I walked into SeaTown Sambo three years ago. Like most men who have spent too much time watching too many movies, I was confident in my ability to hold my own in an altercation if the situation called for it. Say someone jumped me in some alleyway off Pioneer Square, or held me and a date up while walking along the waterfront: There was little doubt in my mind that I would, through some extraordinary means, be able to protect myself from that person with animal instinct and imagination. I decided to test this untapped fighting potential firsthand. A quick Google quiz on “What Martial Art Is Best for You” later, I was standing outside a dingy white building in Maple Leaf, ready for a fight.
The first thing I noticed about the gym were the windows. In the winter chill, they appeared to be sweating. Condensation reached six feet up the glass and wrapped halfway around the building. The air was thick inside. The Beastie Boys screamed from a boom box in the corner, only to be washed out by the sadistic laughter of the grapplers themselves…