Not the personal body parts, not the military rank. Private lessons.
Especially with someone as talented, down to earth, enthusiastic and successful as Daniel Moraes, a Royler blackbelt who also affiliates with Relson. Five time world champ, too. That's him on the left, with the 8-pack. On the right is our head instructor, Phil Cardella.
Wish I'd had the cash for an actual private, but even sharing it with another guy from the academy was really helpful. I hoped to be able to smashingly, convincingly pass any mere open guard afterwards. Alas, privates are not the jits equivalent of Dumbo's magic feather, but I'm optimistic that I have more building blocks to play with and of course plenty of willing partners for experiments.
I am still finding frustrations in my rolls. Once the seal is broken, it seems it's been easier to go have another good cry in the bathroom, but I consider it a step in the right direction that my internal voice is no longer nattering on about how I don't deserve my rank. More, I'm just plain effing mad. I seem to recall having this experience before. Seems like it was a couple months of this (which looking back was a plateau) right before a jump up. So, coolio, I'm all right with bopping my head against a few brick walls with the hope that in time I'll look up and see the rope ladder, or whatnot.
Leila's doing well, considering. Lots more motion, lots more confidence in her motion. She'll be in the rehab hospital for another three weeks, then home plus outpatient rehab for a while. Prognosis is murky but if she's doing this well one week after breaking her neck, it seems like it must be good.
Have fun watching UFC tonight. Looks like the pool party/potluck BBQ we'd planned for tomorrow is rained out, so we've rescheduled for the end of the month, after a jits tourney in Houston (next weekend) and one in Ft. Worth (the following)... neither of which will see my shiny face in competition. Money's tight and as I've said, I enjoy training so much more when I'm not prepping for a competition.