Learning to Fall While Learning to Fight
By: Meg He
Tags: Jiu Jitsu, Lovestory, Relationships, Love, LGBTQ

Learning to Fall While Learning to Fight

At Potato Chip Rock near San Diego, California, taken by a bystander for me

I found her when Googling “top female Brazilian jiu jitsu competitors.” Jiu jitsu was my new hobby. I was a brand-new white belt, a mess of ungainly limbs. On the mats, I fell over a lot — sometimes even by myself, without interference from an opponent.

Her name was Margot and last year, she had won the World Championship. On Instagram, I watched as she danced across tatami mats, her style of fighting elegant and devastating, balletically putting her opponent at increasing disadvantages until they tapped in defeat.

My research revealed she was British-Chinese-Italian. As I was British-Chinese, I reasoned we probably had similarly confusing backgrounds and surely could be friends. This was worth a DM.

“I love your hair, I love your dancing and I love your style,” I began with utter seriousness and fangirl enthusiasm.

“I’m excited to meet you someday and compare accents. I have no doubt you would win!” I signed off with a double pink heart emoji. 💕

A few minutes later, my phone lit up with a response — she liked my message!

“Hey chica, thank youuuu! Means a lot. Please, hit me up when I’m back. I’ll be stateside again in Aug. Cali til Tues then hanging out in Asia and Europe for a minute.”

Wow, she wanted to meet. As my brain scrambled to process these dates and destinations, she added: “If you’re in London anytime soon, I’ll be there June 19–27.”

Interesting. Maybe it was time to visit my parents, who live just outside London.

A few months before, I learnt jiu jitsu was a martial art that allowed a smaller person to fight a bigger person using better technique. In my head, I saw myself, a 116lb woman, grappling larger men as an empowering after-work activity. I signed up.

I was soon obsessed with jiu jitsu, especially the dopamine high from sparring. Each round was a problem to solve with my partner’s body. When I deduced the answer faster than my partner, I could contort their body and hyperextend their elbow or access their back and choke their neck.

More than that, I was learning a new way to communicate — with my body and with my touch, rather than with my words. By choosing the type of contact for each movement, varying the strategy and the pressure, my partner and I were exchanging notes about who we were. It was intimate, full of trust and beautiful.

I’m over 30, I spend most of my life sitting behind a computer, and lifting weights brings me great despair. But I really wanted to get better at jiu jitsu, fast, and maybe even compete, which would mean fighting girls young enough to be my daughter. Margot had online students; perhaps I could become one if I impressed her.

I met her in a coffee shop in Battersea. She looked just like her Instagram: quirky smile, black on black street clothes and Feiyue sneakers. Upon first touch, she felt bird-like, nimble. And then she started moving — she glided across the room, dropping to the floor suddenly in a compact fight stance. She looked dangerous, yet playful, with effortless movements that spun into rapid tempo changes. My thoughts were slower than usual, I heard my heart beat loudly.

I tripped and fell over.

Margot connected concepts in physics and geometry with movement and spoke about her experience in dance, contact improvisation and Chinese martial arts. I thought about the years I invested in classrooms and offices accruing degrees and work experience, while being disconnected from my body and how I move, even how my body feels.

I so desperately wanted to be good at jiu jitsu, but I lacked even basic body awareness. As she pulled at my sleeve and shifted the weight of her legs, I fell over again — but this time, she caught me.

We started speaking every day. While I knew I was attracted to both men and women, I had only pursued relationships with men. My sexuality was not something I had given a great deal of thought to.

I went back to Googling: “Coming out in your 30s” then “How to tell a woman you like her” followed by “How to tell a woman you like her lgbtq”.

A few weeks later, she asked to stay with me in New York. I toyed with the idea of sharing my growing feelings for her, but I didn’t know what that would achieve. Not only did I feel unresolved over my sexuality, but I was scared at what coming out would mean.

I usually dated fellow desk jockeys — lawyers, engineers, neuroscientists. While no one spoke to me with their bodies like Margot did, they did have resumes and a stable income. Friends setting me up usually gave my blind dates a quick rundown of my accomplishments, which I had worked hard for and was proud of.

But in the field of movement, I was a novice. I felt embarrassed when we sparred, each movement making me glaringly aware she was a World Champion and I was just a white belt.

Margot also was a true nomad. A professional athlete, she didn’t have a home anywhere and seemed determined to rack up as many air miles as possible. I had a company, a co-founder, a dog, an apartment and was ready for serious commitment. How could I date someone who spent her life bopping around the world, fighting?

And — did she even like me or was she just spending all this time with me because I paid for private lessons? The more I thought about it, the idea of being with her just seemed impractical.

In New York, I loved her from afar. Her days were exhausting: three hours of pro training, then an additional four hours of evening classes, cross-training and teaching preparation, every day. In contrast, I did jiu jitsu just three times a week, which was still enough to give me crippling hip pain.

One night, we dragged mats to my rooftop and sparred against the Brooklyn sunset. Seeing her in motion gave me severe palpitations; she was so beautiful, somehow soft and deadly at the same time. She danced and laughed, each movement showing her decades of skill and also sharing a secret message. Each touch exchanged something intimate with me. Was I just imagining that?

I also joined her jiu jitsu school. It was an intimidating atmosphere and my emotions complicated matters. My head rotated owlishly, following her around the room. I felt hot flashes of unspeakable jealousy when anyone touched my Margot in training; unfortunately this was extremely often.

When she left New York, she also left behind a black gi. It was neatly folded and had her name printed in block white letters on the back. I recognized it — the gi she fought in when winning Worlds.

“This is my lucky gi, my favorite gi” she wrote. It dawned on me that this gi represented her life’s work and she had gifted it to me. I also realized then that even if this relationship would be very impractical, I had to at least tell her my feelings.

But first, I needed to tell my parents. Over WeChat video, I informed them in Mandarin that I liked women, as well as men. I was unsure about my use of 女同志 (“lesbian” but officially translated as “comrade”) and definitely don’t think I was pronouncing 酷儿 (“ku’er”, the phonetic adaptation of “queer”) right. My parents looked confused, but were not unsupportive. Good enough.

A few days after, I went to visit Margot at her latest destination, San Diego.

I clarified, “I’m coming to see you. I’m not coming to do jiu jitsu.”

We walked around the Old Point Loma Lighthouse until dusk, the Pacific Ocean rushing below us. She danced around the bench before she could sit down.

We sat together, smiling in the dark.

I went with the classic, “So…” very long pause, “I have feelings for you.”

She took my hand. “I know.” And kissed me.

I kissed her back a bit too eagerly, overcommitting my weight. I felt my body tilt, sliding off the bench. She laughed and pulled herself delicately off the bench, choosing to fall with me.

A few months later in Lisbon, I cheered as Margot won the European Championship for the third time. I had the exquisite experience of watching someone I love do something they were born to do. Leading up to this, we completed a grueling competition camp together where I went from sleepy hobbyist to training double sessions every day. I can do three pull ups now. I competed as well, made some opponents fall over and was thrilled with my bronze medal.

Margot is still pretty nomadic. And I still have a company and a co-founder, but we love our dog and our apartment. One of the first techniques I learnt in jiu jitsu was a break fall, a way to control the impact by using my arms and legs. Jiu jitsu introduced risk and impracticality into my life. Even though I already knew how to fall safely, the harder part was letting myself fall at all. Giving myself the space to fall was essential to creating something much greater.