I turned 60 recently. Yesterday I tested for my 2nd degree black belt.
Last night, a student texted me. He told me about his first class years ago, how he walked out thinking he wanted to fight like me someday. Then he said something that stopped me. He said if he gets to 60 and has impacted half as many people as I have, he’ll take that over the fighting.
I sat with that for a while
This Is My 3.0 Life
Most people don’t know this, but teaching Krav Maga is my third act. Before this, there was Corporate America. Before that, med school. Both were supposed to be the plan. Neither was.
I left those paths without a map. What I found instead was a training floor in Norwalk, Connecticut, and a question I’ve spent nearly twenty years answering: how do I help ordinary people protect the lives they’ve built?
I didn’t come from an athletic background. I came from Speech and Debate. I came to this because violence touched my family, and I refused to feel helpless about it. That’s still why I teach.
The Stories That Matter
When people ask me what I’ve gotten out of twenty years of teaching, they expect me to talk about belts and ranks. Rank is fine. Rank is secondary.
Here’s what I actually think about.
I think about the students who came back to tell me it worked. The ones who were grabbed, threatened, cornered — and walked away because their training showed up when they needed it. Those phone calls and quiet conversations after class are worth more than any certificate on my wall. Somebody went home safe. That’s the whole job.
I think about the friendships. People who met as strangers, paired up for a drill, and are still in each other’s lives a decade later. The mats have a way of stripping away pretense. You find out who someone is when they’re tired, frustrated, and trying anyway. Real friendships get built there.
And I think about the marriages. Plural. I know of multiple couples whose first conversation happened on my training floor. They came in to learn how to defend themselves and left with a partner for life. Nobody puts that on a class flyer. Maybe I should.
What Twenty Years Teaches You
Somewhere along the way, I stopped counting techniques and started counting people.
The retiree who found out she wasn’t fragile. The college kid who left for campus with a plan instead of luck. The dad training next to his daughter. The student who became an instructor and now changes lives I’ll never hear about.
That’s the compounding math of teaching. You never know whose life you’re about to change next. And you never know what they’ll go on to change after that.
Nothing But Gratitude
Standing at 60, looking back at almost twenty years on the mats, I could tell you about the hard parts. The years of building a business. The injuries. The doubt that comes with leaving two “safe” careers behind.
But that’s not what rises to the surface. What rises is gratitude.
Gratitude that I get to do work that matters. Gratitude for every student who trusted me with their fear and let me hand them back confidence. Gratitude for a room full of people who show up, week after week, to get a little harder to hurt and a little easier to love.
Life 1.0 and 2.0 taught me what I didn’t want. Life 3.0 gave me everything.
To everyone who has ever stepped on my mats: thank you. You think I taught you something. The truth is, you built me a life.
See you in class.
Gus Bottazzi
Chief Instructor
