When I Talk About Rolling #002

Checkpoints, Chokes and The Road to Vegas

5 Years In

It recently hit me that on my next birthday, I’ll be as far from 30 as I am close to 60 (“memento mori, mother father,” as my good friend likes to remind me). No longer young, perhaps — but definitely not so old that I’m ready to stop challenging myself physically.

I wouldn’t call it a crisis, or a celebration — more of a checkpoint. A moment to pause and ask: what have I done so far, and what do I still want to accomplish?

I’ve run marathons and ultramarathons, completed triathlons, hiked up mountains, skied, snowboarded, swum and cycled for miles, boxed, kickboxed, and lifted heavy things for fun. But nothing — absolutely nothing — has held me like BJJ.

Five years into this strange and beautiful war of limbs and leverage, I’ve snapped fingers, cracked ribs, and limped on torn knee ligaments. And yet, despite a world-class BS detector and a deep suspicion of anything cult-like, I can only admit: they were right. BJJ changes you — quietly, completely.

Give it a try… but just know: it won’t let you go.

The Next Five Years

When it comes to competition, the adult bracket (ages 18–29) closed for me 11 years before I even started BJJ. But Masters 3 (ages 41–45) — the one I’m in now — still has some time left, and I feel like I’ve given it a good go so far.

I never wanted to just plod along at some dodgy McDojo, quietly earning a black belt without ever testing myself. So when I started at 40, I gave myself a few arbitrary goals. Five years in, it’s time to review them.

Letting Go of Deadlines

The first was: black belt by 50. Ten years — the standard timeline, apparently. Some get there in five, some in twenty. But ten seemed to be the average.

Now? I’ve changed my mind.

Yes, I still want to earn my black belt — but it’ll happen when it happens. If that’s in five years, great. If it takes ten or fifteen, that’s fine too. I want to know I earned it properly.

This really is one of those things money can’t buy — only a cheap imitation of it. There’s no shortcut around the time, energy, and consistent effort required. And that’s how it should be.

The Missing Gem

The second goal: compete at least three times at each belt (white, blue, purple, brown, black). So far, I’ve medalled in every competition except one — the IBJJF Euros in Barcelona, May 2025 — and I won’t lie, that one stings.

So now, my goal has shifted. My “purple belt Infinity Gauntlet” isn’t complete without that IBJJF medal. I want it.

To make it happen, I’ll need to postpone my usual “bulking phase” (September to December — when I feast and lift until I hit 88kg). To compete, I need to walk around at 84.5kg, so I can cut to 79.5kg (to weigh in at 82.3kg in the gi — middleweight) in the four weeks leading up to the event.

A small price to pay to put things right? We’ll see.

Becoming a Great Competitor

I’m not (yet) a great competitor. I get nervous. That first match adrenaline dump is insane — sweaty palms and feet, heart racing, bone-dry mouth, burning forearms from over-gripping.

There’s a lot I can improve on.

But even as an average competitor — I love it. It takes real courage to step onto those mats and test yourself. Yes, I could get hurt (so far, it’s mostly just my ego that’s taken the real damage). But the buzz of trying to choke someone unconscious while they try to do the same to you? Hard to beat.

And the best part — win or lose — it ends with hugs, back pats, and mutual respect. Win or learn. Can’t lose.

Vegas 2026

And then… Vegas. August 2026.

First: war — the IBJJF World Masters.
Then: vows renewed, glitter chapel, Elvis officiating, my long-suffering wife by my side.

After eight months of monk-like discipline, one drink may be my undoing. You’re all invited to both events — should be quite the holiday.

I’ll be in the Masters 4 bracket (ages 46–50), which gives me a slight edge — but many of my opponents will have trained longer, with fewer work/family commitments. So: swings and roundabouts.

Better Than Before

Of course I’ve got a goal in mind — a preferred outcome. But more than that, it’s about the process. The training. The year-long montage.

I don’t know if I’ll be on the podium in Vegas. But I’ll be there — standing tall, representing every bruise, every 5:30 a.m. workout, every 7:30 p.m. class, every sacrifice. Representing my club. Representing this sport.

And if I stick to the plan, one thing is certain:

I’ll be better than average. And a hell of a lot better than I was the year before.

Once I’ve ticked these boxes, I’ll be in a better position to start coaching others — the ultimate goal. But there’s no rush.

One day at a time.