The saddening, cold, sudden rush of disappointment. The feeling of carrying all of your family and friends on your back, with immense pressure weighing down on your spine. The feeling of everyone depending and relying on you. Then the feeling of it being released, and replaced with disbelief. I had just lost my blood round match at high school wrestling states, a moment I will never forget. I was lying on my back on the cold and sweaty, yet comforting mat. I didn’t want to get up. Then it struck me that my season was done. It was over, just like that.

Being a sophomore at the 171 pound weight class and qualifying for states was a great accomplishment and has rarely happened in school history. I was determined to win this match for my school. At 5’11” and weighing 171 I was in great physical shape ready to battle. I had practiced all season for this tournament and wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from me. I just had a huge upset 2 weeks before, beating the 5th ranked guy in the state and nearly the 4th, and I was ready for more. Practicing the week before, my opponent was in the room with our team. From Monroe, he didn’t have anyone to practice with so my coach offered him to come work out here, but now regrets that offer. I made weight and was ready to compete.

Ford Field was a lot bigger than the place states have been held the year before, that being the Cleveland CAVS arena. As I walked into Ford Field,  I could see hundreds of people in the stands eagerly looking around for their friends or loved one’s to be wrestling. With a 45 minute warmup I was ready for my first match. I went on the mat and completely demolished my opponent. The second match, I ended up losing to the 2 seed 3-7. After that match I was upset but knew I still had a chance. As I saw my name glow up on the mega screen, my heart started thumping. Looking around, the arena seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger. Consisting of 40 mats, it was very hard to find a particular person and not super easy to find my mat. Walking down to my mat for my blood round match, I felt like everyone was staring at me. The “blood round” is where your dreams either flourish and come true, or vanish. In the blood round, if you win you would place in the tournament. If you lose, you don’t place and all of your hard work is gone for the season. Walking out onto the mat, I had the pressure of a million men on my back to perform as my community thought I should. I could hear all of my friends and family shouting my name and giving me a thumbs up for luck. Even down on the ground, I could still peer over and look at their happy faces waiting for me to perform. I walked out onto the mat with the bright spotlights on me, as if I was a spider in a glass jar.  With the scream of a whistle, the match began.

My opponent, similar to my size but a couple inches shorter, was on the other side of the mat. He was scared, and I could see it in his eyes. A senior, he didn’t have much to be afraid of or worry about, unless it was losing to a lower classman. As we shook hands and started the match, I could still see the fear in his eyes. We bashed and bashed. With every hammer that came down on my head I clenched my mouthguard in anger. I kept his feet moving, not letting up. I went in for shot, he defended it well. I got to my underhook and went to a knee pull, yet to be defeated again. No one scored the first period. By now, I should’ve been up by at least 2. The second period goes by, I get 1 point for escaping. The third period starts, he chose down (meaning he would get 1 point for escaping to tie the match). I ride him with all I can. I got in a double armbar, my best pinning combination this season, but he wouldn’t budge. I could hear the whole crowd getting excited for they knew if I got to that position the match was over. I drove and drove and drove, but with no success, I had to let it go. He slowly built back up to his base. With about 15 seconds left in the period, he stood up. One more mat return would’ve broken him, and I would’ve won. I tried, but he slipped out. After the 6 minutes of sweating and battling, we both looked at our coaches as time ran out and we entered overtime. He had hope, and my aggression had stopped. I had previously beat him the past 3 times I wrestled him, and he came nowhere near overtime with me. I didn’t know what to do. Now he was the determined one and I was the one being chased. With about 20 seconds left to go in overtime, he took a shot. I crossfaced him with all my might, but it wasn’t enough. He lifted me into the air, and took me down right to my back. I had given up, and I was a coward. I had let my coach down, my family down, and my community down. I had failed and wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. As I walked off the mat, my frustrated coach yelled at me, something he does very little, and told me I should’ve beat him and had just missed a big opportunity. For more than a week after, I had my head hung low in self pity. Days upon days and I couldn’t forget about what had happened. Even now I remember it like it was yesterday.

In conclusion, I learned from this event that sometimes losing and learning from mistakes is better than winning and learning nothing. Had I won, I may have lost a more important match at a more important tournament because of the same reason. Because of losing, I will never that mistake again, and will never be broken during a match again.