Fact Check Me: The Silly Shit That Makes Us Great
Some of the shit we do when we train martial arts — or dedicate ourselves to anything with that level of obsession — is gonna look silly. There’s no getting around it.
And the fact that we all see each other’s silly shit is not a reflection of the art. Those moments are just the tiny parts that make up the big thing we do.
Sometimes excellence comes from hopping on one foot over and over again.
To some people it’s plyometrics; to others it looks like insanity.
Not all training is full-out.
Not all practice is hard, clean, sharp, or perfect.
A lot of the time we’re just going through the movements.
We haven’t gotten to the performance part yet.
We haven’t earned the crisp execution.
Sometimes we fall.
Sometimes we get it wrong.
And now — instead of hiding all that — we show the world the work in progress.
We show them that the sum of the parts is greater than any single, isolated component.
But some people only want to see — or only want to show — the final product.
Fine. Then shut your dojo doors. Board up the windows. Close yourself off from the world until you’re ready to unveil your masterpiece.
Me?
I’m not doing that.
I’m a person who loves being around other people.
I like watching them grow. I like seeing the whole story.
It’s not just the athlete on game day that interests me.
I want to know that Mo Salah took the bus for two hours in the Egyptian heat just to get to training.
I want to see the teammates laughing during drills.
I want to know all the little things every athlete, singer, artist, actor — and yes, every martial artist — did to chase excellence.
For me, the story doesn’t end on game day.
Win or lose, triumph or defeat — that’s not enough.
That’s not the whole picture.
I want it all.
And I want to know who these people really are.
Do the ones we admire lift others up?
Or do they sit on a throne and look down on us?
Do they hang out with billionaires?
Or build schools in Africa?
Because the journey matters.
The mess matters.
The silly shit matters.
It’s the proof that greatness doesn’t just appear —
it’s built.
One awkward, sweaty, ridiculous rep at a time.
In the past, we never saw the work that went into being great.
We didn’t see the failures, the heartbreak, the years of invisible grind.
We only ever saw the highlight reel — the championship moment, the trophy lift, the finished product.
Today?
It’s all there.
And you know what?
It’s better that way.
When I was a kid, most of us were so poor that dreaming about the NHL or the NBA felt like a joke.
No coach.
No community.
No equipment.
No money.
You were done before you even started.
But a dedicated kid today?
All they really need is an internet connection and the will to be more, do more, try more.
So when you see a video of kids falling over in their karate class, don’t judge them because you think they’re being vain for posting bad technique.
That’s not what they’re doing.
They’re sharing their journey — their discovery of something they may or may not carry with them for life.
They’re saying, “Here I am. This is where I’m at today.”
And that takes guts.
Who knows?
Maybe their struggles and persistence won’t pay off.
Maybe it’ll all amount to nothing in the end.
But maybe — just maybe — some other kid watching will see them try, fail, laugh, get up, try again…
and think, “I want to do that.”
And maybe that kid becomes the great one.
Every Sensei, every coach, every mentor has at least one incredible student who found their way to them because of someone else — someone who struggled, someone who quit, someone who drifted away, someone who posted awkward training videos into the void.
Those people matter too.
They’re part of the ecosystem of greatness.
They’re the unsung stepping stones that lead others to their path.
And for all the coaches, Senseis, teachers, and leaders —
you need to celebrate these students too.
Because yeah, you might face-palm when little Jimmy steps up to the parallel bars and immediately eats shit on the first swing.
But don’t kid yourself: you know you’re going to tell him “great job” when he gets off.
And the kid knows he’s coming in 10th out of 11 — he’s not confused.
But he still smiles and laughs and jokes with his friends because he’s doing it for reasons far deeper than winning.
Some people show up to inspire the ones who might not try without them.
Some people are wired to look for the spark in others —
to be the first domino, not the last trophy.
Who knows who that kid will bring onto the dojo floor?
Maybe a future champion.
Maybe the person who changes the culture of a whole room.
The greatest people we’ve ever seen started because they saw someone else doing something and thought,
“Hey… I like that.”
And that was the spark.
And look — I say this because I understand.
I never had greatness in me.
But I hung around it long enough that I like to think some of it rubbed off.