I checked in at the scoring table and placed my foot at the line. My opponent, a senior at Manalapan High School, met me in the middle of the mat. The referee blew the whistle and the match began.

“Takedown green”, exclaimed the referee as he signaled the number two towards the scoring table.

As we went out of bounds, I noticed that this referee also officiated my first wrestling match when I was seven. The action began again, and I picked up two more points from a near-fall. The referee signaled for another two points to be added to the scoreboard. The first period ended and I was leading 4-0. I started on the bottom position and quickly escaped to my feet. I proceeded to take down my opponent once more, in an attempt to increase my lead. Smack! As I took my opponent down to the mat, an elbow quickly met my face as he attempted a sit-out. I heard a loud crack and immediately felt my head pound. The referee blew the whistle and signaled for the EMT staff to assist me on the mat. In a matter of seconds, my face was a swollen, bloody mess. I tried to inhale through my nose but had no luck. The EMT crew bombarded me with questions concerning the cause of the injury and how I felt.

I could only produce short sentences at the time; “My nose”. “His elbow”. “Seven out of ten”.

After a five-minute injury time out, I glanced over at the clock. It read 0:03. Although my vision was impaired from the rapid swelling around my face, I proceeded to finish the match against the request of the EMT staff. I ran out the final few seconds by avoiding contact with my opponent. The timer sounded as the clock ran out. The referee raised my hand, a gesture in the sport of wrestling that represents the winner of the match. I felt my head beating and tasted the blood running down my throat. The EMT staff surrounded me once again with my dad by their side.

“Are you feeling alright, bud? Where does it hurt?” questioned my dad.
“I can’t breathe out of my nose. It’s all swollen and it’s making it hard to see.”
“Don’t touch the rap,” my dad ordered as I tried to remove the athletic tape that was wrapped around my face. “Come on, let's go get it checked out.” He handed me my Gatorade and I drank it aggressively.
“No, I won’t be able to wrestle in the finals if we leave,” I replied uncooperatively.
“That’s not important right now. Your health comes first. Come on.”

My dad reached over my shoulder and gave me a quick hug as he directed me out of the St. Augustine Gymnasium at Waldwick High School. We got into the car and I took two Advil pills with my Gatorade. I sighed in pain as my head felt as if it was being squeezed tighter together with each pump of blood. My dad patted my thigh lightly as he told me to put the seat back and shut my eyes. He turned the radio on low, and Carrie Underwood’s new album, “Storyteller”, was playing.

We soon entered the parking lot of Holy Name Hospital and walked through the front doors. I scanned the Emergency Room waiting area and noticed that there were barely any seats available. What happened to everyone else here today? After we found two available seats, my dad proceeded to show me pictures of the two new dirt bikes he was thinking of buying us for the 2017 race season. I smiled at him for trying to make me feel better and to get my mind off of the tournament, but I couldn’t. How will my team do without me in the finals? Who are they wrestling next? Could I still wrestle if it isn’t completely broken?

“Justin?” the nurse called, interrupting my train of thought.

A few minutes later, the doctor took an x-ray and asked a few questions. After twenty minutes, he came back with the results.

“How are you feeling?”, asked the doctor. He was wearing the usual white coat that most doctors wear. His completely spiked hair reminded me of a porcupine.

“Fine”, I replied in order to imply that I was all right to return to the tournament.

“From the x-ray results, your nose looks to be fractured. The best thing to do is to keep icing it and rest it for a few days until the swelling goes down. It’s going to feel funny for a while. We will schedule an appointment for sometime next week”. The doctor left the room and my dad and I got up and exited through the hospital doors.
“Has the Advil kicked in yet?” asked my dad.

“Yea, it feels better now. I have to get back to the match.”

“What do you mean? You have to rest it. How do you feel?”

“It’s fine. But I can’t let them forfeit like this.”

I thought to myself for a minute until I came to a compromise. “How about if we go back and they are ahead, I’ll sit. But if they need me, I’ll have to suck it up and wrestle.”

My dad thought for a second before he responded. “We’ll see.” We dropped the conversation for the moment and turned back on the radio.

As we walked through the doors of the gymnasium, we noticed that the score was 48-47 in favor of Butler High School. They were at the 113-pound weight, which meant that my weight was the last match. With two matches left, I realized that we would lose if we forfeited my match. Just what I thought. I looked back at my dad with a burning desire to wrestle, receiving a small nod in return. A smile rapidly grew on my face now knowing that the match will come down to me. My adrenaline began to kick in and my teammates crowded me as I returned. I looked across the mat and watched as my opponent was warming up. I noticed his tattoos and his fancy three hundred dollar wrestling shoes. I tried to focus but kept over thinking about both my opponent and myself. This was a constant struggle for me throughout my wrestling career; the fact that my mind can sometimes be a greater threat to my success than my opponent. I took a deep breath and took my wrestling shoes out of my green Ramapo bag. The color smudges and skid marks surrounding my wrestling shoes from the mat reminded me of the hard work that I have put in during the season. The continuous weight lifting, technique training, and dieting, will all impact the outcome of this match. I felt like a soldier preparing for battle as I laced up my wrestling shoes. I watched as my teammate before me walked off of the mat with defeat and sadness in his eyes. The score now moved to 52-47. Not only would I have to win the match to put my team on top, but I would now have to win by a pin. A normal win by points would still leave us behind. Focus. Focus. Your offense. You push the pace. I stepped up to the line and again looked down at my wrestling shoes. The marks once more filled my mind with flashbacks from the practice room where I would push myself to no end, in order to be prepared for these crucial matches. My opponent stepped up to the line and we shook hands. The referee blew the whistle and the match began. Without hesitation, I initiated my takedown and took my opponent directly to his back. The entire gym screamed with excitement, as they did not expect this only seconds into the match. I squeezed as tight as I could in order to lower both his shoulder blades to the mat. My headgear muffled the screams around me and combined them into a large inaudible cheer. Seconds felt like minutes as I awaited the slap of the mat. My teammates and coaches were all standing by now, and jumped up in excitement as the referee finally blew the whistle. I walked back to the line and heard the crowd cheering after my hand was raised. I was truly in a state of delirium.

My team began to crowd me on the mat as the announcer handed the first place trophy to my coach. I looked down and noticed a new mark of blue was added to the front of my shoes, and I smiled at the fact that it will remain with me as a memory for the rest of the season.