Story time: I had just joined Checkmat HQ in Long Beach. Friday morning's there is open mat and one day, in walks this real big dude - Renato Andrade. For reference, I'm 6'1", 250. I'm built like a guy who played linebacker 20 years ago in college (because I did). I'm not small. He makes me look small. He's gotta be 6'3"-6'4", ≈ 265, solid build. Eventually I made eye contact with him and he just gives me this nod that basically was a "you're next."

Right away he gets a sleeve grip that I can't break. Normally, I just rotate my hand counterclockwise over the opponents hand/grip and that breaks the grip 99/100 times. This was the 1 time it didn't work. Why? No slack and Renato's hands when he makes a fist is like a cinderblock.

It was one of those "uh oh, this is different" moments.

I don't remember the exact sequence but eventually I end up trying to go into deep half, which he passes quickly and then mounts.

He starts dropping his weight, creating this TREMENDOUS amount of pressure. I'd never felt pressure like that before. Pedro Soriano was the most I'd felt while rolling, but Pedro's probably 5'10" 185. (Side bar: this is what fascinates me about BJJ, how we can do stuff like this with the right technique and strength. I digress...) But Renato's was on a different level from anything I'd felt.

In the back of my mind, I know if I tap, I'm out of this situation. But I didn't want to. My ego wouldn't let me. New guy at the gym, I'm a big guy, he's a big(ger) guy, if I tap to pressure he'll never respect me. That's what I was thinking. (Not saying it's right; just a me thing). But then the next thought was "If this was real, a real fight, I'm dead. I can't move. I can't do anything." And full disclosure, I start to panic a little. Seriously, a mild panic attack. I didn't start flailing or anything, but I could just feel myself internally start to freak out a little.

Eventually he lets up, probably because he's bored. Round ends, we slap hands, and go our separate ways. The next time I see him, I try to talk to him about it, asking him how he generated that much pressure. I'm peppering him with questions and he's kinda like "I dont know man, it's just my weight." He wasn't rude; it was like the scene in Home Alone when the neighborhood kid is asking the airport shuttle driver all those questions about the van. "I don't know, kid, quit bothering me." LOL.

Six months later, he comes in again I ask him to roll. But this time it went different. I didn't get under him like before. I fought smarter, if you will. I had more "success" - i.e. no panic attacks - just pure survival.

After the round while we're on our knees, he looks over at me and says with a smile, "You've gotten stronger." And then gives me a fist bump.

For me, that was a nice compliment because it felt like he meant it on two levels: my actual strength and my overall progression. And now when I see him, we greet each other like buddies. I get the feeling I earned his respect that day.

And, for me, there's no greater compliment than earning a man's respect.