The journey back to training – on the mat again after a few years off

Introduction

There’s a strange idea out there about training: that it’s one long, continuous journey. Like someone starts somewhere in their early twenties, trains for a decade or two, then puts it all down as they get older and tells foggy tales about it to their grandchildren. But in reality, life gets busy more often than not, so most of the people I know train periodically—being active for a few months, getting caught up with something else, then coming back a few months or sometimes a few years later. Unless they’re on the competition track or coaching professionally, people tend to train in waves instead of walking a smooth, linear path.

For some, the gaps are intentional, like a change in life priorities. No hard feelings in such cases; they usually talk about the break fondly and keep an emotional connection with the sport. But for others, it was life that pulled them away by force, for example, responsibilities piling up, making ends meet getting harder. Simply put, there was no time, no energy to invest in, and no space left for training. For them it wasn’t a choice, and it can feel like something was taken away. One training buddy told me about this when he was coming back after twenty years. He wasn’t just rusty; he was angry, too. Bitter, even. He felt robbed of the time he’d lost in boxing and judo. He wanted to feel strong again, and let go of the rage that had piled up over the years. There was a lot of resentment he carried. He asked if Jiu-Jitsu could help him release the anger and become softer and more flexible. Well, yes, it can; but not in the calm, meditative way he might expect.

Training is a Two-Way Street

Every fight sport, and especially close combat like grappling such as Jiu-Jitsu, will redefine you. These arts are painful, chaotic, and intrusive—just like life itself. They’re not theories of movement to ponder. You feel them from left to right, on your face and in your stomach. One day someone half your size can tie you in knots. The next day, you win three rounds in a row. Some days, you run out of breath faster than you’d dare to admit. Other days, you go in full of fire yet come out all washed up, wondering what just happened to you. Jiu-Jitsu still holds a lot of its street roots, and it shows and feels that way. It’s raw and real and intense from every angle. But training still comes with a safety net, thanks to trainers, coaches, and the invisible social responsibility that most training buddies carry (and if not, find another club). That environment altogether has a huge impact. It’s what makes training a place to fall apart and rebuild.

The way training Jiu-Jitsu, or practically any grappling, can transform resentment is not by letting it all out, but by gaining a new perspective on your emotions. Because close combat is a two-way street: what you give, you get. If you go in too hard, you’ll leave the mat bruised and in pain. Everyone is simply too close to their opponent not to be affected by their style or even their emotional condition. In ping-pong, you would only see a ball coming faster or from a higher angle if the opponent is going hard, but in grappling, you get their full body into your face… it’s very hard not to respond to that in a similar way. The result of this, is what many say, that Jiu-Jitsu is as hard or as easy as you make it. At the same time, when others help you get up, share tips, and are genuinely happy for your progress, it’s nearly impossible to stay down. That’s the journey: one minute you’re soaking in killing-range, and the next you could cry with gratitude. And that, right there, is the first taste of humility.

Recovery Isn’t Linear, But It Is Possible

Many training buddies I had over the years returned after going through a rough childhood or an abusive relationship. Their goal wasn’t to simply learn to fight; they were looking for freedom, as they put it. That hit close to home. When I came back after a long break, I didn’t even know what I was trying to fix. I just had this blurry, hard-to-explain idea of “getting the fear out of the blood.” That’s the best way I could describe it, and it turns out I wasn’t the only one. Many mates I’ve trained with showed up feeling the same way. A little broken, a little guarded, but determined enough to get back into it.

It feels like a long time now, but going back was the best decision I could make. It wasn’t a simple one, and I had to change clubs several times along the way to have the sense, I was actually getting something out of training. What mattered most was that I started to understand what was good for me, what real support looked like for me, and I became picky about what I was willing to accept. It felt great after a while to adjust my drills, say no to a few trendy moves, and overall build my own game. Training wasn’t promising to erase the past, I never expected that. What I wanted was to get back my right to decide, get a hold on my moods, and feel like I was in a good place.

The Way Back is Forward

In a sense, returning to training after a long break is about discovering what’s still possible. It’s definitely not picking up where you left off, your whole world has likely changed a lot, both inside and outside.

It won’t fix your past, but it will give you space to meet it differently. Whether you come in angry or afraid, bitter or broken, the mat meets you where you are and then demands that you grow. And maybe, just maybe, you find a kind of peace in being tested and seen and supported, just like I did. So if you’re reading this, wondering if you should come back: do it. The mat is there, and we’re rooting for you.