bona fide refugee- fleeing the destroyed remains of my home with all of my worldly possessions in trash bags. I bid a bitter adeiu to the case of Dr Pepper and two cases of Slim Fast sitting beside my tent.

Thank Gods for Finn. He’s Derek’s son, eighteen, young, strong, and he’s desperately in love with me. He was one of my Herald minions for the day, and I ordered him around like a serf- heralding, hauling, fetching, message-carrying, he did everything I asked him to with a cheerful and waterlogged smile.

We moved my twin out, and everyone else along the creek. Then everyone on that side of the pond. The staff brought trucks and carts up and we just flung everyone’s crap into them and hauled ass out of there. The smaller tents, once empty, were being picked up by teams of four- one on each corner- and marched down the road held over their heads.

By the time I got a chance to go back to my campsite for a look-see, it was under two feet of rushing water. The tent was gone. I later found that someone(s) had collapsed it and dragged it up to higher ground- along with (to my embarrassment) a pile of Slim Fast bottles and Dr Pepper cans. People’s cars and entire camps were being washed away, and someone was running around picking up my Dr Pepper cans.

Harry, Finn and my twin went back hours later (without me) to see if anything else could be salvaged, and my twin- since she reads my blog- was able to instantly identify my wreckage by the presence of the Dr Pepper cans piled on the mounds of soggy detritus. To my further dismay and shame, the three of them actually loaded up all those fucking Dr Pepper cans into Dru’s wagon along with the tarps and hauled them back to Herald camp.

Dru got stranded at the pavilion and ended up stuck there for most of the night- triaging the people who had lost their campsites and had nowhere to go, and babysitting for people who were trying to move campsites and needed the sprats out of the way and safe while they did this. Others donated extra tents, bedding, and took orphan campers back to their own camps with them.

Kitsune: “Your son’s been my heroic slave for two days. I may sleep with him after all.”
Derek: “Tell Rhonda that.”
Kitsune: “No.”
Rhonda (shouting from down the road): “Tell me what??!!!??! TELL ME WHAT??????!!!!”

By around midnightish, we had everyone moved who desperately needed to be moved, and all the cars moved that were able to be moved out of harm’s way. It was incredible. This was a campsite of a thousand people. We moved at least 1/3 of the campsites and probably 3/4 of the vehicles. The staff was a well-oiled machine, and everyone was running around helping others before they even thought about their own needs.

A huge live tree fell on a (fortunately unoccupied) camper in the middle of the night and totalled it.


Usually our rainstorms at this site have high winds screaming across the pond. If there had been winds thrown in with this storm, people would have died. No question.

If this had been anywhere else, the Red Cross would have been deployed. Maybe the National Guard. We had a thousand people- more than in many small towns. Many of them elderly, disabled, etc.

I have a new respect for the homeless. It’s difficult to keep track of your stuff and stay organized when you are living out of trashbags.

Dru (over staff channel radio): “Are you coming back over here?”
Kitsune: “No. I’m moving in with Harry. I know it’s sudden, but it just seems so right.”

I was fortunate enough to have the choice of moving into Derek’s trailer, my twin’s car, or Harry’s camper. I picked the camper. I love Harry, but I hate living in close proximity to even people I love. Yet, desperate times and all. And I just wanted to put on some dry underwear because I couldn’t remember what that felt like. I spent all of Monday in a sopping purple velvet tank dress with a torn and knotted-together transparent rain poncho over it.

Tuesday morning: Harry helped me hang up six clothelines full of my wet things, then made me scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. I was dry and felt like I was living in the lap of luxury. As I was about to do the dishes, yet another staff meeting was called.

My thoughts: a lot of people had already flown the coop, and we would probably lose a lot more today. But the ones who stayed were going to have the party of the century. After what we had accomplished over the previous evening and night, I was feeling ten feet tall and raring to do the Hunt. I sidled up to Bo and said, “So, about that edge-of-the-field idea….”

Moonfeather and Selena had different plans. They had decided to shut down the entire event and boot everyone out.

Disbelief. Dismay. Grief. Frustration. Anger. Bitterness. Tears. Arguing. Resignation.

Half the portajohns were in accessible, and the showers were down with no hope of resurrection. If nothing else, the health department would shut us down just for that.

Morning meeting: Just because the universe is perverse in this way, it was a gorgeous sunny morning with butterflies spiralling, birds trilling, and a whole bunch of triumphant, relieved people dancing and singing and laughing because they had survived the Apocalypse.

They told everyone.

Disbelief. Dismay. Grief. Frustration. Anger. Bitterness. Tears. Arguing. Resignation.


(This is not a photo of a lake. This is a photo of a campground.)

My voice was an aspirated croak- but miraculously, Dru (whose day it was to be in charge of Heralding…. I had been in charge on what was officially the Worst Day Of PSG EVER) had all three minions show up for work, and a couple of extra volunteers besides. I was able to rest my voice for the first half of the day, which was fortunate as there was a buttload of Heralding to do all day long and the next day as well.

We found ourselves pressed into counseling and diplomatic negotiations as well. I was thoroughly cussed out BY NAME down in Rainbow Camp. Knowing emotions were high, I didn’t really take it too personally- but it was a bit wounding to be cussed out BY NAME. I also had to (several times) herald a long list of people whose cars needed to be moved NOW because they were blocking others in. One woman ran up to me bawling her head off. She and her family were packing up as fast as they could, they were traumatized, and because she was on this “naughty list”, she felt as though I was reprimanding her. I had to stop and talk her down.

Zero (going in for a hug)
Kitsune (holding up hand): “I’m really sweaty and smelly.”
Zero (husky whisper): “Good.”

We got a lot of people out that day, but there were just too many- and too many vehicles stuck- to get them all out. Fred had to winch upwards of 100 vehicles out of the mud, one by one.

All of the workshops, riutals, concerts and other programming were cancelled- but every musician on site converged that night to perform a “bardapalooza”- the best part of which was when one would start a song and the rest would join in as best they could, winging it. Wonder of wonders, Eric appeared. So we got our dance date after all.

That night, the people who were left set determinedly to work to dispose of what had been intended as an entire week’s generous supply of alcohol. Between the pavilion and Herald Camp, I was accosted by three separate people weaving along with a bottle in each hand, weedling me to help them finish it off. I got invited to a half dozen Bacchanalias. Harry had to be half-carried home by some buddies. I think Dru and I were the only sober people within a two mile radius.

In the morning, Moonfeather sent me out to herald. The message boiled down to “Get The Fuck Out ASAP”. It was not even 8am, and most of the remaining campers were hung over in bed. I did not use my pot lid and spoon to bang. I did not linger. I yelled and then fled.

I had to help pack up my twin, which was bitter as this is going to be her last PSG for at least a few years- and what a finale! Glad we got that one drumming session in at the welcome meeting.

Kitsune: “I had a dream about you last night.”
Zero: “Are you going to tell me about it?”
Kitsune: “Nope.”

I would like everyone to know that- even after being told that I had just gone through a bona-fide natural disaster- United Airlines raped me an extra $200-plus to change my ticket so that I did not have to spend the next five days sleeping on the floor at O’Hare.

Before the fest, I had actually been pricing camper rentals due to the (now minor-seeming) trauma I had had with the rain last year. They are all of course way out of my budget. When I got home, there was an envelope waiting in my mailbox. It contained an escrow refund check for (what is to me) an eye-popping amount. Normally I would funnel such a thing straight back into the mortgage (If I make only minimum payments, I will be paying that thing well into my eighties), but the timing would seem to be a clue-by-four that I should use this money to rent myself an actual hard-shelled six-sided structure in which to weather PSG next year. So I will. (Even a small cargo trailer would suffice to keep the drums and sleeping bag dry….. and I no longer own a tent!)


(The sign says “to water”. Just in case you can’t find the water.)

So now I am feeling mostly depressed, with anger edging in. I know this is nobody’s fault, but this is my one vacation of the year- I count on it to fuel myself up for the rest of the year, and it costs me literally thousands of dollars which I can ill afford to flush down the toilet. It was quite an adventure, and a miracle than nobody was seriously hurt, and seeing the way everyone pitched in to help one another was almost enough to restore one’s faith in humanity. But yeah, these next few weeks at least are going to be emotionally tough.

Applying copious “purring cat therapy”.

For your information

I feel that all of my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu siblings, teammates and friends should be aware of the following disturbing turn of events. The IBJJF has blacklisted Georgette Oden- veteran ring coordinator, BJJ blogger, and competitor- from working at their events. Their stated reason is that she has “an active voice and takes stands”. This means that they do not like the fact that Georgette writes on her personal blog about sexual assault awareness, including the outing and publicizing of offenders within our martial arts community. You can read the full text on Georgette’s blog. I feel that we should all be aware of the IBJJF’s policies on this matter so that we can make informed decisions about our dealings with this organization. Please disseminate. Thank you.

No concession


Getting handed a shit sandwich with life isn’t that big a deal… but the idea that it’s not normal, that the sandwich of life is supposed to be roast beef with bacon and cream cheese lightly toasted with brown mustard… that’s the part that hurts. The suffering- if it is that- lingers in the gap between the expectation and the reality. –Campfire Tales From Hell

Saturday lunchtime BJJ in Seattle.

So tired driving in. I had slept poorly, and it was still very hot.

Same techniques as last night. Chrisanne was very sore and not at all pleased. I was down with it. I was sore but not too badly, mostly just tired. I am a slow learner, and it’s a good thing for me to do the same techniques for two or three days in a row. I like to watch myself get better every day, and pick up a few fine new details every day. I decided that today was going to be The day Of Perfect Form.

Going to be doing that standing guard pass in my sleep tonight.

After class, I took off my jacket and lay on my back in the locker room, trying to decide about the live training hour next. The heat takes it out of me and makes me not want to do anything. But as I evaluated my body and motivation level, I had to admit that the exhaustion I was feeling was really not any worse than the exhaustion I was feeling on the drive in, before I had even done anything. So I really had no excuse.

I didn’t stay for the full hour, but I had a fairly long roll with Danae and one with Amy. Both are prepping for tournaments, so I focused on that sweet spot of trying to stay just a hair ahead of them and make them work. Helped Danae with her upa and a couple of other things. Amy is amazingly improved every single time I roll with her. Her guard passes are excellent, and she never, NEVER gives up- which I love about her game. As you’re working for that pass or that side control or whatever, there usually comes a point where the opponent gives up and concedes it to you. Amy NEVER concedes. You might get it- you MIGHT… but she is going to fight you every single frickin’ millimeter until you do.

I remembered to take my headgear home with me today.

Why yes… an ear-ectomy would indeed eliminate the need for headgear.


Use of force is a “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” issue. “This one is too little. This one is too much. This one is just right.” Campfire Tales From Hell


2 mile walk.

I went to the optometrist and got a different contact lens prescription. I have gotten slightly blinder. I still hate contacts, and tend to put them in right before class and pop them out immediately after. It is a constant source of irritation to me that I have to wear glasses- I am painfully aware that if a real defense situation occurs, all the Bad Guy has to do is hit me in the glasses and break them, knock them off, or even just bend them- and I will be fairly hamstrung in both a practical sense and in the realm of self-confidence. I told the doctor that I would really like to find a type of contact that is actually comfortable enough to wear all day, and will not make my head hurt when I try to do tasks that involve intense focus. I have now been wearing the brand that I am currently test-driving for two days- all day. They are better than the old ones, but I can still feel them in there and am still experiencing some amount of drying, itching and irritation. I am going to try to make myself keep wearing them as much as possible until my recheck appointment (although I’m not sure if that’s going to be practical at work, with the microscope).

No-gi in Bellevue.

I think I mentioned in my last posting that I left my headgear at the school YET AGAIN. Tonight, I walked in and saw Carlos hanging around talking to some people. I didn’t want him to see me searching for the headgear, so I went away and did something else for a while. Then I came back to peek in, and he was on the mat busy with some kids. But as soon as I crept across the floor and stuck my head into the office to see if my headgear was in there, he’s yelling “KEEEEEEEEETSUNE!” across the mat. I turn around, and he’s glaring at me and pointing to the corner of the room by the water cooler. I had to do the Walk Of Shame across the room while he glared at me. I apologized for about the five hundredth time. Then he suggested that if he amputated my ears, I wouldn’t have to worry about it any more.

Pummelling, double-leg setups. Carlos is fixated on these two drills lately. Chrisanne’s double-leg setups look and feel so incredible. I wish mine were half that good. I asked her if she ever tries them live, and she said no. I told her that she should.

I was too lazy to blog this class last night, and now I can’t remember everything we did. 😛 I do remember doing more double-leg setups with the other person sprawling, and then with a guillotine. We also spent a decent amount of time doing timed flow rolling with rotating partners.

I do remember that at the end, I had a great roll with Chrisanne. It was very very hot, but we resolved to spar at least a bit. She did a double leg takedown on me, and it worked beautifully.

When we were both lying on the mat dying, she said, “Dude. We rolled for forty minutes.” It felt like fifteen. I could have kept going, but she was done.

I remembered to take my headgear home with me tonight. Nor did I forget my water bottle or my belt.

Another two mile walk.

I went to Lindsey’s studio and got my hair cut. It was so nice to see her. I really miss her on the mat. And while I looked like a real sex kitten with my shaggy curls tumbling over my eyes, it was driving me crazy. So nice tonight to not have hair in my face.

BJJ in Bellevue. Hotter than hell in the gi.

After the ubiquitous pummelling and double-leg setups…

Standing reverse DLR guard passes. Press against the thigh, then when opponent pushes back, donkey kick, pass, and go to KOB.

Same, but opponent turns in to you and pushes your knee. Add a spinning armbar.

Same, but you don’t sink all the way into a good KOB- and opponent tries to single-leg you. Spinning armbar the OPPOSITE way. Note that this version does not involve stepping one foot backwards over the opponent. Your butt is the only thing that goes over. I struggled a bit with that.

Lots of drill reps, lots of getting up and down (which always exhausts the hell out of us old ladies), very very hot. But we both held up pretty well. Much mutual cheerleading. I wish I could better communicate to Chrisanne about the Dragon-ish recycling of energy. I tried to explain how to swing your leg and use centrifugal force to get yourself back up off the floor easier. I have several times tried to explain the paddleball analogy of bouncing the energy back into the next movement- and the next rep- instead of letting it go “splat” and expended/wasted. I don’t feel like I’m getting through- but focusing on trying to be a good example of these at least helps me do more reps faster, and keep my mind (to some degree) off of how hot and exhausted I am.

Again, it was far too hot to roll after class.

I remembered to take my headgear home with me again. I also walked right past the barbeque for the second Friday in a row. I’ve been eating a lot of chicken and eggs, but am still struggling mightily with my soda addiction. I did two per day for about two weeks, then backslid a bit. I’m down to one can when I get up, one at work, and a third when I get home from work. I am much weaker on my days off. If I’m home for any length of time, it’s very difficult to stay away from the fridge pack. If I’m out doing classes and other things away from the house, I’m fine most of the day but then I tend to binge with a couple of cans when I get home. I substitute juice or water at work (I know juice is full of sugar, but it’s better than pop… and I can kick the juice easy once I have the pop thing under control). I’d really like to eliminate that third morning soda. By the time I get home from work, I am tired and grouchy and jonesing for it. I often struggle similarly with eating bad things in the morning when I get home from work, so this is a destructive pattern for me. I’ve been good for the last few weeks about just not having trigger foods in the house. Man, this Dr Pepper, though. What do they put in this stuff, heroin?? I’m so glad I stayed the hell away from alcohol and drugs. If I’m this weak with caffeine and sugar, I have no business messing with anything more addictive than that. So glad I was wise enough to know this from the beginning.