White Belt: The Guy Who Never Competes

Derek Solomon, 32, has been training white belt at Iron Bridge Jiu-Jitsu in suburban Denver for exactly six years. This week, on the exact anniversary of his most recent announcement of the same kind, he stood in the locker room after class on Thursday and declared, with the confidence of a man who has never once followed through on his stated intention, that he is “definitely competing next month.” This marks his 14th consecutive competition announcement since January 2024. Derek has zero competitive matches on record. The announcements form a pattern so consistent you could schedule a wall calendar around it. January 2024: “I’m signing up for the Dallas Classic. For real this time.” He didn’t sign up. March 2024: “Next month is Pans qualifying. Won’t miss it.” He missed it. June 2024: “It’s happening. No excuses. Summer season is my season.” His summer season consisted of attending the same Tuesday fundamentals class as always. September 2024: “No excuses this time. I’m in perfect shape.” He wasn’t in perfect shape by any measurable standard. December 2024: “New Year, new me. January competitions are perfect for getting the first one under my belt.” January 2025 came and went with Derek still in his immaculate, mostly unworn gi collection. March 2025: “Summer season is coming. I need to build my base first, but July is locked in.” He didn’t lock anything in. May 2025: “Actually, I’m thinking September. That’s the real season.” September passed. Now June 2026, and he announced next month again. Carlos Mendez, 58, has been Derek’s instructor for all six years. Mendez is a decorated instructor who has competed in four continents and once attended a seminar with a Mendes brother cousin. When Derek first announced his competitive ambitions in January 2020, Mendez smiled and said, “You’re going to do great. Just commit to the training.” By year two, the encouragement softened to gentle reminders: “When do you want to sign up?” By year three, Mendez stopped asking. Now, when Derek announces his monthly commitment to compete, Mendez nods, excuses himself to the bathroom, and scrolls Instagram for ninety seconds before returning to teach. Last Thursday, after Derek’s announcement, Mendez simply changed his phone’s background and resumed class without acknowledging that Derek had spoken at all. Derek’s closet contains seven gis. Here’s what he’s done with them: One navy gi, purchased in January 2024, never washed. One black gi, purchased in March 2024, worn three times, still smells like new fabric. One pearl weave gi, still has the security tag attached—he removed the price tag but left the anti-theft device intact. It hangs in his closet emitting a small amount of electronic menace. One gi he bought at a second gym when he trained there for three months in 2023, then returned to his original gym because “the instructor at the other place didn’t understand my journey.” One all-white competition gi, specifically reserved for “tournament use,” last worn February 2023. He’s touched it five times since then; four times were to move it while reorganizing, once to show someone at work how nice it looked. One gi that no longer fits around the waist but Derek’s “planning to lose five pounds and wear it again.” One gi currently at the dry cleaner. He dropped it off three months ago and hasn’t picked it up. When asked about it, he says, “Yeah, I’ll get that eventually. Maybe they can do something with it.” His actual competitive record: zero matches. His belt promotion history: white belt, the entire duration. His training frequency: Tuesday and Thursday fundamentals class (thirty-five minutes of instruction, ten minutes of light drilling, rotating partners), occasional Wednesday advanced class where he leaves five minutes into live rolling because his back “started acting weird.” His open mat attendance: zero in the last twenty-four months. His YouTube history: 287 bookmarked videos titled “white belt competition tips,” “how to prepare for your first tournament,” “tournament nerves overcome,” and “mindset for competition.” Average watch time per video: three minutes. He’s skipped the introduction on every single one. This month—this specific month of June 2026—Derek has committed to “tournament-specific training.” What this means is unclear, but his plan is to do extra armbar drills “for two more weeks” before he pivots to competition mode in July. His game is currently seventy percent guard pull, twenty percent defensive positioning, ten percent random heel hook attempts he read about on a forum. The armbar drills won’t change any of this because tournament-specific training only works if you actually enter a tournament. He hasn’t entered a tournament. He’s considering entering a tournament next month. The financial calculus is instructive. A local tournament registration costs ninety-five to one hundred forty-five dollars, depending on the promotion. Travel, hotel, time off work: another three hundred to four hundred dollars. Total annual cost if Derek actually competed monthly: approximately fifteen hundred dollars per year. Total Derek has already spent on gis: approximately twelve hundred dollars. Total he will spend if he competes zero times, which is his track record: zero dollars on competitions, everything on gear. He has optimized his life for the appearance of commitment without the friction of commitment. Derek’s training partner, Mike, 31, trained next to him on Tuesday. When Derek made his announcement, Mike didn’t look up from tying his belt. When asked later if Derek would finally compete next month, Mike said, “He says that every month. At this point, I think he’s training for the idea of competing, not to actually compete.” Derek’s girlfriend, Sarah, 30, heard the announcement that same evening. She said, “Cool. Let me know when you register.” Derek responded, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” This is their third instance of this exact conversation. Sarah is currently reading a book about something that isn’t her boyfriend’s competitive ambitions. She turns the pages slowly and she’s learned to nod without listening. Derek’s internal reasoning, if he articulated it fully, would run like this: “I’m still mastering the fundamentals. Once I’m truly confident, I’ll compete. Once I have a solid base, I’ll register. Once summer season starts, I’ll be ready. Once I finish these specific drills, I’ll commit. Once the perfect tournament comes along, I’ll finally enter.” Every obstacle has been solved except for the one that matters: the gap between “I could do this” and “I will do this.” That gap is real. It’s been real for six years. Derek’s purchased additional gis in an attempt to close it with fabric instead of action. When eventually confronted about his perpetual non-commitment, Derek will offer familiar refusals. “I’m still learning basics.” This is true; he’s been learning basics for seventy-two months. “I want to be in peak physical condition first.” He isn’t in peak condition, but he is stable enough to compete at white belt in his weight class—a fact he hasn’t tested. “Next month is perfect timing.” Next month has been perfect timing for twenty-four consecutive months. “I’m being strategic.” Strategic about what, Derek doesn’t specify. His IBJJF profile exists and has zero competition registrations. His calendar app contains zero entries for July tournaments in his region. His email inbox has received promotional emails from six different promotions offering white belt divisions, all deleted unread. Derek has created the infrastructure of a competitor—the gis, the training, the announcements, the strategy—while maintaining the lifestyle of someone who will never compete. This is a kind of equilibrium, and equilibrium is comfortable. Next month, when he makes the announcement again, it will be equally untrue. But Derek will have said it. And that will be enough.