Because we are wrestlers Most parents, when planning how they are going to teach their children about life, do not place hand-to-hand combat at the top of their list. Therefore, it seems strange that when we, former wrestlers turned parents, teachers, and coaches, are asked why we encourage and allow our own children and students to wrestle, we answer that we do so in order to teach them life lessons. We try to explain the focus, the drive, and the determination our sport builds to our critics and questioners, but these are superficial reasons that do not accurately depict or expose the “why.” In our walk of life, we are surrounded by those who will not, cannot and do not want to understand why and then patronize us by explaining that these same lessons are attainable in easier activities that are more in line with societal norms. It is unthinkable to most as to why we would put ourselves through the battle and then encourage others to sacrifice and commit to such a grueling lifestyle. So, we must answer for ourselves, why do we do it? The answer struck me like a heavy hand as I sat in the wrestling room the other day looking at the gaunt, sweating athletes lined up for “just one more ___ (you can fill in the blank with match, period, overtime, takedown, sprint).” The answer that I was searching for, that we may all be searching for, is that our sport is like a drug. Instead of the negative consequences normally linked to drug use, through this experience, wrestlers end up capable to endure, overcome, and flourish in any walk of life they choose. Like an addict who will stop at nothing and who can think of nothing except that next high, wrestlers will stop at nothing to succeed. They will pursue their goals with a mule-stubborn attitude and persistent focus and, if not through talent and hard work, they will use sheer will-power to find a way to triumph. The parallels between wrestling and drug use are obvious and the addicted are bandaged, beat up, half-starved gladiators. Wrestlers know the highs and lows of addiction. Theirs is not a chemical dependency, but a competition dependency that, like a drug, rules their lives. Euphoria and endorphins come not from an injection but from victory – from the exertion of ones will over their opponent. The wave of adrenaline rushes through their veins at the conclusion of the match, and by outside examination, it is difficult to discern the victor from the defeated. They both appear fatigued, gasping for breath. Blood drips from the nose of one, while a swollen eye impairs the vision of the other as they make their way back to the red and green starting lines. With the lifting of an exhausted cramped arm and the exaltation of the winner’s crowd and bench, it becomes apparent who has emerged on top. The rush from the high is short lived, and it is back to the punishing, self-sacrificing workouts and lifestyle of a competitor. The only way to sustain the emotion is through more work, by embracing the grind. After the match, slumped over the handles of a bike, the winner drives his weary legs around and around the pedals or, with heavy feet, he jumps off from the gym floor to the whirring tick-tick-tick rhythm of the jump rope. The outsiders, they question why. They question the reasoning as has already won; the match is over. To those in the circle, the answer is simple. The competitor is focused on the next match, sweating off excess weight, continuing to improve his conditioning so that next time, he can go harder, for longer, at a more punishing pace than his opponent can survive. The desire to win again, to be great, overtakes the mind’s message to the body that it must rest, that it is sick, that it is tired, that it can no longer continue. Continue it must, for that is the only way to experience the rush and high again. The loser, prior to the match, had one goal. He needed to achieve the high, he craved victory. He is despondent as he sits, head buried in tired arms, replaying and recalling the match - reliving the agonizing moment that he felt victory slip away, remembering the mistakes he made and also the mistakes his opponent made that he failed to capitalize on. He wonders how it can happen after all the sacrifices he has endured and how he can go on. He questions whether the suffering is worth it, all the time knowing deep in his subconscious that he must continue. In order to eliminate the withdrawal and hangover from defeat, he must drive on. He knows no other way. This drug has its claws embedded to his very core. The wrestler knows that the only way to dig out of the pit of despair that follows a loss is through work, through sweat, through pain, through hunger, and possibly tears. He must get back on the mat, back to the basics, back to the repetitive drills, and stance and motion, and stairwells and hallways and padded walls with mats at his feet in heavy sweats and he must strive to improve. Through work is the only way to end victorious. The addicted and afflicted in our sport, regardless of weight class or team affiliation, belong to the same fraternity; however there is no party house to hang at, no rush week or pledges or silly and humiliating tasks to complete in order join. Our initiation is self-sacrifice, sweat, blood and tears. Our identity and affiliation to this circle, the symptoms of our dependence are black eyes, fat split lips, bit-through and bloody tongues. Like track marks, these blemishes are the outward evidence to our combative lifestyle. The most obvious confirmation of our compulsion is cauliflower ear. It is easily recognizable years after the competition has ended and perfect strangers, upon spotting the swollen, deformed masses of tissue protruding from the sides of a head, know immediately that they belong to the same circle, that they share a common bond, that they share the addiction. So, why do we do it? The reduced, simplified answer to the complex question is that we have to. We know no other way. The grind, the rollercoaster of emotions, the failures turned successes through hard work, the extra effort exerted while no one watches, all become part of us and are woven into the very fabric of who we are. Even after we leave the sport, it cannot be turned off, it cannot be forgotten, and it is never left behind. We are addicted not to a sport, but to a lifestyle. Why do we do it? Because we are wrestlers. -Anonymous
Posted on: Thu, 06 Mar 2014 01:40:21 +0000
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