Judge #3: Leah
March 9, 2008Leah says that she would prefer not to have a nickname, and just to fight as “Leah”. She says she wants her name alone to strike fear into the hearts of her opponents. But I have given her lots of little pet names anyway. One of them is Anaconda, for the way that she will carefully and calmly encircle her opponent before they realize — too late — that suddenly, inextricably, their own arms are cutting off their airway.
Leah is the best loser I have ever met. By this I do not mean that she often loses. She kicks my ass on a regular basis, and the two of us are like Mozart and Salieri, continually trying to find the other’s weakness and revise the game plan. It’s my goal to be like her, careful, sly, wisely cunning. She is a wonderful technician: watching her grapple is like watching a surgically precise instructional video. Even the way she holds her feet is elegant. Her rear naked chokes are like some kind of Renaissance painting establishing the Platonic ideal of murderous grace.
No, what I mean is that Leah’s incredible generosity of spirit has taught me how to admire my opponents for the skills and talents they bring; how to respect and encourage them to challenge me. What basically defines Leah’s personal coolness is a single moment: at a competition, she was getting crushed by a highly skilled opponent; instead of pouting about losing, or freaking out, Leah used her remaining oxygen to gasp at the woman, with a big astonished grin, “You’re awesome!” Even while getting her ribcage crushed into a cube, Leah is a class act.

Leah on top, about to work her anaconda magic.

