Jits Shits: "A result of grappling pre-competition jitters; a phenomena in which, in lieu of vomiting, the human body chooses to void the bowels (obsessively and repetitively) of any and every ounce of excrement out through the anus, and hopefully not onto the gi."
My greatest foe on the mat or in the cage in my five-year stint as an amateur mixed-martial arts competitor was my lack of control on the inner workings of my body in the minutes before competition. I have been complemented on at least a few occasions on how calm my demeanor is before the fight, but I must admit that I have a fantastic poker face; I may appear to have the confidence of a man with a Royal Flush, but my stomach is readying for the inevitable visit to the toilet for a royal flushing.
I envision adrenaline as this little coffee pot hanging over my stomach, slowly dripping its fluids drop after drop into the organ's near (and soon to be completely) emptiness. As I sit still, trying my best not to envision what activity I am about to partake, my stomach begins to swirl and gurgle like an angry dragon ready to shoot fire out of the opening of a cave. The more I try not to think, the worse it gets.
One hour out from competition, I hit the can. All is done, and all is clear. I do some stretching, some light warming up, and I even lie down to try and take a nap.
Fifteen minutes go by. The dragon is slightly upset. Toilet visit number two. Twenty minutes from competition.
At this point, if I'm competing in a grappling tournament, you have to have to put your gi on with your belt tied, and usually there is someone to check to make sure your attire is at regulation in terms of size, smell, and decor. No pink gi tops with blue pants that smell like cabbage vomited into a baby's dirty diaper. After the initial check, you wait. And as Tom Petty once sang, "The waiting is the hardest part."
Waiting, my friends, makes the coffee-addled dragon an unhappy camper. The tight belt around the waist is like a barbarian trying his best to put a choker on said dragon, and giant serpents, as you may know, do not like restriction.
I ask permission to leave the waiting area to go to the restroom. Permission is granted. I get to the toilet with about ten minutes to spare, but the problem is now that the body is looking for every bit of treasure to add to the toilet booty. But there is hardly anything left. And as anyone knows, when you sit down on the toilet five minutes before you have to do anything, you are in for one of the messiest, most burning and rushed sensations you can ever comprehend. The discomfort becomes quite apparent as your stomach clenches and cramps, doing what it needs to do to get rid of every ounce of fluid at this point. Basically, take the discomfort of having to shit right before leaving for work, and multiply it by ten, but add in the fire blast from the dragon Smaug, and THAT is what it is like for me right before I go onto the mat for a jiu jitsu tournament.
Luckily, in jiu jitsu, the jitters I get before hand are less than what it once was when I was competing in MMA. I'm more confident of a ground fighter than I ever was as a stand-up fighter, but the jitters don't give a damn. My stomach is like that brown-nosed little kid in the fourth grade who kept trying to help his teacher by always raising his hand and ask unnecessary "extra credit" questions, but all the teacher wanted was for him to sit down, shut his mouth, and not become so evident that he was apparently the only voice in class when there were other children to worry about.
My stomach can be related to that little bastard, doing his best to help me out by voiding my stomach of unnecessary....shit. The rest of my body is like the other quiet children, who want nothing more than for their teacher to not get his arm broken.
Just for fun, here's a video related to this situation. You don't have to watch the whole thing, but when you see it, you will understand why my stomach finds it necessary for me to listen to it: