Louis Martin - The True Believers

THE TRUE BELIEVERS

By

Louis Martin

Edited by

Steven Goings

Margarita Martinez

Cover quote by Jonathan Bluestein

Cover image derived from Bujinkan AKBAN - the 40 years Taikai in Eilat (12) credited to Bujinkan Akban under Creative Commons Sharealike 2.0 License

Every important part of the True Believers persona and life must ultimately come from their identification with the larger community.

- The True Believer: Thoughts On The Nature Of Mass Movements by Eric Hoffer

In hindsight, writing a book is more of a team effort than I thought. At least, publishing one is. While the first year was essentially me writing in secrecy, by the end I had enlisted a small group for editing, formatting, legal advice, and sometimes plain old moral support when the writing stalled. I could not have done it without these people:
First is Steven Goings, who had the courage to tell me that my first drafts were good but not great. He encouraged me to nurture this book for the rest of the year. Im still not sure if its great, but I learned to love the editing process in those extra six months, and the book is better for it
Sara Martin, my wife and first confidant. She was equal parts editor, eyewitness, advisor, and open ear.
Chris Haney, for his unique perspective on the story and being able to fill in some holes in my knowledge. Matthew Krueger, for being the first eyes on the rough draft. Ryan and Crystalena, for their early encouragement, and just being there for the past couple years.
During the writing, there were many times when I stopped typing to look up from my screen, tilt my head, and ask myself questions. Did this thing happen before this other thing? Or after? Was I really with this person on that day?
Such is the price of writing what is now ten years of my life from memory. Sometimes I call to Sara in the next room to ask her what she remembers. Sometimes I call an old friend to ask them.
I feel like Ive gotten almost all of it right. But Ill be the first to concede that my memory is imperfect and subjective. Some events may have happened a little differently, but the essence of it is all true. This isnt a historical account. Its a story about my experience and how it shaped me as a person. I dont expect others to have the same interpretations. I had no malicious intent when writing this.

PROLOGUE

Its late 2015 and I am about to step on the mats of the U.S. Open tournament in Santa Cruz, California. One of the larger competitions in Northern California, it attracts hundreds of competitors, each bringing their own clan of family, friends, coaches, and teammates. Due to its abundance of matches, its seen as an ideal first tournament for those new to competing.
Which is exactly the reason I am here. That, and Ryan, who is maybe the only guy in the world who could have roped me into this nightmare. Two months ago, he casually said something in between sparring rounds that horrified me:
A sweep is two points. A back take is three, so I would have got five points there.
I tried to stay calm. But inside, I was thinking, Who the hell cares about points, Ryan?! Only those competition people care about that shit!
I avoided eye contact and mumbled something like, Oh, uh, I didnt know that... so are you thinking of competing or something?
Yeah, man. Ryan leaned lazily over on his side, like he was lying on his couch at home. I already signed up for the one in November. A bunch of us are going.
I said nothing, which led to an awkward silence. Ryan seemed more comfortable in it than me.
You should do it with me, he finally said.
Ehhh... I let my voice trail off. Ryan knew full well how I felt about this stuff.
He just shrugged and said, Itll be fun.
No one wants to be the guy who doesnt want to have fun.
I am not a competition guy, not with my background. In fact, I spent the last several years convinced competition was ruining martial arts. No real martial artist would ever engage in competition. Even if you did, doing well in competition wouldnt say anything about your skill in fighting. It was all fake fighting. I believed this so much, I taught it to my own students back when I was instructing.
But then again, Ive done a lot of things I never thought Id do in my martial arts journey. Two years ago, I didnt even believe in sparring. Two years before that, I didnt believe in resisting your training partners at all. I used to think size didnt matter, or strength, or even cardio.
But here I am, sitting in a bullpen with about ten other guys. Right now, I could use some extra size, strength, or cardio. Or courage.

Some are jumping around to warm up. Others listen to music. Some talk nervously amongst their supporters. Were not talking to each other, not even looking at each other. Theres a good chance were going to be fighting each other in the next half hour.

A random guy outside the bullpen sees me wearing a rash guard under my uniform.

Hey, are we allowed to wear those? he asks me.

Trying to sound confident, I reply, For sure. Im anything but sure.

I step up to the scale. Weight shouldnt be a problem. I chose to compete at the max of 139 lbs., just in case I couldnt make the lighter weight class of 127 lbs. I step onto it and see the numbers start to climb up. They stop surprisingly early, at 126 lbs. My stomach sinks. I could have easily competed a full weight class down.

I look past the scale to a guy who already weighed in. Hes about the size of a mountain and downing Gatorade like he hasnt drunk water in days, which makes me think he cut some weight. God, I hope hes not a preview of my new weight class.

Hey! a woman shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look at her. Shes wearing an official uniform and trying to get my attention.

Huh? I reply.

I said your rash guard. You cant wear those; take it off.

Oh, right, I say. Oops. I look over my shoulder for the guy who asked me about it. Hes not there, and I have bigger problems. I get shuffled to the next area.

Are you Louie? says a voice.

Its Gatorade guy. My stomach sinks again. Theres only one way he would know my name. I nod my head yes.

Cool. Im Victor. I saw your name in the brackets online. Me and you are going.

My attention goes to the four stripes on Victors blue belt compared to my zero. He seems calm. He seems experienced. He pats me on the shoulder and tells me good luck. I know Im about to need it.

We are shuffled again to an area just off the mats. It wont be long now. Im standing right behind Victor, hoping this is where Im supposed to be. He looks over his shoulder and spots me.

Oh, hey, Louie. I think youre supposed to be on the other side of the mat.

Oh, right. That makes sense. You dont see two boxers standing in the same corner, do you? I scurry over to the opposite side and wait.

As I wait, I sit down in a traditional Japanese kneeling pose called seiza. Its a small comfort and triggers some memories. I have a moment to reflect: Im about to do the one thing I swore Id never do in martial arts. In fact, Im about to do the last thing in a long list of things I used to believe were wrong. Its a recurring theme of my life. The stronger the position I take against something, the greater the universe seems to draw me towards it.

Have I seen the light? Or have I gone to the dark side? Its a matter of perspective, I suppose. I cant help but wonder what all my old training partners, my old family, would think of all this. Most of them would probably shake their heads in disapproval. That martial arts is a game to me now. I have turned from the warrior way.

A man in black calls Victor and me onto the mat. He looks right through me. Hes flipped some sort of switch. Im not even a person to him anymore. I have a moment of clarity, where I realize that everything I have been told about competition not being real is bullshit. Things are about to get as real as they can get.