The Three Stages of Learning Jiujitsu (Or: How to Go From Flailing Donkey to Grappling Wizard)

Embarking on the path to Brazilian Jiujitsu greatness? Strap in. It’s a long, sweaty journey that’s equal parts awkward flopping, existential crises, and occasional enlightenment. Along the way, you’ll hit three charming stages of development—each one filled with its own delights and doses of humble pie.

Stage One: The Natural Stage (a.k.a. The “Help, I’m Drowning!” Phase)

This is where everyone starts. The “natural” stage, which is just a polite way of saying, you’ve got no idea what you’re doing. You move entirely on instinct. You spaz out, flail wildly, and try to headlock everyone like it’s a playground scrap. There's no such thing as "technique" here—just primal panic and whatever your nervous system can conjure up before your lungs explode.

At this point, you think you're doing alright... until someone who actually knows what they’re doing ties you into a human pretzel using what they call “leverage” and “angles.” You'll start to question everything, including your life choices and whether grappling is just an elaborate excuse to cuddle strangers in pyjamas.

Stage Two: The Mechanical Stage (Congratulations, You're Now a Stiff Robot)

You’ve now started “putting the reps in”—which is a nice way of saying you're drilling the same move 4,000 times until your brain stops rebelling and your body goes along with it.

At this point, you’re learning techniques, but good lord, you’ve lost all your instinct. Everything feels forced, your timing is off, and your coach keeps muttering things like “fluidity” and “relax” while you have an internal meltdown because you’re trying to remember the fourth grip adjustment on that one sweep.

Essentially, you’ve upgraded from flailing to overthinking. You’re now so deep in your own head that your opponent sweeps you while you’re trying to recall step six of the armbar sequence.

Stage Three: The Formless Form (Zen Grappling Master Vibes)

Ah, the mythical third stage. This is where techniques become second nature, movement becomes instinctive again (but now with actual skill behind it), and you start channelling your inner Bruce Lee. Welcome to the “formless form”—where things just flow. You’ve internalised the concepts, drilled the life out of them, and now you roll like water. Or at least, a very dangerous tidal wave.

At this stage, you’re not thinking, “Right, left foot here, grip the collar, hip escape…” Nah, you're just doing. Everything looks simple—but it's the sort of simple that makes black belts cry inside when they realise how long it took to make it look that way.

Masters of the Flow: Marcelo Garcia & Roger Gracie

Want to see what "formless form" looks like? Watch Marcelo Garcia or Roger Gracie roll.

You’ll think, that looks easy... I could do that. Spoiler alert: you can’t.

Roger will mount someone, slap on a basic choke you learned on day one, and his black belt opponent—who’s probably been training since the dinosaurs—just lies there and takes it. “Why didn’t they escape?” you ask. Because Roger is a wizard and all the magic happened ten steps before the mount. That’s why.

Same goes for Marcelo. He doesn’t use strength, he uses timing, concepts, and the devastating ability to make it all look unfairly easy. Guillotine choke? For him, it’s a sweep, a submission, a method of transportation—probably opens tins with it too.

Fluidity and Economy of Motion (Translation: Stop Wasting Energy)

Marcelo doesn’t muck about. His movements are direct, efficient, and set traps faster than your brain can compute. While you're still deciding whether to grab the sleeve or collar, he’s swept, mounted, and already halfway through a guillotine finish—with minimal fuss and zero wasted effort.

The man is like water, but water with a black belt and serious bad intentions.

Concept-Driven Techniques (Less “What”, More “Why”)

Marcelo’s game isn’t built on memorising 500 techniques like a panicked white belt with a notepad. It’s built on understanding concepts. For example: “Threaten submissions to get sweeps.” Simple. Ruthless. Elegant.

Instead of clinging to every technique like a desperate student before an exam, you start thinking more like, what’s the principle here? Then the techniques emerge naturally. It's not magic—it’s just a whole lot of reps and understanding the game behind the game.

Synergy (1 + 1 = Black Belt Magic)

You’ll eventually realise you can’t learn everything. There’s just not enough time in the world, and besides, your knees would explode. So you start building a game made of interconnected techniques—ones that work together like best mates in a pub brawl.

A guillotine that becomes a sweep that becomes a mount that becomes a choke. It’s all linked. It’s not just “moves”—it’s a system. Techniques that support each other and give you options when things go pear-shaped. Which they often do.

Attribute-Based Game Building (Know Thyself)

Let’s face it: you’re not Marcelo Garcia. You’ve got your own body type, strengths, weaknesses, old injuries, and mental quirks. Maybe you’ve got knees that pop like microwave popcorn. Maybe your grip strength is about as reliable as a British summer.

Whatever the case, your game should suit you. Fast and explosive? Scramble king. Slow and methodical? Pressure passer. Dodgy back? Avoid inverting like the plague. Think of it like choosing a character in a video game. Play to your stats, not someone else’s highlight reel.

Final Thoughts (aka “Just Keep Showing Up”)

BJJ mastery isn’t just physical—it’s spiritual, intellectual, and a bit existential. Some athletes can brute-force their way to greatness. But if you want to truly understand the art (and maybe even teach it), you’ve got to become a lifelong student of the game.

Drill. Roll. Study. Fail. Repeat. Eventually, it all starts to make sense. Then you blink, and realise you’ve just completed the circle—from instinct, to intellect, and back to instinct—but with a whole lot more armbars and fewer panicked flails.

So get on the mat, and remember: it doesn’t get easier, you just get weirder.

Adz