It was 5 a.m. in the West 4th Street subway station, and there weren’t enough people on the platform to scare the rats away. The smell of exhaust and mildew was strong, and I noticed a man approaching me from behind. I started scanning for things to put between us. I searched for an exit, and I moved away from the edge of the tracks. These were all things I’d learned in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, a gentle art that has given me an inner confidence. I often it take for granted.
There is a beauty in peacefully subduing an opponent who’s stronger than you and in using patience to find a way to avoid danger. It reminds me of Royce Gracie, in the early days of UFC, being physically pummeled by larger opponents but somehow winning in the end. Being alone in a subway with a stranger who makes you feel unsafe feels comparable to when a large opponent is on top of you in the ring. The pressure on your ribs crushes your lungs, forcing you to fight for every breath.
