Nineteen Seconds
When I was eight years old I started wrestling. I was an aggressive little guy and wrestling appealed to me. So I joined. My earliest experience with a kids wrestling tournament was intimidating, even for a little kid’s event. People were everywhere. Mats were everywhere. The entire gym was full of young wrestlers running around. Kids were screaming and kids were crying. People were yelling, and parents were cheering. Whistles were blowing.
It was a lot to take in.
That atmosphere never really changed over the years. It just slowly became more exclusive. Eventually, it was only you and another guy in the middle of mat, in the middle of the gym, in the middle of a lot of people. Everyone in attendance, focused on that one mat. Every whistle meant only for that match. One side of gym cheered for you. The other side didn’t.
Little kids tournaments were structured in four man round robins. Meaning, each kid would wrestle each other for a total of three matches. When I first walked on to the mat, I was nervous. My stomach was sick. The referee was impatient. We each walked to the center and placed are foot on the line. The referee stood between us. He had a whistle. We got ready and the referee dropped his hand and the whistle blew. Everything around you becomes silent. If you’re lucky you can hear a coach or a father, but mainly, you hear only the whistle and your heart.
I won the first time I ever stepped on the mat.
The final match that day, I lost. I was defeated and had failed. My young manhood humiliated. All from with in and all in the presence of my dad. It was very common for the kid who lost to break down in tears afterwards. It’s a hard thing to explain, how a simple loss could bring so many young kids to such unmerciful tears. The best I can do, is that for many, it’s the first time you ever put your pride on the line. This isn’t done quietly. That pride is put on the line at younger age than most and in front of so many people, both relation and strange. Despite losing a match, I didn’t cry that day. Instead I loved it. I found competition. Challenge.
I wrestled for the next ten years.
My senior year I walked onto the mat for my “sectional final.” Eight guys, who all had placed in the top four at different regionals, would move on to the “sectional” tournament. The top two from this tournament would go to “State,” the final tournament of the year. The wrestler, who eventually won the state tournament in my weight class that year, had already won the sectional tourney that day. He was the first of two, to go back to state. There was one spot left and it was between me and my opponent. He had been to state the last two years, and I had lost to him earlier in the year by a score of 4-2.
I was having a pretty good year, but my senior season was harder than most…in part because I didn’t get along with my coach (imagine that) but mainly because of “cutting” weight. At the beginning of the year I had originally weighed 146 lbs. I was lean, strong and in good shape, I’ve always been. I wrestled at 125 lbs.
I cut 21 lbs, by far, more than anyone else on the team, to specifically wrestle in that weight class. To make weight, I use to run in the hallways before school. I didn’t run to burn fat, I ran to sweat. After practice, I use to come back at night and jump rope in the pool room. Always with layers of sweat clothes. Sometimes, on days when there was a meet, I would have to work out during lunch or right before a weigh-in. I would drain every last bit of water and energy I had leading up to a meet in order to make weight. I ate nothing. Drank nothing.
That same year over Christmas break, four days before a tournament, our coach had us all line up to get weighed after practice.
“Everyone should be within five pounds by now…”
As I stood in line I started laughing. The guy next to me asked what was so funny.
“Just wait.”
I stepped on the scale and was fifteen pounds over. Four days to go. Coach wasn’t pleased and I didn’t wrestle that weekend. He didn’t want me to cut that much in four days, but it wasn’t even a big deal for me. I was always way over. I would be ten pounds heavier the day after a meet.
I spent the whole year making weight. But I loved wrestling.
I had been wrestling for ten years.
The season was exhausting, a four month roller coaster. I fought my coach, I fought my weight. I would get tired. My body would sometimes break down in the final period. It would get to heavy for me. My mind too slow.
The last match of the day for the 125 lbs sectional is about to begin.
I listen to headphones as I wait. I’m on deck, I wrestle next and I’m slowly jumping rope as I watch the 119 lbs final. I break a light sweat as I prepare. My heart is beating steady, but slow. My mind is visualizing every step of the upcoming match. It moves much quicker than my heart.
I watch the match, but I think about my own. The clock ticks. The buzzer sounds. Half the gym cheers. The other half doesn’t. One guy jumps and throws his arms into the air. The other guy stays down. He pauses on one knee and curls his head into his arms. He stays that way, only for a moment, but was probably more of an eternity. They shake hands and the ref raises one of the arms into the air. The 119 lbs match is over.
I set down my rope and shed my clothes. Cool air surfaces my body and my heart finally starts moving faster than my mind. My opponent rushes to the middle of the mat. He stares at me. I run to the center, in the same cocky way I always did. Chin up, and shaking my arms out as I move, nonchalant, but my eyes never leave his. My face is stone and my mind is clear. I’m confident. My whole body is rushing and I have a light layer of sweat. I felt stronger than I ever have. This was my match and I can hear my heart.
We place our feet on the line and the whistle blows.
We went right after each other. It was one of the more intense beginnings of match I can remember. We work back and forth, offensively and defensively. Each of us seeing and feeling how the other reacts.
I see something. His hips are open, and I hit it. I take him down with a fireman’s carry. He goes straight to his back.
“Two, Takedown, Red”
Thirty seconds into this match I have him on his back, and a five point lead (I’ll get 3 pts for him on his back). I don’t want the points I want to finish it. Now. I slide in a deep half-nelson, and I squeeze as hard as I can. I want to pop his head off, create so much pain that he stops fighting me. He continues to fight and the clock continues to tick. He spends ninety seconds on his back, fighting for his life and struggling to breathe, but I don’t pin him. The clock ticks and the period ends.
We start the second period in the referee’s position, one guy has top and the other bottom. I have a 5-0 lead. My mind is clear and my heart is beating. This was my match. Red has the choice and I choose top in the referee’s position. The whistle blows. We continue to work back and forth. Grabbing ankles and grabbing wrists. Fighting for position. Everything is silent. My opponent breaks free from me. I hear my heart.
“One, Escape, Green”
The period continues and now we’re back on our feet in the neutral position. We work back and forth and cover the entire mat. Working for position. Fighting for a takedown. Everything is silent. He shoots in and I counter his move. We work for position. I shoot and he counters. We go out of bounds and start again. The whistle blows. We fight for position. He shoots. Everything is silent. I give up a takedown and the period ends.
“Two, Takedown, Green”
The third period starts. This period hasn’t been good to me this year. I’m tired and I’m weak. I have a 5-3 lead and my opponent chooses the bottom position. My heart is beating, but my mind isn’t clear. I don’t want to lose. I can’t lose. Everything else is silent.
The whistle blows.
We work back and forth. Grabbing ankles and grabbing wrists. We fight for position.
I don’t want to lose.
“One, Escape, Green”
We’re back on our feet, and immediately start working for position and fighting for the next takedown. We cover the whole mat and things are moving faster than my mind.
The score is 5-4. I am still ahead, but I’m losing. I’m losing my body. It’s getting to heavy and I can’t hear anything. I look at the clock, it’s just under a minute to go.
Everything is silent.
He shoots in and I counter his move. We work for position. He shoots in again and I almost give up a takedown, but we go out of bounds.
I don’t want to lose. My body. I can’t lose.
I get back up and look at the clock. The clock says 00:19. I almost lost it, but this is it. I can’t lose. I have 19 seconds left. The score is 5-4 and I’m still ahead. The winner moves on. I hold my head up and tell myself that it’s time now, it’s time to finish this match. Time to get control of my body. My mind. I run back in my cocky way and my mind is clear. I’m confident and I can hear my heart again. This is it for me. My foot is on the line and there is 19 seconds left.
The whistles blows.
We fight for position. I see something and I shoot in. I take a hold of his leg and work to pull it out and drive through him. I get stuck and I’m unable to drive. I can’t lose. Everything is silent. We fight for position. The clock ticks and he grabs my ankle, frees his leg and gets behind me. I look at the clock, it says 00:01. The buzzer sounds.
“Two, Takedown, Green”
I look at the scoreboard. It reads 05-06. The time is 00:00
I lost with one second left.
I had 19.
Everything is silent. My whole fucking world is silent.
My coach wasn’t there and my father wasn’t there.
I got up and shook hands. The ref raised the other arm and I left the mat.
I left quietly, but quickly. I kept my head up, but that meant nothing. I couldn’t hear my heart.
I shouldered my way threw the crowd, went straight to the locker room and lost it. I lost it first with rage and then quietly with tears. I could probably count the number, in my lifetime, on one hand. I never cry.
I flushed ten years of my life out of my eyes.
I had lost the very last time I ever stepped on the mat.
~Rolligun
Moral of Story~~~I lost this match because I was afraid to lose. Instead of wrestling to win, I wrestled to not lose. There’s a difference, successful people approach life to achieve, not to avoid.
Afterthought~~~I’ll never forget this. Sometimes I’ll talk sports with friends. We'd drink and they’d speak of their “glory days” in athletics. But I never say anything. I have my success stories too, but I don’t deserve to speak of them. I try not to regret anything, but I can’t help regretting this match and that season. I didn’t do everything the way I should have. And that last match, I wrestled to not lose. Instead of wrestling to win, I wrestled not to lose. That’s the way it should be. You do something to win, not to avoid. I had nineteen seconds left. Nineteen seconds to regain my posture and my mind, my body. Nineteen seconds, not to hold on, but to win.
You do things to achieve, not to avoid.
It was a lot to take in.
That atmosphere never really changed over the years. It just slowly became more exclusive. Eventually, it was only you and another guy in the middle of mat, in the middle of the gym, in the middle of a lot of people. Everyone in attendance, focused on that one mat. Every whistle meant only for that match. One side of gym cheered for you. The other side didn’t.
Little kids tournaments were structured in four man round robins. Meaning, each kid would wrestle each other for a total of three matches. When I first walked on to the mat, I was nervous. My stomach was sick. The referee was impatient. We each walked to the center and placed are foot on the line. The referee stood between us. He had a whistle. We got ready and the referee dropped his hand and the whistle blew. Everything around you becomes silent. If you’re lucky you can hear a coach or a father, but mainly, you hear only the whistle and your heart.
I won the first time I ever stepped on the mat.
The final match that day, I lost. I was defeated and had failed. My young manhood humiliated. All from with in and all in the presence of my dad. It was very common for the kid who lost to break down in tears afterwards. It’s a hard thing to explain, how a simple loss could bring so many young kids to such unmerciful tears. The best I can do, is that for many, it’s the first time you ever put your pride on the line. This isn’t done quietly. That pride is put on the line at younger age than most and in front of so many people, both relation and strange. Despite losing a match, I didn’t cry that day. Instead I loved it. I found competition. Challenge.
I wrestled for the next ten years.
My senior year I walked onto the mat for my “sectional final.” Eight guys, who all had placed in the top four at different regionals, would move on to the “sectional” tournament. The top two from this tournament would go to “State,” the final tournament of the year. The wrestler, who eventually won the state tournament in my weight class that year, had already won the sectional tourney that day. He was the first of two, to go back to state. There was one spot left and it was between me and my opponent. He had been to state the last two years, and I had lost to him earlier in the year by a score of 4-2.
I was having a pretty good year, but my senior season was harder than most…in part because I didn’t get along with my coach (imagine that) but mainly because of “cutting” weight. At the beginning of the year I had originally weighed 146 lbs. I was lean, strong and in good shape, I’ve always been. I wrestled at 125 lbs.
I cut 21 lbs, by far, more than anyone else on the team, to specifically wrestle in that weight class. To make weight, I use to run in the hallways before school. I didn’t run to burn fat, I ran to sweat. After practice, I use to come back at night and jump rope in the pool room. Always with layers of sweat clothes. Sometimes, on days when there was a meet, I would have to work out during lunch or right before a weigh-in. I would drain every last bit of water and energy I had leading up to a meet in order to make weight. I ate nothing. Drank nothing.
That same year over Christmas break, four days before a tournament, our coach had us all line up to get weighed after practice.
“Everyone should be within five pounds by now…”
As I stood in line I started laughing. The guy next to me asked what was so funny.
“Just wait.”
I stepped on the scale and was fifteen pounds over. Four days to go. Coach wasn’t pleased and I didn’t wrestle that weekend. He didn’t want me to cut that much in four days, but it wasn’t even a big deal for me. I was always way over. I would be ten pounds heavier the day after a meet.
I spent the whole year making weight. But I loved wrestling.
I had been wrestling for ten years.
The season was exhausting, a four month roller coaster. I fought my coach, I fought my weight. I would get tired. My body would sometimes break down in the final period. It would get to heavy for me. My mind too slow.
The last match of the day for the 125 lbs sectional is about to begin.
I listen to headphones as I wait. I’m on deck, I wrestle next and I’m slowly jumping rope as I watch the 119 lbs final. I break a light sweat as I prepare. My heart is beating steady, but slow. My mind is visualizing every step of the upcoming match. It moves much quicker than my heart.
I watch the match, but I think about my own. The clock ticks. The buzzer sounds. Half the gym cheers. The other half doesn’t. One guy jumps and throws his arms into the air. The other guy stays down. He pauses on one knee and curls his head into his arms. He stays that way, only for a moment, but was probably more of an eternity. They shake hands and the ref raises one of the arms into the air. The 119 lbs match is over.
I set down my rope and shed my clothes. Cool air surfaces my body and my heart finally starts moving faster than my mind. My opponent rushes to the middle of the mat. He stares at me. I run to the center, in the same cocky way I always did. Chin up, and shaking my arms out as I move, nonchalant, but my eyes never leave his. My face is stone and my mind is clear. I’m confident. My whole body is rushing and I have a light layer of sweat. I felt stronger than I ever have. This was my match and I can hear my heart.
We place our feet on the line and the whistle blows.
We went right after each other. It was one of the more intense beginnings of match I can remember. We work back and forth, offensively and defensively. Each of us seeing and feeling how the other reacts.
I see something. His hips are open, and I hit it. I take him down with a fireman’s carry. He goes straight to his back.
“Two, Takedown, Red”
Thirty seconds into this match I have him on his back, and a five point lead (I’ll get 3 pts for him on his back). I don’t want the points I want to finish it. Now. I slide in a deep half-nelson, and I squeeze as hard as I can. I want to pop his head off, create so much pain that he stops fighting me. He continues to fight and the clock continues to tick. He spends ninety seconds on his back, fighting for his life and struggling to breathe, but I don’t pin him. The clock ticks and the period ends.
We start the second period in the referee’s position, one guy has top and the other bottom. I have a 5-0 lead. My mind is clear and my heart is beating. This was my match. Red has the choice and I choose top in the referee’s position. The whistle blows. We continue to work back and forth. Grabbing ankles and grabbing wrists. Fighting for position. Everything is silent. My opponent breaks free from me. I hear my heart.
“One, Escape, Green”
The period continues and now we’re back on our feet in the neutral position. We work back and forth and cover the entire mat. Working for position. Fighting for a takedown. Everything is silent. He shoots in and I counter his move. We work for position. I shoot and he counters. We go out of bounds and start again. The whistle blows. We fight for position. He shoots. Everything is silent. I give up a takedown and the period ends.
“Two, Takedown, Green”
The third period starts. This period hasn’t been good to me this year. I’m tired and I’m weak. I have a 5-3 lead and my opponent chooses the bottom position. My heart is beating, but my mind isn’t clear. I don’t want to lose. I can’t lose. Everything else is silent.
The whistle blows.
We work back and forth. Grabbing ankles and grabbing wrists. We fight for position.
I don’t want to lose.
“One, Escape, Green”
We’re back on our feet, and immediately start working for position and fighting for the next takedown. We cover the whole mat and things are moving faster than my mind.
The score is 5-4. I am still ahead, but I’m losing. I’m losing my body. It’s getting to heavy and I can’t hear anything. I look at the clock, it’s just under a minute to go.
Everything is silent.
He shoots in and I counter his move. We work for position. He shoots in again and I almost give up a takedown, but we go out of bounds.
I don’t want to lose. My body. I can’t lose.
I get back up and look at the clock. The clock says 00:19. I almost lost it, but this is it. I can’t lose. I have 19 seconds left. The score is 5-4 and I’m still ahead. The winner moves on. I hold my head up and tell myself that it’s time now, it’s time to finish this match. Time to get control of my body. My mind. I run back in my cocky way and my mind is clear. I’m confident and I can hear my heart again. This is it for me. My foot is on the line and there is 19 seconds left.
The whistles blows.
We fight for position. I see something and I shoot in. I take a hold of his leg and work to pull it out and drive through him. I get stuck and I’m unable to drive. I can’t lose. Everything is silent. We fight for position. The clock ticks and he grabs my ankle, frees his leg and gets behind me. I look at the clock, it says 00:01. The buzzer sounds.
“Two, Takedown, Green”
I look at the scoreboard. It reads 05-06. The time is 00:00
I lost with one second left.
I had 19.
Everything is silent. My whole fucking world is silent.
My coach wasn’t there and my father wasn’t there.
I got up and shook hands. The ref raised the other arm and I left the mat.
I left quietly, but quickly. I kept my head up, but that meant nothing. I couldn’t hear my heart.
I shouldered my way threw the crowd, went straight to the locker room and lost it. I lost it first with rage and then quietly with tears. I could probably count the number, in my lifetime, on one hand. I never cry.
I flushed ten years of my life out of my eyes.
I had lost the very last time I ever stepped on the mat.
~Rolligun
Moral of Story~~~I lost this match because I was afraid to lose. Instead of wrestling to win, I wrestled to not lose. There’s a difference, successful people approach life to achieve, not to avoid.
Afterthought~~~I’ll never forget this. Sometimes I’ll talk sports with friends. We'd drink and they’d speak of their “glory days” in athletics. But I never say anything. I have my success stories too, but I don’t deserve to speak of them. I try not to regret anything, but I can’t help regretting this match and that season. I didn’t do everything the way I should have. And that last match, I wrestled to not lose. Instead of wrestling to win, I wrestled not to lose. That’s the way it should be. You do something to win, not to avoid. I had nineteen seconds left. Nineteen seconds to regain my posture and my mind, my body. Nineteen seconds, not to hold on, but to win.
You do things to achieve, not to avoid.
posted by Rolligun at 12:03 AM
10 Comments:
Well written... captures the sport and the stuff that makes "sport" what it is.
I actually really liked this entry. I grew up surrounded by wrestling. It was my dad’s favorite sport and he went to every meet at Penn State as well as most at the local high school. My dad, mom, and uncle were all members of the Penn State Wrestling Club and I spent many a night of my youth going to meets where I would watch interchanged with coloring with my crayons and eating animal crackers. At home my dad and I would “wrestle” where little 5 year old, blonde me would try to pin my father.
As I got older, I continued to enjoy watching wrestling. In high school, it was a big sport at my school and I continued to go with friends, often seeing my dad there and in college I had a job with student athletes where I worked closely with the wrestlers who were always my favorites; despite there cocky arrogance.
With my Dad’s passing a few months ago anytime I hear about or think about wrestling I think of him. So anyway, in short to end my long rambling comment, I know that your post was about more then just wrestling and to me it was more about wrestling but in a different way. It was about thinking about my Dad today. Remembering him and things of the past. So thank you. I needed that today.
Thomas,
Thanks for reading, it's a sport unlike any other. Otherwise I hate that story.
Heidi,
Glad this meant something to you. I'm sorry about your father, he must have been a good man to have a daughter who remembers himself so fondly. Thanks for sharing.
"You do things to achieve, not to avoid." You were wrestling not to lose... That resonates with me...
I love that... Rolli, thanks for sharing that, you are such a talented writer. You made me feel as if I were there with you. My heart was even racing there at the end... You, my friend are so amazing...
Heidi- I am so sorry to hear of your father's passing... You and your family are in my prayers..
i used to want to be a wrestler, then i went to college and grew to hate wrestlers. i was standing at a party, minding my own my own bidness, when 5 drunken wrestlers decided it'd be fun to jump the big cowboy. well, a broken jaw and a cuncussion later i was out for blood. sure i put one in the hospital with a spinal injury and pretty much ended his wrestling career, but it was his choice. anyhow, the shit of it was, when i went to press charges i was looking at a stiffer penalty for underage consumption than they were for misdemeanor assault. so, i dropped that one right quick. damn wrestlers.
good post, man.
An insight into you! It's great really when you just meet people and there is so much to know! Good post here and worth the whole 5 minutes I read it - I'm a slow reader ok?? ;-)
When I was 6 and my brother 5 we always always fight as siblings do. We would wrestle and I like to think that I always win, only because this is my story and my brother is not here to defend himself. Anyway, my dad thought we should "fight properly." So, he bought us boxing gloves!
There is no moral to this story, unfortunately, but I am left in quandary as to why my dad didn't think wrestling is a proper way to fight between brothers and sisters??
Funny how competition affects each of us.
Exactly why I never played sports. I don't have what it takes to compete (or more accurately, to sometimes lose). I don't know how you atheletes do it.
Good story.
Awesome post. Plus, men rolling around on a mat is kinda....hot! :P
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