Latest Blog Post

Rolling in Rio

No one knew what had been traded for walking off the stage. These days, only a handful ever saw her - and only on the tatami. Sweat was the uniform here, hers and everyone else’s. In combat sports, there’s no choosing whose it is.

The delicate blonde, oddly enough, couldn’t care less about the closeness. Rolling, gripping, exchanging every ounce of effort - it felt raw, real. Rest days were the enemy. Adrenaline had become the fuel, more vital than air.

Where better to train Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu than Brazil? Rio made perfect sense. Training began at a Gracie family gym, all clean lines and polished mats, but soon gave way to a gritty garage where regulars rolled hard and laughed harder.

One evening, leaving that garage, a familiar figure emerged from the chaos of Rio’s streets. Thom. At first, just another passerby - until he turned. An old friend, the kind who could vanish into a crowd yet radiated danger beneath the surface. A walking weapon disguised in casual charm. Not one to believe in signs, she felt this one land like a punch. The path was right.

In this city, no one rushed to train a girl. Asking outright wasn’t an option. Better to draw from the old arsenal - that quiet, deliberate pull of stage-born charm. Reel him in, step by step, until there was no choice left but to meet her on the mat.