Essay on What I Think About Wrestling

1233 Words Oct 19th, 2016 5 Pages
It’s not every day that you volunteer to be humiliated, abused, and laid on by sweaty adolescent boys. Maybe you do; I don’t know your story. The point is that I personally wasn’t a huge fan of any of these things separately, let alone all in one wrestling practice.
If you asked me in middle school how I would look back on my wrestling days, and how those days would develop me over the years, I would have shrugged. That’s a confusing question, I can’t see the future, and who are you to be asking the questions, huh? If you instead asked me now, hypothetically interested reader, how I think wrestling affected me, (besides the obvious brain damage) I would have a different answer.
I showed up to practice 15 minutes late, two weeks into the season. The coaches had already covered the fundamentals, and were now fine tuning their adolescent instruments of war. I dove for loaner mat shoes in a gaping black garbage bag. “Zach, get in here!” The voice startled me. I poked my head out of the bag to see the assistant coach, Mr. Lejameyer, motioning me over. He was the one who talked me into this mistake; I already resented him for it. I hop-stepped over to the quickly forming mass of teenage boys, trying to fit into the second shoe as I went. I placed my limp, sweaty hand inside the head coach’s massive mitt, nodded awkwardly, and tried not to trip as I sat down in the circle. The coach introduced me to the team, went over a move sequence, and we went to work. The rest…

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