My headgear is tight, the crowd roars, and I feel the cold resistance of the wrestling mat on my shoulder. It was December 14, 2022, at Ypsilanti High School. My opponent tightens his snake-like grip on my neck. My breath shortens. I start to feel my chest pumping. The oxygen leaves my head as the inevitable hit to the mat by the referee nears. I hear the whistle blow, followed by the loud slap of the mat, meaning I had lost. The vibration of the impact signifies the humiliation that is defeat.

In my first match as a freshman wrestler, I had been pinned, the most embarrassing way to lose. I return to the center of the mat with my hopes of an undefeated season going down the drain. I shake his hand, shake his coach’s hands, then walk off. Before I walk off, I look back; I see his hand raised, I see his mom happy and I see his dad with that sly, proud look on his face. I let out a deep sigh and thought to myself, “I bet that’s the best feeling in the world.”

After that, I proceeded to have the worst season imaginable. That freshman year, I was the weakest link on my team, maybe even in school history. I finished my season with a 1-22 record, meaning I only had one win. Even while sucking that badly, I learned a lot about myself that season. I learned I hated losing. I learned I love a good challenge. I learned nothing is going to stop me from improving but myself. But with all these lessons, I still had an immense feeling of self-doubt and a lack of confidence and security. I thought even if I put in an infinite amount of work, I would never be good enough because I am me.

Throughout the next summer, I practiced almost every day, still having the same insecure perspective I always had. As I continued to work extremely hard at the sport I loved, I started to see improvements. During the off-season competitions, I saw my first pin, then my first placement at a tournament. Once the season came around, I was worried about what would happen—would I still be as bad as last year? Did I put enough work in?

December 14, 2023, at Ypsilanti High School. My head gear is tight against my skin; the crowd roars, but this time, they roar my name. I feel my snake-like grip around my opponent’s neck tighten, so tight I start to hear him squeal. I can feel them getting tired; I feel them ready to give up. Then, the referee taps me:

“Up easy, fellas,” he says.

I have successfully pinned my opponent. I get up, all the fatigue from the match disappears, and I walk up to the center and shake the referee’s hand. As he raised my hand up, I felt like a king. It was the best feeling in the world.