The Others

There seems to be 2 worlds on earth: the one I and those like me live in…and the one every else occupies. My world is simple. It’s a world filled with the dedicated and determined. Easy days don’t exist in this world, just another day where you hope to be stronger than the last. There are no cheat meals or excuses why you haven’t been eating clean. Gyms in this world are what people call offices in the next. It’s not a country club, it’s a place of business. A place where when you clock the fuck in, it means getting your ass to work, because that rep you missed while talking could be the difference between 1st &2^nd place. This world survival of the fittest is the only law, the only rule, and the only thing inhabitants of it respect.

The other world…too easy. Fast Food, diet pill scams, and "feel better about yourself" iPhone apps... this is a world where the easier something can be done the more people will want it. The easy route is the only route that exists or that people are willing to acknowledge and accept, and those who dream to achieve something greater than the status quo are considered stupid. It is a world of piss & shit. A world for the weak. A world for those who would only serve as bait amongst the beasts in the other world.

Each world knows of the other, and both sides often scoff at the other. The dedicated see the "lose weight quick and easy" ads and think to themselves "yeah, let me know how that works for you…pussy!". Meanwhile the world of the dirtbags gaze upon their counterpart and wonder WTF would posses a person to train that hard, or take the road less traveled. Regardless, one side will always prevail over the other. 

I live in the world of those who would see fit to bust their ass to become something greater than what society would have them settle for. A world where the people who understand me are the same ones who are in the gym lifting during the cold mornings, grappling during the hot afternoons, and who prepare their food in advance so they don't get stuck eating processed shit that would see all of their hard work go to ruin. This is the place where legends are made. And if not a legend, those who live in it will continue to pursue a life where that remains the goal. 

I challenge everyone to make an attempt to dedicate themselves to something. Gliding through life as a lemming is easy. No one will even stop to ask you why. But if you make the effort to elevate your standing, you may be the inspiration that causes 10 others to change their thought process and  start a chain event that effects the masses. Pretty soon both worlds will be composed of dedicated individuals striving for excellence. Then the only question will be: Which world fucks up the other one first?=) 

-BEASTMODE

Back Into The Wild...

I remember being in the wild. I remember chasing down gazelles and sinking my teeth into their juicy blood drenched flesh. I remember being amongst my pride on the savanna, and I even remember being captured. Now my life is much like that of the life of a lion in a zoo. What does life consist of now? I sit, docile in captivity. My cubicle acts as my cage, allowing people to walk by and point while talking shit. They can do this now because they don't have to fear getting attacked as i'm restrained throughout the day.
This is mty reality, and it is slowly robbing me of my natural insticts. People wonder how I can be so fucking amped to get out of work and spend the rest of the day going from the weight room, to train boxing, to training brazilian jiu jitsu and wrestling. It's because that is me being back in my natural habitat. The competitions serve as my reintroduction into the wild. Each and every oponent taking the form of a helpless gazelle or wildebeast. The refs hand signaling my reemerssion into the wild.
Tomorrow will be such a day. The Texas Submission League has seen fit to host a tournament in my own backyard. How can I not answer the call? My only job: To bring back the carcasses of as many dead animals as possible. This marks the start of a new hunting season...

Dealing with Defeat

The feeling of securing the gold is a great one. All of the cheers, the knowledge that all of the hard work and sacrifice has paid off makes anyone slap a fat smile on their face. But what about defeat? A lot of the same things one thinks about after a win are flipped on their ass when dealt a healthy serving of defeat. You think about all of the mistakes you made in training, how you might have not done everything you could have with your diet, or maybe you try and discredit your opponent by saying 'he got lucky'. It's a hard fucking pill to swallow, this brick we call defeat.
After coming in second at the IBJJF Dallas Open, I stayed and watched some of the other divisions. I love watching everyone compete, the coaches yelling out orders, and the parents and loved ones cheering for the warriors on the mats. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu of my life, and watching every aspect of the game helps to really connect with the art. The one thing I always find interesting is the advice parents give their kids. I was watching the teen divisions and overheard part of a conversation between what appeared to be a young bjj fighter and his father.

"You ready, killer?" The older man said to the young teen.
"Yes, sir!" The teen shouted, amped out of his fucking mind.
"Go out there and do your best. But be prepared just in case you lose"

Ummmm, are you fucking serious?!?!? "Be prepared just in case you lose?" That's the dumbest load of horse shit anyone in a position to give the "go get em'" speech can give! First off, don't ever prepare yourself for defeat. What this does is plant the seed that says "I know you've been focused on coming out as the victorious one, but there is also the chance you may lose." What the f*ck are you on? Do you think a lion ever says," I'm going to chase down this gazelle, but I really need to consider the fact that there is a possibility it may get away."? Hell no! The lion thinks to himself: "Self, I'm going to surprise the shit out of this little faggot gazelle and sink my teeth into his tiny punk ass". If the gazelle does get away, no biggie. The lion goes back and tries again.

The poor kid did, in fact, end up losing. This game, as with most in life, is just as much mental as it is physical. It would have been easy to give up after I came in second in Dallas. And why not? I gave up all my time, stuck to a strict diet, broke up with my girlfriend, and only came out with a silver medal that literally represents, 2nd best. But is that how we deal with defeat, by saying 'fuck it' and never competing again? No, not here friends. Defeat is something almost everyone will have to deal with, in one form or another. We need to use these lessons in defeat to refuel our passion for what we do.

I remember thinking to myself while my opponents hand was being raised after the final match: "Tomorrow morning I'm going to be the first one at the gym! I'm going to train my ass off so I never get stuck in that position again..." And that's exactly what I did. I trained all morning, went to the gym, and then sat in bed for the rest of the day watching BJJ matches. This is how I deal with defeat, I use it as a tool to remind myself that there is still room to grow. After all, why give up after you've put in so much hard work?

 Defeat can help us grow just as much as a victory can. It keeps us hungry, and makes sure that our egos stay in check. But regardless of the lesson learned, it is something that needs to be dealt with in a positive manner.

IBJJF DALLAS (PART 3): You Are What You Eat

By: Beast Mode

Food. I remember the days when i could eat anything and never even think to ask where it came from, or what the hell was in it. I miss those days. Going to Burger King and ordering 2 triple whoppers (1200 calories each), or eating quarts of ice cream and washing it down with a 'liter of cola'....Yeah, I was that guy.  Now, all I see are calories, protein/carbohydrate intake, ingredients. But this is how it goes when you're eating for a purpose. It turns something you once enjoyed, into a chore, or something you despise. My fridge that once housed a variety of foods now only keeps the basics: chicken, beef, and fish. My cupboards only stock bags of rice and granola. My deserts nowadays consist of Greek yogurt and some fresh cut fruit. Tasty? Sure, to those who don't eat the same shit day in and day out.
I try to mix it up though, but even the average joe can tell I'm not one of them. Not one of the many people looking at the menu aimlessly, not giving a fuck what's in the "Mexican surprise". Bastards, enjoy that shit (even if it does sound like some slang term for a Mexican STD). The workers spot me too, mostly because instead of just accepting the dish for what it is I have to "have it my way".
Just today I was at FREEBIRDS (like Chipotle, but better) and the girl behind the counter caught on quick as soon as I ordered the burrito bowl:
"Would you like a tortilla at the bottom of the bowl?" She asks me, smiling and waiting to make my dining cuisine come to fruition.
"No, thank you", I respond. This order is one I've made time and time again. Same meal, same shit, different day.
"Would you like rice or cheese?" She continues, still smiling ear to ear.
"No, thank you".
"Would you like any food at all in this bowl?" The smile turns into a devilish grin as she knows her sarcasm has been conveyed.
I chuckle and respond, "yeah, let me get double chicken, all white meat, and double black beans with all of the raw veggies and no salt".
"Wow! These black beans must be good if you want double servings." her eyes grow to look like fucking tennis balls as the food piles onto my plate.
" I guess, it's all for the protein really. I can't slack on the diet." My response seems to spark her interest.
" Are you some type of fitness model or athlete or something?" She looks at me, analyzing my physique.
" Nah, just a guy trying to stay healthy and lean." I try to hold back the cockiness and confidence that resonates throughout my entire body. A task that does not come easy to me. Especially considering I'm wearing my BJJ Lifestyle Academy t-shirt, representing a family I am honored to be apart of.
" Oh, well you should really think about doing some modeling or something. I don't see many guys around here with your type of look. And I've never seen anyone order anything this healthy since I've been working here." Her suggestion sounds an awful like a compliment, I think to myself.
"Thanks, I'll have to look into that." I smile, thank her and commence to working on the big task of eating my re-constructed burrito bowl.
The moral of the story is that we (Beasts) are not like the rest of the world. We know it, and they see it. Cheat days are few and far between, while everyday is like groundhogs day in regards to these fucking meals we shovel down our suck holes. Anyone can lift weights and mix a couple protein shakes in a blender. Train throwing on a triangle choke and eventually you'll tap someone out with it. But the diet is where one really gets to test their discipline. To be defeated by something as simple as a chicken breast, steamed veggies and some brown rice might sound like a stupid loss....but that rational is why everyone is not built like we are.
Anyone who knows me, knows I love looking in the mirror. Not because I dress well (I really don't, as I only wear board shorts and tank tops) or because I have rockstar haircut ( A shaved head hardly counts as a haircut at all. Actually, I think it says 'I'm too busy to give a fuck about hair at all.'), but because it's a simple reminder that I'm working and the work is showing. It shows progress and let's everyone know that you eat to live, not live to eat. So next time you crave that Big Mac or those fucking salty ass fries they serve at the golden arches, look at the body you have....better yet, look at the bodies of the obese folks walking out of that place. I don't know about you, but I'm not in any rush to look like that.
With that said, May 9th will be a cheat day. I want nothing more than to sit down with my fresh gold medal around my neck and bite into a juicy t-bone steak, giant twice baked potato and NY cheese cake. No, not with knife and fork in hand! That's not beastly! I'm grabbing that motha'fucker with my bare hands and biting the shit out of it with the fangs God has seen fit to bless me with. To the victor go the spoils, gentlemen/ladies. But until then, back to the grilled fish, salad, and gallon of water....May 9th is around the corner!

IBJJF DALLAS (Part 2): Voices

By: Dominic BEASTMODE Brisbin
"Skip it today, bro! One workout wont make a difference. I'm sure all of the other guys that are competing aren't training as hard as you are...". These are the voices I hear when I wake up. The asshole whispering this shit in my ear is myself. Beast Mode doesn't wanna' hear Dom's shit today. "C'mon bro, your girl just left you and your ankle looks fucked up!  Just go pick up some beer and enjoy your weekend"....Dom is relentless when it comes to the temptation of relaxing. Beast Mode does not share his affinity for enjoying "the good life". I gotta' block him out and get on the mat. Block out the fact that I just got dumped by my girlfriend and all of the pain that comes along with that. Block out the  fact that my ankle looks like a softball and feels like it's as strong as a toothpick. Dom isn't in control anymore, all that's left is BEAST MODE.
I have to believe that my enemies are training harder, that their technique is superior to mine, and that they want it more than I do. These things along with all of the voices propel me to keep training. I love it though, this pain that drives me to keep pushing through the sprints. That loneliness that plagues my soul also drives me to do those extra sets of kettlebell swings. Now, don't get me wrong....I'd like nothing more than to have my girlfriend back ( I mean c'mon, she's fucking beautiful!).And a healed ankle sure would make training a lot smoother. But for now, I thrive on all of the bullshit. With all of this shit goin' on just in the first week of training, I feel as though I have enough motivation to last me until the tournament.
These are the times where you earn the gold medal, gentleman (and ladies). If we float through the competition would the victory mean as much? I think not. Those voices you hear, preaching words of laziness and negativity...block them out. Use what you can, be it joy or pain. With week 2 of training halfway through, I'm as amped as ever to step onto the mat and leave Dallas as the victor. But for now, it's back to training, back to the workouts, back to blocking out the voices...

IBJJF Dallas (Part 1): The Decision

By Dominic BeastMode Brisbin
No building lasts without a strong foundation. The same thing goes for people, even those living a BEAST MODE way of life. Training gets crazy, practices run late, and there's always the injuries. The foundation is a key component to pushing through all of that shit. My parents drafted the blueprint, my friends lay the brick, and my girl does all of the quality checks. These people all play important roles in keeping me on track. One person who has become an integral part of this support structure is my sister, Sheila. Sheila is probably the one person I know who will get me through all of the B.S., deal with my fucked up attitude, and still somehow manage to call me her brother. From cooking the meals for my diet, to helping me get over all of my injuries, or just being there to kick it during my down time: Sheila holds it down. So when I told her I was needing something to do to take my mind off of all of the  B.S. goin' on in my life lately, her response was simple: "Do what you do and go compete. Keep doing all of the things everyone knows you for because that's what makes you happy and that's why we love you!"

So the search began! Deciding on if I wanted to compete in  MMA or Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, my training schedule, and how long I wanted to give myself to train were all things I had to figure out. And then it appeared: the advertisement for the DALLAS INTERNATIONAL IBJJF CHAMPIONSHIP, almost like it was a sign from God himself (More New Testament sign than Old Testament....But a burning bush or a plague would have been badass too). 'MAY 8TH' read as the day of the event. Only a little over a month to train and prepare my body for another war. Between now and then, it's time for me to sharpen the technique and let BEAST MODE take over. The only way to win is to abandon all of the other worries, all of the other wants, and cares. Because, brothers and sisters,  at the end of it all the only option is victory. Anything less is unacceptable!

So now I have the date, the venue, and the training schedule set. All there is left to do is take the victory along with the souls of my vanquished foes. Even as I'm writing this my mind is already on the mat, visualizing each match, each raise of my hand in victory, and the weight of the gold medal once again around my neck. The journey has begun, so put your fuckin' seat belts on!!!

A Place Of Lost Souls

By Dominic BeastMode Brisbin

Life is full of shitty situations. And even the biggest badass you know has a place where he goes to regain focus and shield himself from all the bullshit of the outside world. A sanctuary of sorts. Mine is a church forged for those of a different faith.

I've been dating this girl for a while now. She's pretty supportive of my daily grind. But as with most things we care about, they have the ability to drive us past our mental limit. My loving girlfriend, bless her heart, is no exeption. So we get into a little arguement, nothing really big or serious, actually more of a case of miscommunication than anything else. And don't tell her, but it was without a doubt my fault. None the less, it had my veins pumping a battery acid & napalm cocktail. Mixed with the 3 scoops of Jack3d and testosterone amplifiers.....it's easy to assume I was in full Beast Mode.

Now let me stop here: this is no blog about relationship issues...because in all honesty I'm no pro at that ( A slew of failed past relationships stand as a testament to that). No, this is about finding one's  sanctuary.
The gym is my cathedral. No stained glass with pictures of Jesus or various saints. Instead these walls are canvased with pictures of various hall of fame bodybuilers from years past.  The water fountain acts as my holy water. I take a sip upon entering to "cleanse" my soul before stepping deeper into this house of lost souls. The line of hammer strength machines and treadmills are  my pews, filled with a congregation of believers. Confessional? That is what the squat rack is for. A place for me to repent for my many sins and worries....and trust me, I'm a sinner.

With each sin, each stresser in my life, each topic of something that eats at my soul: I add more weight to the rack. There is no priest on the other side of the barrier. No, just fellow members of the brotherhood forged from blood,sweat, and yes....even tears, that have been soaked within the sacred ground beneath our feet. You see, this is my safe haven. Inside these walls I am but a follower of the faith. A sheep looking for it's sheppard, and seeking protection from the wolves. This temple is but a place to regain focus and once again find and cleanse my soul.

This is but one way to think of the gym. Not as a place of suffering (although, at times it doubles as that too). But a place where problems are solved, goals are set, and souls are "born again". Call this blasphemy, shit, call it whatever you want. The fact remains that with every painful squat, press, or pull...this is remains your sanctuary....Amen.