I was brutally sandwiched between the mat and a kid who seemed to have been wrestling for his whole life. Walking off tired, hurt, and on the verge of tears, I still had absolutely no idea what was going on. I remember telling my mom, “I don’t even want to do this!” Maybe I didn’t want to do it then, but looking back on it now, I’m so happy she made me continue.
Fast forward to March of 8th grade year. It’s a brisk saturday morning and the butterflies are having a party in my stomach. My only concern at the moment is weighing in. I need to be under 73 lbs. I step on the scale, slightly shivering, and look down. 72.9 lbs. Perfect.
I head back to the seats where I put on my sweatshirt and sweatpants. I start jogging around the long mats to get a good sweat on. When I finish, I sit down and stretch for a solid ten minutes.
My first match is in 30 minutes but I’m already getting nervous. I take a long sip from my powerade and eat an orange. I need to keep eating but I’m so nervous that hunger evades me completely. It seems like only seconds later I’m matside waiting for my name to be called. “Urben?” I walk up to the judging box. The referee hands me the colored ankle band and I start jumping, trying to get the blood flowing. I shake hands with my opponent and like two rabbits we wrestle our hearts out. In the last 30 seconds he quickly reverses me and forces me to battle back. I can hear the clock count down until suddenly the timer rings. The final score is 2-3.
We shake hands and I walk off the mat, head down in defeat.
Somebody yells, “Urben?” I raise my hand and walk back onto the mat, hoping to do better than the first time. After the match I drank a bottle of water and had a peanut butter sandwich. I ran around again and started to sweat some more. I try to block out the fear of losing two times in a row. As I walk onto the mat and I look into the other wrestlers eyes, I know I can win this one. Just like I thought, I pinned him in the second period. With my adrenaline rushing the referee lifts my arm in the air, signaling victory.
I perform the same routine as last match after I come off the mat. I drink some water, and start running. I’m trying to fight off the fatigue but I can already feel the soreness entering all over my body. I don’t think about who I’m wrestling or what happens if I lose. I just focus on winning.
“Wrestlers ready? Wrestle!”
This match was not as easy as the last one, but I still manage to pull out the win. We wrestled all three periods and I stay in control the whole time.
The referee taps me, “The match is over.”
Another win, another warmup, another upcoming match. The fatigue is really getting to me.
I get a bye this round which allows extra time for me to get refreshed. I’m only 2 matches away from winning the tournament. I eat my last bag of trail max, my last orange and drink almost all of my powerade. I stretch out for the 4th time and try to keep my blood flowing.
For the fourth time today the referee yells, “Urben?”
All of my friends and family are waiting matside as I walk out onto the mat. The referee makes sure we’re ready and off we go.
This wrestler was much more physical than the past four and my prior fatigue is not helping. I make one false move and he has my body twisted like a pretzel, back down on the mat. I think of the countless hours of drilling, sweating, and manage to twist out of his iron grip. Three excruciating minutes later we finish. I ended the tournament with a loss, but I left my blood, sweat, and tears on that mat.
Emotion. Fatigue. Commitment. Each match was a true battle between me and another wrestler. I’ve been doing this for 6 years but most of the kids in my grade barely know what the sport is.
Wrestling teaches me about hard work, dedication, and true commitment. From fourth grade to eighth grade my skills and my dedication increased exponentially. Wrestling is getting widely recognized around the country, but most kids my age still think I’m talking about WWE.
With help from my coach I ended up third place in my regional and I plan to keep wrestling through high school. But what about moving on after high school? There is no professional league other than the olympics. The important thing is that I put all my blood, hardwork, and determination into this sport and great results followed. Just look at what happened to the kid who was getting sandwiched on the first day of  practice.