Reflections on competing, again

PTSD, Will Tennyson and a love of the game.

Some raw notes on my week competing. Enjoy.

Monday 1st December

When I decided to take a match on Heretics, it was because I saw a woman close to my weight looking for a match. And for female heavies, it’s hard. I was there anyway, so why not, right?

In my head, it was perfect. There was 0 expectation on me; I was doing a favour, right? No stakes, I could go in without overthinking and just have a round. Win, lose, sub - who cares. I did my duty.

The scariest bit - the raw vulnerability of trying really hard and coming up short - was not there.

But I’ve been watching Will Tennyson videos as my lunchtime Youtube, and I finally watched his bodybuilding competition diary. And he shared some advice from his Mum - you approach every day as if you’re signing your name on it. You do the best you can, everyday, because it reflects on you.

And it really made me question my approach to this competition. My mindset of ‘oh I doesn’t matter, I’m taking this match as a favour, really’ was not a good one.

It does matter because it’s something I’m doing. And I am not someone who does things without fully committing - if you’re doing it, you may as well do the best you can. I’m having a grappling match and I should make sure it represents me to my fullest, even if it’s something small.

It also matters, because I’d be doing my opponent a massive disservice. Me going in with a blasé attitude is not giving her a worthwhile match. She deserves to compete with someone who is locked in. It’s not fair on her to have someone seeing this as a favour. That’s shitty of me.

So, since my match got announced, I locked in. I did extra rounds with my friends in the gym at a high intensity. I did my cardio and sauna sessions. I turned down my usual start of Christmas traditions of mince pies and pub trips for hitting my macros and an early night. I started making notes and visualising.

It’s been a really fun process.

But, it’s far scarier to try. What if I fail?

But, it’s far cooler to try. What if I succeed?

Saturday 7th December

Something I didn’t account for: the unique challenge of competing with PTSD.

This is not a cope by any means - my opponent was incredible and completely outclassed me. This is just an honest reflection and an opportunity to share. This is me - if I’m nothing else I’m an over thinker.

My friend made the very good point that competing while dealing with PTSD is a very unique and challenging thing.

PTSD is something that no longer bothers me 99.9% of the time. In my teens and 20s, I experienced intense anxiety, depression, mania, suicidal ideation, disassociation and a general, all-round fear of existing. It wasn’t until COVID I saw the right psychiatrist and they diagnosed me with PTSD. And it made sense: I’d experienced various instances of male violence and abuse throughout my life.

I was fortunate enough to be given treatment by an amazing therapist who changed my life.

I was also fortunate to find jiu jitsu and my wonderful, safe, friendly gym in London Grapple.

The sport gave me agency beyond the whims of my nervous system. I grew in self confidence after spending my life being distrustful of my judgment. It forced me into my body and helped me work through issues around disassociation.

I’ve spoken at length about how the sport helped me get my life back.

But, competing is a whole new ball game. It’s something I barely do - once a year is about my limit. Last time, I spiralled into my old disordered eating patterns. This time though, it’s taught me that PTSD is something that’s managed, not that it goes away.

Always something fun to learn in these matches that is never about my jiu jitsu.

Truthfully, about a minute into my match, my body had convinced me that I was about to die. My fight or flight has been sent into overdrive and my brain shot into disassociation mode.

I was back in the situations I didn’t think I’d make it out of.

I looked at the ceiling in bottom mount for what felt like 4 hours, my brain telling me the only way to survive was to go blank and stay perfectly still - my previous survival tactics.

But, fortunately, I heard Lucie Maximo (someone I barely know but now am eternally grateful for) shout to capture a leg. I moved as if through concrete, but the muscle memory from a class by Ed (a wonderful coach and legend) kicked in. I got moving again.

She would move to another great position, I’d escape.

Survival survival survival. Ad infinitum.

I tried and failed to fall back on an Aoki lock, but my body was moving so slowly I could barely comprehend the mechanics of what I was doing. I felt like letting go to get to a better position would be the most dangerous thing I could do.

It finished and the familiar feelings of shame and guilt came flooding over me. I was reassured by my lovely friends I did well. But my brain is conditioned to associate these types of responses to something shameful, I guess.

I had little time to decompress, because I spend the next few hours photographing. I felt numb, I felt distracted, I felt severe envy of the girls who could just have a scrap.

In the evening, I spent my wonderful date night with a pit in my stomach, a tightness in my chest, a paranoia. I immersed myself in the Giacomo Smith Ensemble at Ronnie Scott’s, being brought to tears by a clarinet solo for some kind of weird emotional release, clearly still incredibly heightened.

Then, getting ready to try to sleep, my brain began writing this in my head.

While my photos exported this morning, I thought I’d get it down on paper, to try and make sense of what happened to me.

And as you can tell from the entry I wrote to myself on Monday, things were good. My preparation felt amazing, but that was in the safety of the white padded walls of London Grapple. I was in my routines, in my own world.

I guess that’s the point of competing.

You are flung into situations you don’t expect; I just wish those situations were about my grappling and not some deep-rooted mental health situation.

Maybe one day.