Brazilian

To understand the Brazilian version of jiu jitsu, and capoeira (indigenous to Brazil), you have to understand Brazilian culture first. Brazilians generally don’t use ab-crunching devices or robotic step classes to get into shape. They have a natural way of combining exercise, leisure, and fighting. You might wonder how leisure and fighting could go together…well, you’re on your way to understanding Brazil.

The Brazilians I know consider getting up at 4:30 a.m. to fight the frigid ocean waters near L.A. with a surfboard a relaxing day off, no matter if they were up all night partying, or sat down to an all-you-can-eat at 11 p.m. And the day I understood how they felt about soccer was the day I saw a jiu jitsu black belt pounding his fist on the wall and shouting “Vasco, Vasco, Vasco!!”—the name of his favorite team—like he was beating a war drum.

Jiu jitsu is a great example of this hard-ass ethic. Before I got pregnant, I received my blue belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu at the Beverly Hills Jiu Jitsu Club, from Marcus Vinicius, a sixth-degree black belt from Rio. I was the only woman training there for a long time, and I often encountered real bruisers, such as former Giants running back Jarrod Bunch (then a white belt, or novice) and the famous fighters Genki Sudo, Bas Rutten, and Vitor Belfort. Since there was no women’s locker room, I had to wade through the men’s to the shower, eyes semi-closed, after each workout. Once, director Guy Ritchie was waiting impatiently for the shower, and brushed past me as I pulled up my pants, saying, “Hurry up—I’ve got to get home to the wife.” (Guy is one of the scrappier fighters who drops in.)

Jiu jitsu combines judo, submission, and hard-core training. The by-products of all this are a powerful sense of trust and camaraderie. I’ve never pushed myself as hard in my life doing anything else (throwing up during the warm-up incites laughter, and one time I actually went into the laundry room and cried). A year after hearing that the degenerated discs in my back were so bad I would need to have my spine fused (advice I ignored), I judo-threw a two-hundred-pound man over my back, and then apologized to him for doing it too hard. According to Marcus, “The pain doesn’t ever go away, it just moves to a different place.”