How We Ran a Jiu-Jitsu Camp In Another Continent
And how it went (almost) perfectly.
Today’s article was written by Ernesto Rivera. Ernesto is a BJJ black belt based out of Atlanta and an active competitor all over the world. You can follow him on Instagram or on his blog on Medium dot com.
Recently I was talking to a friend who attended our jiu-jitsu camp in Rio de Janeiro last year, and during our conversation, he mentioned that he was going to Miami for a few days. It makes sense for him to tell me that because I lived in Miami for 20 years, but that’s not why he told me.
He told me because he was going to Miami to visit my childhood best friend. Not his childhood best friend, mine. Someone who he met a few months prior during our camp in Rio, and who he had spent less than a week with his entire life.
This is what’s so special about last year’s camp—people who met in a foreign country over a shared passion now travel to see each other, spend time, and train together.
In early 2023 Sergio came up with the idea of a seven-day jiu-jitsu camp to share the experience we had in Rio the year before with all those who kept asking. A year before, in November of 2022 we — the same we from 31 Days in Rio—spent two weeks in Rio training, vacationing, sitting in the sun, and eating picanha. When we got back to the US all of our friends, training partners, and acquaintances, asked us when they could join us on the next trip.
The idea was simple: a seven-day jiu-jitsu camp in paradise. The coaches would be Jucao, Paul, Sergio, and myself. Over the next few months we planned, announced the camp, booked hotels, a gym to train at, excursions, and a ton more behind-the-scenes logistics.¹
Seven months after Sergio’s idea, thirty people flew in for a week-long camp in Rio. Accountants, athletes, friends, and strangers. Seven days of training in a room too hot for Bikram, adventures, beach days, partying, stories you can tell, and stories you’d rather not.
All the participants got set up in one of the camp hotels unless they opted to book their accommodations. That usually meant a party hostel.
The first night we hosted our welcome dinner that ended with restaurant staff pouring shots into a few participants’ mouths. Off to a good start.
The day after the welcome dinner we kicked off the camp, where a usual day went like this:
One of the coaches teaches a system for an hour, then an hour of situational sparring, king of the hill style, from the main position of the day. Ten minutes into that the mats have a layer of sweat thick enough to be suitable for skimboarding. We’re cooking with grease now.
We finish the morning session and clean the mats for the gym’s regular classes after us, while outside the local food kiosk run by the family that lives upstairs is opening for the day. Camp folks generally choose to leave to shower, explore, and go to the place they looked up a few weeks in advance on Yelp. The ones that know, stay behind. This establishment only serves a few dishes, they have no menu, and you can’t go wrong. They serve one or two dishes, depending on the day. You’d be lucky to have either. Grilled or fried fish, grilled or fried chicken. Always with rice and beans, mashed potatoes, or both.
When lunch ends, we Uber back, shower, take a short nap (work for some), and another Uber back for the afternoon session. This one is all rolling after a short Q&A.
After the afternoon session, a 2 liter of soda is required — a single can won’t do for this sort of training session. I drink 90% of it to fight the dehydration, the rest someone helps me with. It’s been 90° since we’ve been in town and we’re feeling it — don’t mistake that for a complaint, it’s negative degrees back home.
The rest of the days were some version of this. Every morning someone had a story from the night before, and occasionally we would wonder where someone was — they had the best stories once they turned up.
On the fourth day, we had our excursion — a boat day. Everyone who was once a stranger was now a friend, and it was as fun as you can imagine. I will fall short of describing it, so here’s a video that encapsulates all the fun.
If you go to the end of Leme Beach in Rio de Janeiro on a sunny day, you will see local kids jumping off a seaside trail, usually meant for walking, and into the ocean. They’re doing backflips, diving, and making it look easy. None of them are older than ten. If you had been there on the day we were, you would’ve seen the part of the camp that made it go almost perfectly.
Jucao started it off, he’s the only coach who is a local. He made it look easy on a choppy ocean day. Everyone else followed, one by one building up the courage ten-year-old locals were born with. Everyone was fine, except for the three who had to fight a little more than thought to make it to shore. Luckily, all we got was some scrapped-up ankles and three more stories to tell. Perhaps we shouldn’t have ignored the sign(s).
For some a blur, for others a vitamin D-rich vacation, some never trained harder in their lives. At least one fell in lust, called it love, and told us about it the next morning. What’s true is everyone felt the magic of Rio we kept telling them about. In the food, the people, the energy, the ocean, and everything else.
That’s why we are doing it again this year.
As someone who organized it, I’m grateful to everyone who trusted us the first time. I’m happy it lived up to the expectations, it makes me proud. We’d love to have you this year, it will be even better.
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