There’s No Crying in Krav Maga
Except when there is.
I just read A.J. Kay’s Blood, Sweat, and Fuck the Tears and it sparked a memory in me that I never want to forget, so I’m going to write it down.
A few weeks ago, I completed a test for my yellow belt (Level 2) in Krav Maga. It was, hands down, the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life and maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but not really.
I had heard stories about belt tests over the previous 10 months at this particular gym. The general consensus seems to be that they are far more of a psychological challenge than a physical one. They test your mental endurance, and challenge you break through the walls your brain constructs when it believes your body has been punished enough.
I know that pushing your body’s limits through mindfulness is a fairly common endeavor and that different people choose to do it in different ways. My dad, Thomas P Seager, PhD, for example, does it with ice baths. So, in preparation for the test, I gave his method a shot.
The bath itself wasn’t even that bad. My brain was hyping it up to be much worse than it actually was, and the only thing that convinced me to get into that cold ass coffin was telling myself, “No matter how bad this is, it probably won’t be as bad as my belt test on Saturday”.
I turned out to be right.
Because when you do Krav Maga, you’re training to fight for your life.
It’s an understatement to say I was scared. I was so fucking scared that I thought maybe I wouldn’t even have to worry about the actual test. Maybe I would just pass out and die before I stepped on the mat.
When faced with anxiety about Krav before, I would just tell myself, “Oh, well. Maybe this’ll be the class when I need an ambulance.” And then I got my ass out there.
In this pre-belt-test headspace, where my anxiety was out of control, I needed a little more of a push. That push was my faith in the people around me. I trust these instructors with my life (literally) and there was a degree of comfort in knowing that if I did pass out, they would take care of me. Or if I did die, at least I would die among courageous friends whom I admire deeply.
For me, with most things, the hardest part is showing up. The hardest part is the anticipatory anxiety I feel because I don’t know what is going to happen and it kills me.
But that’s not how this bitch worked.
This time, the test was the hardest part.
The test started with a short monologue from the Chief Instructor about how they don’t fuck around with belt tests.
“Good luck.”
We proceeded to then “warm-up”, which wasn’t a standard warm-up. This one was designed to tire us out before we even started. Great, you’re all exhausted, let the test begin.
We started throwing punches. And then we threw more punches. And more punches.
The intervals were so goddamn long and we did so many of them that my arms turned to linguini.
Then we started kicking shit. Then we kicked more shit. Then we took turns attacking each other over and over and fucking over again.
Being eye-to-eye with someone while they throw a punch at my face with 100% of their power and speed is something I had never experienced before. It’s not great.
After an hour and a half of this, my shirt was sweat. Not even cotton anymore. Just pure sweat.
I was going in and out of blackouts and felt pain in every muscle of my body. My heart was beating so fast and so hard, I could hear it over the music. I could barely stand.
It felt like I was barely making a dent in my mental walls.
Now, with nothing left in my tank, we formed groups for our final drill. It was our standard “monkey in the middle” drill, but with a fucked up twist. The monkey was to be constantly attacked using any of the chokes from the Level 1 curriculum. Those consist of a choke from the front with or without a push, a choke from behind with or without a push, a choke from either side, and a headlock. Once the monkey released him or herself from one choke, they were to have another pair of hands immediately around their neck.
I volunteered to go first.
I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.
The next part I don’t remember. I didn’t black out, but I discarded it from memory as soon as I was done. I have no idea how I did. I’m still alive and I did pass the belt test, so I must have done something right.
Now, the part of the experience that A.J. Kay reminded me of, the one that will never leave me, came after everyone else in my group had gone and after I received a very painful, albeit accidental, kick in the groin. (Thank God I don’t have balls.)
I thought that I was done, but it turns out that watching another take his test was almost as emotional as taking mine.
There was one group of seven people (the rest had six), so even though all the other groups were done, everyone who had already finished got to watch and cheer as the last poor soul endured the final hellish five minutes of his belt test. The group consisted of all men, all at least 6 feet tall. They were so strong and if any of them had been in my group, I would not be here to write this.
I stood nearby, cheering him on with everyone else. I wanted so badly for him to be successful. The last attack on him came in the form of headlock from a man several inches taller. The headlock was so fucking tight I thought that the defender’s head might explode. They dropped to the ground and the defender went limp.
You can’t tap out in a belt test. You either defend yourself, or you pass out and die. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if he was just taking a break, if he had passed out, or if he was dead. I screamed and screamed at this man, who had appeared to give up, and then I began to cry.
My pleas for him to fight back got caught in my throat. I choked on my screams and I couldn’t cheer for him anymore without completely losing it. I had never seen anything like this in my life, and it scared the shit out of me.
It was like every challenge in my life was hitting me at once, almost as if I was that man, on the ground, and struggling so, so hard to get out of this bind.
“Get the fuck out of there, man. Get yourself to safety.”
Then he began to struggle. After some intense struggle, he was able to free himself from the headlock.
We both passed.
I walked off the mat, still choking on my tears. I had to sit for a while, watching the upper levels continue to endure, in order to collect myself. I was the last one from the Level 1 test to leave.
So, I guess Krav isn’t always no tears.
And, Jesus Christ, this was only my Level 2 belt test.
Level 3 might kill me. Or maybe I’ll need an ambulance.
