When I look back on my early years of Jiu Jitsu, what stands out most is how incredibly lucky I was. I started training at a time when Jiu Jitsu in the UK was still very young, almost underground. There were only two academies in London, and just four homegrown British black belts in the entire country. It felt like we were part of something rare and something that most people hadn’t even heard of.
Because it was so new, everything carried a sense of discovery. Every class felt like stepping into unknown territory. There were no online tutorials, no BJJ fanatics instructionals, and no short cuts. You had to turn up, pay attention, and remember. You learned by showing up, getting smashed, asking questions, and trying again. It was raw and simple, and I think that’s what made it so special.
The atmosphere in those early days was really unique. We were a small group of people completely hooked on something we barely understood. The mats were filled with laughter, exhaustion and curiosity. We just wanted to learn. Looking back, I think that simplicity is what made those years so memorable.
I was lucky to have found the academy I did. Even luckier to have been surrounded by teachers who shaped me in ways I still feel today. Steve Finan, a 4th-degree black belt under Mauricio Gomes now, was one of the first people to take me under his wing. He was incredibly generous with his knowledge, technical and endlessly patient. His teaching style had an understated precision that stayed with you. He didn’t need to make a show of his ability, and I learned from him by feeling, and by listening carefully.Then there was Nic Gregoriades, Roger Gracie’s first black belt. Nic opened my eyes to how creative Jiu Jitsu could be. He encouraged me to think for myself, to see the art as a form of expression rather than just combat. He made me realise that there was philosophy behind it, and that training could be both disciplined and deeply personal.
And of course, there is Mauricio. My teacher, my mentor, and someone I feel deeply honoured to have learned from. I was fortunate to form a close relationship with him, one that has shaped nearly everything I do in Jiu Jitsu and in life. Training under Mauricio was never just about technique. It was about pressure, awareness and composure. His lessons go far beyond the mat. Mauricio has the deepest understanding of Jiu Jitsu I have ever encountered. His mastery of the fundamentals is unmatched, and his pressure has to be felt to be believed. It is something you cannot quite explain in words. He is also one of the greatest storytellers I have ever met, able to hold a room in the palm of his hand with a single story, leaving everyone laughing, inspired or both.
I’ve been so lucky with my teachers and training partners.
Much of how I now teach my classes comes directly from my experience as his uke. The pace, the structure, the emphasis on clarity – all of it grew from watching how he taught. When you stood next to him, you could feel the calm authority he carried. He has a presence that fills the room, but it is never forced. Everyone listens, not because they have to, but because they want to.
If I could go back and change anything about those early years, I wouldn’t change where I trained or who I trained with. I would change how I thought.
I spent far too much time worrying about bad days and comparing myself to others. I’d leave the mat replaying mistakes in my head, wondering why I wasn’t improving faster. What I eventually learned was that those tough sessions were the ones that really mattered. They’re the days that build you, even though you don’t realise it at the time.
I remember one training partner in particular. We were about the same size, the same belt, and trained together constantly through blue and purple. He was hellishly tough and had a super technical guard. Guard passing was my strong suit, but I could never seem to pass his. No matter how hard I tried, every round ended the same way. I’d leave the gym dejected, convinced I wasn’t a good enough training partner for him.
Months later, we were having coffee together and he told me something that completely changed my perspective. He admitted how much he hated rolling with me. He said he felt like I was always winning because he could never sweep me or land any of his usual submissions. We’d been locked in a stalemate for months, each convinced the other was getting the better of us. Both of us had built a whole story in our heads that wasn’t remotely true. It taught me that how you feel about a situation often has very little to do with reality.
Something similar happened years later. One of my instructors came to teach a guest class at Kingston Jiu Jitsu. I was a brown belt at the time, and another brown belt from a different academy dropped in. He used to visit fairly often, and we always had tough, competitive rolls. I usually did well and felt I had the edge. That night, I was eager to show my instructor what I could do. I wanted to look sharp, to prove I’d been improving.
Instead, it was one of the worst rolls I’d had in months. Nothing clicked. My timing was off. I felt heavy, slow, and frustrated and got subbed twice. I left annoyed at myself for putting on such a poor showing. But later that evening, I realised what had really happened. I’d been so focused on impressing someone else that I forgot the point of training. It’s not about performing for anyone. It’s about learning, even when that means struggling. Especially when it means struggling.
If I could speak to my younger self, I’d tell him not to take it all so seriously. Progress in Jiu Jitsu isn’t linear. It’s full of peaks and plateaus. Some days you feel unstoppable. Other days you can’t do a thing right. That’s part of the process. The key is to keep showing up, to trust that consistency will take care of the rest.
What I loved from the start was how much it felt like play. That sense of movement, of testing and exploring, reminded me of being a kid. For a few hours, everything else fell away. It didn’t matter what kind of day you’d had or what was going on in your life. Once you stepped on the mat, all that disappeared. You just moved, reacted, and learned. It was a rare kind of freedom.Jiu Jitsu helped me through some of the hardest periods of my life, especially during my years as a doctor. The work was intense, and there were days that felt overwhelming. But training gave me an outlet. It was a place to breathe, to reset, to remind myself that life existed outside the hospital walls. Over time, it gave me something even greater – the courage to make a change.
When I eventually left medicine to teach Jiu Jitsu full time, most people thought I was crazy. It was Oli Geddes who told me I wasn’t.
Oli was one of my closest friends and one of the best people I’ve ever known. He was a teacher, a mentor, and a constant source of support. When I first made the decision to teach full time, he backed me completely. When I was unwell, he covered my classes without hesitation. He came round to my garden at night to teach me half guard under a torch. He dropped into Kingston Jiu Jitsu whenever he could, just to share knowledge and see how everyone was doing.
Oli was Britain’s greatest homegrown black belt competitor, a brilliant referee, and one of the most dedicated instructors you could ever meet. His sense of humour was off the charts. He could make anyone laugh, even in the toughest moments. But more than that, he was humble, kind, and completely genuine. Losing him was devastating.
Oli teaching at Kingston Jiu Jitsu – always patient, funny, and endlessly generous with his knowledge.
When I teach now, I think about him often. About the way he made people feel seen and supported. About how much he gave to the sport and to everyone around him. There’s a part of him in every class I teach.
It’s been over twenty years since I first stepped onto the mats, but I still feel the same excitement I did back then. I’m still learning, still improving, still grateful. Jiu Jitsu has given me more than I could ever repay – friendships, purpose, perspective, and a way to give something back.
When I see a nervous beginner walk into class for the first time, I always remember what that felt like. I know exactly where they are. And I know what’s waiting for them if they stick with it – growth, community, and a sense of joy that will stay with them for the rest of their life.
I was incredibly fortunate to have started when I did, surrounded by the people I did. I’ll always be grateful for that. And now, all I want is to help others experience that same sense of discovery. To give back to the art that gave me everything.
About the author
Marc Barton is a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt, educator, and former doctor with a background in human physiology and medicine. He holds a BSc in Physiology and an MBBS medical degree, and spent over a decade working on the frontline in emergency and intensive care medicine.
Now teaching Jiu Jitsu full time as the head instructor at Kingston Jiu Jitsu, Marc brings a rare blend of scientific depth and real-world experience to his coaching. His approach focuses on biomechanics, skill progression, and longevity – especially for those training into their 30s, 40s, and beyond.
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