The air smelled thick with sweat and the rubber of the wrestling mats. I waited anxiously, seconds away from my last match of the day: the semifinals of the annual Wildcat Wrestling Tournament at Los Gatos High School. My heart pounded like drums inside my chest, and the buzz of dozens of spectators behind me on the bleachers drowned my thoughts; I could not concentrate no matter how hard I tried. Glancing over at my opponent, perhaps the fifth time in the last minute, I tried to assess the competition. He seemed around the same height as myself, but thinner, more muscular, and already growing a short beard. His appearance made him look years older than I did, and experience usually went hand-in-hand with age. Already, before the start of the match, I doubted my possibility of winning. I tried to maintain a calm demeanor however, and appeared emotionless and ready for the challenge at hand. Inside, I admittedly felt scared.

The referee finally ushered my opponent and me onto the mat with a quick wave of his hand. My coach, a tall burly man in his mid-thirties who achieved first place in his home state of South Carolina for high school wrestling, held me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye, forcing me to concentrate.

“We both know the amount of time you’ve spent in the wrestling room,” he said. “Show me your work has paid off.”
With a final pat on the back from my coach, I began walking on the mat. The soft elastic rubber squished beneath the soles of my shoes. Just off the mat ahead of me, I saw two judges sitting at a small white plastic desk. On top of the desk sat a large timer with two minutes shining brightly on the screen, the length of one of four quarters in a wrestling match. Seconds later, my opponent and I stood face-to-face, both crouched into a wrestling stance and staring into each other’s eyes. We shook hands, perhaps the longest and most tense handshake I had ever known. With a sharp blow of a whistle from the referee, the timer started ticking down. My opponent and I kept low and circled each other, looking for any kind of weakness or opportunity for a strike. Then came a moment, a split second when he overstepped, causing too much space between his legs. I immediately dropped down to a knee, one of my hands grabbing his forearm and the other grabbing the back of his right ankle. Pushing forward, I knocked my opponent to his back. He quickly flipped to his stomach and managed to get to a knee, but before he could stand up, I tackled him from behind and drove him back to the mat, flat on his stomach and face pressed to the ground. It took all my strength to keep him pinned to the mat. My mind raced for tricks and moves that would allow me to turn him on his back and win the match, but my mind felt blank, overwhelmed by the intensity of all that was occurring around me. To my dismay, the shrill buzz of the timer ending the quarter penetrated my thoughts and allowed for my opponent to stand back up to his feet, eliminating my advantage. I led two points to his zero, but we both stood crouched over in exhaustion. Beads of shining sweat dripped onto the ground from our chins, making small blotches on the mat.

“Again! Again! Do what you did last time! Take him down!” shouted my coach, clapping his hands in encouragement.
My opponent and I began circling each other once more. Our chests heaved up and down with each breath of labored air. We slowly inched closer and closer until our hands grappled the backs of each other’s necks in an attempt to push down the other’s head. Our foreheads grinded together, and I felt his quick hot breaths on my face as we continued to circle. I attempted to score a takedown by tapping his leg to lower his head or grabbing his wrists to pull him out of position, but to no avail. The second period ended, followed by the third, with no points scored on either side.

I just need to make it through one more quarter, I thought. If he doesn’t score, then I win.

Halfway through the last quarter however, my opponent suddenly pushed me back with all his force. My vision became a blur of red and white lights, and before I knew it, he knocked me to the ground. The fall knocked the wind from my lungs and a dull pain throbbed from my chest. He immediately covered me with his body, earning two points of his own. A sense of dread raced through my mind knowing that we were tied after all the sweat and pain I already put into the match. My opponent pushed all his weight into my lower back, sending pulses of agony up my spine. My emotions quickly turned to despair. I realized how strong of a grip he held on me, and I felt tired beyond belief. Then, from what seemed to be a far distance, I heard the familiar voice of my coach yell above the voices of all the others.

“It’s all in the head!” he yelled. “You have so much more drive in you than you think. Stop doubting yourself; now get up and score!”

Hearing those words, I remembered all the times in the past when my own attitude or mentality toward a certain situation held me back or prevented me from succeeding, and right there on the wrestling mat with a puddle of sweat beneath my chin and a 200-pound wrestler on my back, I vowed for that not to be the case today. I would not let my perception that it is impossible to beat a stronger, older, and more experienced opponent turn into reality. With newfound energy, I gradually brought my shaking knees beneath my waist and pushed up. From there, on my hands and knees, I jumped upward and broke his bond around my waist with only five seconds left in the period. I scored a single point from breaking free of his grasp and won the match, 3 – 2. When the buzzer finally rang, I shook hands with my opponent, his arms and hair glistening with sweat, stumbled over to my coach at the side of the mat, and collapsed onto a nearby chair. Finally beginning to relax, I experienced a sense of relief and satisfaction from the victory. My coach stood over me, giving me water and praising my efforts.

“Always believe in yourself,” he said with a smile. “You’re capable of far more than you realize.”