For weeks I've worked, for countless hours I've practiced till blood poured from my pores instead of sweat. I have run so far; for so long, the miles all seem to blur. I drill my moves, I've wrestled my friends for so long I can practice a move in my sleep. I have become a machine, made of pride and determination. Programmed to win at any cost, functioning with nothing but one hundred percent on the mat, and when I walk off, I know I can always hold my head up high.

Now I think of all I've done, everything that I have to prove as I warm up for my match. I know that every time I step onto the mat, my heart will be tested again. I can feel my heart pump, my blood course through my veins. As I get closer to the mat I pass through the tunnel of my teammates, my brothers, all cheering and chanting my name. I can smell the metallic smell of adrenaline; I feel its rush roar through my head. My coach smirks and nods, he knows, I know, even my opponent knows. I am ready to wrestle! l