Isaiah Clifton
Buturo Bartolomei exhilarated halfway through the bout. The referee debates with the other referee if Bartolomei's take down was valid or not. As this decision is being made Bartolomei and his opponent sit in silence in the center of the mat.
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.