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For the last couple of months, I’ve had the honor and pleasure of giving BJJ lessons to Zack S

For the last couple of months, I’ve had the honor and pleasure of giving BJJ lessons to Zack Sabre Jr. He is an amazing professional wrestler who is considered the most technical wrestler in the world. We’ve been working to add transitions and submissions that are rooted in “real” fighting. Zack and I also share an affinity for not eating animals as his new Morrissey spin off shirt so clearly states. 

 Buy the shirt HERE 

Watch ZSJ wrestler HERE


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Too Much Of a Good Thing.In the past 2 months, counting private clients and the academy, I taught ro

Too Much Of a Good Thing.

In the past 2 months, counting private clients and the academy, I taught roughly 235 classes. I understand this is an unreasonable amount, but I had to. In my academy, the only people that teach are my instructor, who is also the owner, and myself. 

I was texting a friend about feeling tired, sore and burnt out on teaching from the influx of private lessons I was giving, then I got a text from my instructor, basically telling me he was in an accident and would not be able to teach for some time. The reality of the situation and how much work was now placed in front of me hit me like truck. 

I want to make this very clear, he did not tell me to teach this much, in reality he offered to close the gym as much as I’d want, but I couldn’t do that. This is both of our livelihoods, but he has a family, a wife and a daughter to support with the gym and I couldn’t live with myself if I closed the gym because I was tired. Everyone’s tired, shut up, get to work. So for the first 3 weeks, I taught 7 days a week, morning and nights, Monday through Fridays, and mornings, Saturday and Sunday. After week 3 I cowered and asked to close on Sunday’s, to which he obliged. 

In month one, because of show I had previously agreed to be on, I only closed 2 nights but I was starting to lose it. Not only was I at the gym every day, I couldn’t pursuit stand-up comedy like I was before the accident. It was hurting me, I knew I wasn’t getting better at comedy, and I knew all my friends were out at shows having fun. I felt like I was grounded. In month two I started to ask for help from the senior guys at the gym. I couldn’t do it alone anymore. They were happy to help and I was happy to sneak some stage time in once or twice a week. 

Towards week 7 I still had no real timeline to when he would be back, but I refused to ask. I knew how frustrated he was with not being able to teach, and the last thing I wanted to do was to add to that with questions. “He’ll be back the second he can physically be back on the mats” I kept telling myself. Somehow I was getting booked more and more which meant asking for more help, which I can bet you can tell is not one of my strengths.

Then, on a Tuesday afternoon, I got a text from my instructor telling me he was going to be back to his regular schedule. I almost cried, I re-read the text over and over to make sure I saw it correctly. It’s now been 1 week since I went back to my normal classes and it’s been strange. For how trying and difficult all that teaching was, for how tired and honestly, sick of being on the mats as I was at times, I feel like I was given a beautiful gift. I now look at my work week as a vacation, it’s so goddamn easy now. Every day that I leave the gym feels like I’m playing hooky. I know how hard, I know I can sacrifice and it will only make me stronger. I don’t know what good deeds I must have done in a past life to deserve the life I have now, but I feel so lucky and I won’t forget to appreciate it.

Thank you Prof Roger for trusting me and giving me the gift of MMA, thank you Nate, Brian, Alan and Danny for helping me out with classes, I’ll never forget it.


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I jump rope barefoot. I do that because sooner or later, I’ll make a mistake and that fast moving ro

I jump rope barefoot. I do that because sooner or later, I’ll make a mistake and that fast moving rope will slap me on that thin skin covering my foot and it stings. Not terribly painful but enough to annoy me and that’s the point. I want to challenge myself physically as well as mentally while skipping rope and that sting can really fuck with your head. As the rounds of rope increase and the amount of red lines across your foot increase so the ability to keep your cool and not make a mistake gets harder and harder. 

I like that. I think about it in basketball terms, I can practice 3 pointers all day and all night in the playground courts and get pretty good but the second I HAD to make this next 3 pointer in front of a big crowd when the pressure to win is on me, I doubt I’d be able to sink it. Find ways to add mental pressure to your training, it will pay off in the long run. 


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Back in 2014, a couple months after what would be my last fight, I was at my academy, Williamsburg MMA. It was a Sunday afternoon and I had just finished a 3 hour training session of striking, conditioning and grappling. As I was happily walking off mats, looking forward to a shower and a meal, I saw Akrira Corassani,Phillipe NoverandJared Gordon walking in with their sparring gear. Immediately I know what I am going to do, what I have to do, against my better judgement, I have to fight. I offer my services to them since they are a man short of even, they agree with the same glee that a poker hustler agrees to let you join there game, it’s your funeral. 

My instructor quietly asks if I’d rather just go home, knowing very well what my answer would be. As I wrap my hands my stomach burns for fuel, I feel my stomach acid churning, searching for sustenance but I have nothing to offer it. I stand, adorned with head gear, shin pads, 16 ounce gloves and a mouthguard that has “Lopez” written in glittery barb wire, a joke doesn’t seem so funny now.

I can’t tell you how long this session lasted, I can’t remember how many rounds we did nor who landed the most strikes on me. It was a hurricane of pain and frustration. I’m good at this, I have a big stupid gold belt in my room to prove it but to these guys, I was toy. As my training partners walked past in their street clothes eager to head home, I noticed most of them decided to stay, to watch me take my licks. Every time I stood up from getter dropped or taken down I glanced over at them, I couldn’t tell if they were enjoying it or felt sorry for me. 

My weak nose is leaking, every few seconds I’m forced to suck the blood back into my throat so my coach won’t notice and make me stop. I can’t walt for this to be over, I can barely lift my arms enough to protect my head. My mouth taste like pennies. This is getting bad. The one or two strikes I land are met with a flurry of uppercuts and leg kicks. What kind of a life is this? The bell rings and I limp away, pretending I’m not moments from tears.  

I want to make this clear, these men weren’t trying to go super hard with me, they are just at a level that even when they go easy it’s still hard. They are good dudes who I thank for their help. I was made better, the same way a samurai sword must be bent and beaten to be stronger. In all honestly I rarely think about this moment, its 12:45 am and I’m writing this now because I just had a memory of it whizz by in my mind as I showered. I don’t think about this because I don’t regret it. I think thats why I forced myself to spar, because I knew that if I walked away from it, it would haunt me. I’m not sure what this says about me but I know it’s honest. This is who I am, and who I have been made into.  

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