I gave up. Just a little.
I gave up, just a little, on expecting my blue belt. When I lost in a most ignominious way and a week went by and then another, I stopped expecting a promotion. It made sense. I’d lost my chance or maybe Sam decided to allow me retribution. Another IBJJF would happen in May. Many others planned to compete at New Breed the following week. There were always tournaments, time and opportunity for me to fill the gap in my white belt competition record. It had only been 9 months anyway, so what did another few weeks or a month or three matter? It would come, sooner or later, and that’s what mattered.
Every class, I measured myself against other white belts. Who could I dominate? How many stripes did they have? How many won as often as I did?
I’m not proud of this, but I doubt I’m the only one who does this. I imagine we all look around the room and figure out if we stand as gazelles or lions. Are we more likely to be a nail or hammer that particular day? For me, I figured the pecking order. As I drifted to the top of the white belts, I felt my feathers spread and my chest expand (just a little). It’s all relative. Better white belts became blue belts or I simply had been training more than the remaining white belts. Nonetheless there came a time when I knew where I sat – towards the top of the pecking order – while enjoying my time on the throne.
##
I felt the semblance of a cold or something lingering in my body. When you train almost every day, these sorts of illnesses pop up where you aren’t sure if you’re sick or tired or overtraining. The thought of training – tossing my Gi in a bag, driving 20 minutes, training two hours, and then driving 20 more minutes to return home, quickly rinse off the sweat and mat grime, and hope to squeeze 6 hours of sleep in before starting all over again – can become tedious. This rinse and repeat comes with a sense of security, as all routines do. Although it can wear you out.
When this happens, it usually means extra sleep and maybe popping a Vitamin C or two. Rachelle always enjoys these nights, where I stay home with her and the dogs. We might lounge a bit on the couch before going to bed at the same time. It’s a nice reprieve from the grind both mentally and physically.
This night, though, she encouraged me to attend class. I understood her logic. I still struggled from the weird defeat. She didn’t want me losing momentum. Soon we’d be traveling to Seattle for my work conference and I could take time off then. So I listened. I tossed my Gi in my bag, drove 20 minutes to class, and prepared for two hours of class.
##
I felt better, as I always do, once I warmed up and rolled around. Sparring happened. The room filled with a humid cloud of sweat. I couldn’t imagine what outsiders felt upon entering, greeted by perspiring windows and a thick wall of moisture. I’m sure the appeal of the sport dwindled as they neared the mats to watch grinding and writhing bodies with a soundtrack of Top 40 hits (Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, Rihanna, etc.). It probably resembled some fetish nightclub.
Usually I start my training with Matt. This time, though, he arrived late and I partnered with someone else. This led to ending the night rolling with Matt. It went as expected as he eased back, but still inevitably passed my guard. At some point I turtled, maybe to recompose or maybe to hide my vital bits (arms, elbows, neck). Either way, if felt as if Matt started hitting me while I was curled up in a ball. I wasn’t sure if he’d fallen, tripped, or was trying (unsuccessfully) a new move. The class started slapping the mats and cheering. I uncurled from turtle and looked around. Sam held a blue belt in his hand, shoving it towards me. He was hitting me on the back (gently) to let me know the promotion was mine.
I stood up and Sam untied my dingy white belt before tying the colored belt around my waist. Smiling faces looked up at me. Sweat dripped from most of them as Sam talked about my progress, the ignominious defeat a few weeks back, and how he’d decided there wasn’t much else for me to prove at white belt. I was one of the first three people at the academy to reach double gold and the first to reach it twice. I’d never been outscored and I never had to tap. My only defeat as a white belt came from a beyond questionable DQ against a “fish.” With that, my journey at blue belt started.
As customary, the room expected me to make a speech. I didn’t know what to say. My mind whirled. The faces blurred together. There was Sam and Sam and Matt and Matt and Ruth and Kenneth and Chris and Chris. There was Mandie and Scott and Hannah and…
Standing at the door was Rachelle (my wife). Maybe this was a hallucination. Surely she was in bed, sleeping, and I could tell her the news the next morning. Instead, she smiled and took off her shoes. Throughout all the late nights and time away training, she came to my blue belt promotion. That meant more than anybody can understand, to share that moment with her.
I can attest, my speech (which I still don’t remember) made very little sense. I know I talked about Sam’s support or the people in the room making me successful and Rachelle giving me the freedom to do all of this. That much I know. Otherwise, I hope I was at least coherent.
At the end of each class we shake hands or hug everyone in the room. On this night, the line blurred together as people hugged, congratulated, and told me how well deserved my belt was. I barely heard them, as my head still floated amongst the clouds. I didn’t quite believe the color of the belt hanging from my waist. I didn’t quite believe this moment.
##
It made me remember a summer doing karate when I was ten years old, doing endless Katas and looking at the orange belt 10-year-old. That summer, I never achieved anything beyond a white belt. No stripes. No tests. Just me in some sweat pants kicking and punching at the air. Karate classes served the function of keeping me busy while my dad worked through the afternoon. He never ponied up more cash to allow me a belt test, nor did I want one. Instead I still vaguely know what a knife-hand block is and a few other rudimentary karate moves, but really…I’d be happy trading those in for a tighter leg drag game or more efficient back attacks.
My stepdad achieved a few colored belts in Taekwondo and Tang Soo Do, but he never earned a black belt in either. I do know it was his goal – to earn a black belt – in a martial art. Earning my blue belt (and despite never really getting along with my stepdad), I started to understand that earning something based on physical prowess, much less something as difficult as jiu-jitsu (or any taxing martial art) felt monumental (future-Tom says, “Oh, just you wait”). In the moment, I felt like earning a blue belt might be one of the greatest moments/achievements ever.
Years later, it’s weird to look back at this night. A lot changed since then. A lot. It’s like returning to work after a long weekend, realizing what you did on Friday night was only three or four days ago, but feels like it happened a week or a month ago. The same goes for recalling this night. Now it seems as if it happened a decade or lifetime ago. Yet something about earning my blue belt still holds. It many ways it marks the official start through the belts of jiu-jitsu.