I learn more from a loss than I do from a win.
I remember having to learn an escape from headlock side-control because a brute of a man at the gym I was attending used it really well. It was uncomfortable to have all his weight on my chest as he methodically went about dismantling my pathetic defenses. If I didn’t get out of that position early, and with gusto, I would tap every time.
I remember having to abandon the deep-half game because the sweep that I knew got countered by a good friend, and training partner. He turned my go-to sweep into a counter armbar. I wasn’t willing to invest more into the deep-half so I had to find another way to sweep.
I remember getting dominated in a guy’s guard so often that I one day decided that I just wasn’t going to go into it anymore. It changed the way I looked at guard passing, and the rules we seem to create around engagement. It was the first time I was forced to apply the, “if it happens every time you go in there, why do you keep going in there?” logic.
I remember getting caught with a figure four every time I moved when rolling against my instructor. It meant that I was moving with chicken wings hanging out. I needed to move less like a chicken trying to jump over a fence and more like a guy who’s elbows were sewn into his ribs.
I remember, very early on, that I decided that I wanted to last long enough to be able to play the game. That forced me to look into postures and survival and escapes.
I remember very few wins.
Loss has caused me to take far more significant steps to growth in my Jiu-Jitsu than any wins that I might have experienced. Winning has provided me with a minimal ego boost for at least ten seconds each time, but that every loss has resulted in a better game.
The great reality to this beautiful, gentle art is that a loss is far more of a win than a win will ever be.