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Pilot Wrestling

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My weight class is 132 pounds. I am an Pilot Wrestler. I love being a wrestler. The feeling of happiness when winning my match and the anger of losing my match drives my spirit to go out on that mat and wrestle my hardest. Whenever I think of wrestling, I feel happy, especially when I step into the locker room for the first day of practice. Wrestling isn’t just another sport to me; it is my life, and I think about it every second. I practice it every day by tossing around my younger brother or training with my uncle. My life consists mostly of a wrestler’s lifestyle, from trying to stay at a healthy weight and training hard every day for the road to a state championship.

After my first two years of wrestling, I have learned so much and have become a strong wrestler. My freshman year came with some amazing people like my cousin, Jeremy Olivarez, and two champion seniors, Cade Mansfield and Ryan Behringer, leading us to a GMC win, and with four wrestlers, Tate, Frankie, Cade, and Ryan, to state. The start of my sophomore year wasn’t as positive. I injured my shoulder and wasn’t able to wrestle until the fourth week of the season. When that had happened, it killed me. These next two years will be the time of my life, and I will be doing the best for my coaches.

I look forward to the sights of the mats laid out and everyone working hard. I can’t wait for the mats to be put out the first nine weeks of school. Everyone tries his hardest the first day to show off, and then we realize that our bodies can’t handle it yet. A person could smell all the hard work we put in.

When I fell tired and lazy to keep on going, I remember what my uncle said, he noted, “Keep on pushing throughout all the struggles you have during your life.” My uncle is one of the reasons I started wrestling. He became four-time state champ during high school, and after high school he trained in multiple techniques of fighting. After a car wreck, leaving him legally blink in one eye, with a broken arm, and a destroyed kneecap, it has kept him unable to demonstrate most of the moves he knows. Even though this happened to him, he is involved in most of my training I have. Even when he isn’t physically there, he is spiritually with me.

The team works hard, but we also have some fun during the year. My freshman year, we had found chairs that gave off large amounts of static electricity. We went around and shocked each other over and over until one senior beat all of us up. My most fun moments that happened during my sophomore year involved our assistant coach for example, at sectionals I stole his Monster Energy drink, and he became real angry and started to scream, “Get back here, Daniel, before I beat you into the ground.” He chased me down and choke slammed to the floor while I screamed, “Don’t hurt me too bad I still got to wrestle,” so I avoided him the rest of the meet.

At the meets I show off all of my hard work I put in during practice. First, we check and make sure that we have everything that we need like our head gear, singlet, mouth piece, and our towel for the showers after the meet. Next, we take the ride to the meet that always seems to be the longest ride. Once we get there, the weigh-ins happen; then the coaches meet, and the matches start.

The anticipation of waiting for my match kills me. While I wait, I watch my opponent and see what he is practicing, and I expect him to do most of it during the match; so I watch out for those moves. When I am up, the team huddles around me, and I feel like I am on top while everyone cheers for me. The moment when I am fact-to-face with my opponent, I take a second to go though my mind and tell myself, ‘Push it. Don’t think. Just go.’ Throughout the match I zone out and get into the game, and it feels like it’s just my opponent, the referee, the mat, and just floating in space. In the end if I win and get my arm raised, I feel amazing like I just had won a million dollars. My years as a wrestler and the years to come have and always will be the best times I’ll ever have during my high school years.



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