How Beautiful

by Chris Barkley

Face your fear. That will be unique to you. My fear is standing opposite me in the form of a hundred kilo man who wants to submit me by choking me unconscious or breaking one of my limbs.

I went to Oxford University. I got a Distinction in Creative Writing. Who fucking cares. But when I signed up for the submission only, five-man team event, I had a prejudice. I thought the men I was fighting had a certain idea about me: there aren’t many novelists who choose to spend their time grappling in a pit in the back of a pub in Forfar, Scotland.

The event was named Crucible. I fought for my team, Low Tide. Our line-up was this:

James

Zein

Chris

Alex

Mike

The first team we fought were named The Misfits and the rules were: winner stays on; six-minute matches. Knock out every member of the opposing team and your team wins. There is a strategy to the game in choosing the line-up order, and in how best to serve your team when you fight. We chose to put our lighter men at the start, hoping The Misfits might do the same.

They did not.

James goes first. He faces a hundred kilo judo black belt with a purple belt in jiu jitsu. James is the lighter man, and a belt below his opponent. He makes no complaint. Both men are fresh and fight bravely. The victory goes to their man from a shoulder lock. They embrace at the end.

Their man remains. Zein is our next. Zein, a new purple belt, the lighter man. Zein, with his sore throat, who still cheers the loudest, rises to fight the bigger man. The victory goes to their man, again from a shoulder lock. They embrace.

I follow. When I step onto the mat, the announcer calls my teammate Alex’s name instead of mine. They get it wrong. The referee starts our match and I submit the man with an armbar. We shake hands warmly. After the match I shout my name to the announcer and turn to my corner. As I do that, the announcer calls out to me and offers an apology.

I needed that, and they gave it to me.

It was that act of theirs which made me realise it had been my prejudice separating me from them.

We are all here in the back of a pub in Forfar, forgetting where we’re from and where we’re going. There is only respect.

In the crucible, we face our fears together, and that is beautiful and perfect.

That is why we embrace at the end.

I submit the next man with a triangle choke. We embrace at the end.

Tactically, I had brought our team back onto even ground. They had two victories, as did we.

I fall to an anaconda choke, their next man a fresh, skilled heavyweight.

Alex is our next. Their match is a fine one, Alex winning with an armbar.

Alex wins his next match with a rear naked choke.

Their last player steps up to face Alex. He is smaller, and we learn afterwards that he is a teenager. He fights like a hound but Alex snares him and submits him with an armbar.

Low Tide wins. We move to the final.

In the final we face a team named: The Jungle.

James the brave is our first. He stands proudly against a man with a twenty-kilo advantage, wrestling him with skill. The Jungle’s first man wins with a smother choke. James has led with heroism.

Zein is the next man to face The Jungle. He knows he is at a disadvantage and chooses to play tactically, playing defensive jiu jitsu and running down the clock because if he can last the six minutes without being submitted, both he and the man from The Jungle are eliminated. This would be a win for us… And Zein wins for us.

Mike is next in our line-up. Mike, who told himself he’d not compete again after injuring his back. Mike, who hired the car and drove the team to the event. Seven years out of competition and Mike walks into the pit, smiling. He is the aggressor in the match, but their man takes it to six minutes. Both are eliminated.

I follow and win my match with a D’Arce choke, bringing our team back onto level ground again. They have a submission. We have a submission. Each team has two players remaining.

My next opponent has a size advantage. I am tired. I pin him against the side of the grappling pit for most of the match, planning to run down the clock. Before the event I had told myself to prioritise beautiful jiu jitsu instead of winning, and felt ashamed of my inaction. But I chose to do it for my team.

As I hold the man down, a crowd member shouts ironically, “Beautiful jiu jitsu.”

The announcer says of the crowd member: “That person must be a white belt.”

I run down the clock, and we are both eliminated, leaving it to both teams’ final man.

Alex faces the last man from The Jungle. He fights well, but the last man from The Jungle wins with a kneebar. The first thing Alex does, amidst the victory-screams of his opponent’s supporters, is go over to them and shake their hands, his head high.

We have come here to the crucible to face our fear together.

It is our fear which makes us beautiful.

It is our fear which leads us to the divine.

When fear is unloved and ignored, it consumes us.

All we have to do is look at it, dance with it, and let it go.

We do not live in the crucible. To love fear is not to worship it. That resembles an addiction: an adrenaline junkie burns out.

To worship fear is to seek it out rather than allowing it to arise naturally.

We let the mountain come to us.

I don’t beat the man.

I win.

I win the match because I face my fear.

He wins the match because he faces his.

The jiu jitsu is beautiful.

Within the rules of the game, I choose my team.

When the game is over, both teams embrace.

My fear will always be here, and I will always love it.

We love our fear, and we choose to return from it.

We love our fear, here.

How beautiful.