112

            “112?”

            That’s me.  I’m up.  My hands are shaking as I step onto the scale.  My whole body has goosebumps and I’m praying that I’m under.

            In the passing seconds, that seem like hours, my mind recaps the last six days of tough, body-torturing practice, personal workouts and numerous meals turned down for this moment.  This simple moment would determine how challenging the next week would be.

            “111.7” I hear the referee say.

            I suck in a huge gulp of relief.  I made weight.  My heart steadies a bit after those numbers are read.  I had some room to spare!  Not much, but anything is better than being over. 

            I head back to the locker room. As I enter, I am met with the giggles and gossip of the girl’s basketball team.  Just two hours until warm-ups start.  These girls will be out of here soon and then I’ll have the silence of the locker room as my only companion. 

            A good thing, about being the only female wrestler on a team, is having the whole locker room to myself.  Now I have time to sit and concentrate on the task at hand.  I can go over moves and strategies in my mind without the constant interruption of teammates.

            But to every up there must be a down.  Being the only female wrestler, I have caught a lot of heat from the community and quite often find myself defending my love and passion for the sport.

            It seems as though every time I step out onto a mat, to meet an opponent, I am facing a young man whose life will change in six short minutes.  If he beats me, he is considered a bully by many, not giving me, the female, a chance.  If I beat him, he’s a pansy; he got beat by a girl.  It’s basically a “lose-lose” situation for the poor guy.  That is, until the community accepts me as a wrestler, not as a female who wrestles.

            When I meet an opponent out on that mat, I’m a wrestler.  I wrestle for the sport alone.  The competition is not about who’s bigger or who’s stronger, who’s male or who’s female.  It’s about who the better wrestler is.

            “20 minutes Leis!”  I hear the coach advise from the doorway.

            As I start to dress, I recall the mental notes I made about my next match.  Last time, he beat me by one.  We were tied in the final minute and he was having a real tough time trying to turn me into near-fall territory, so he let me up, giving me a one point lead with only 15 seconds to go.  I fought off his furious takedown attempts until he shot in for a single leg takedown with only six seconds to go.  He took me to the mat and gained control and before I could get out of his grasp, the match was over.  He won the match 9–8.

            He likes shooting for the right leg; he’s more dominant on his left side.  So I will have to keep that in mind.  He will try anything and everything to set up a “spladle”, his favorite (and almost only) move.  He’s weak in the bottom position and I may be able to score near-falls.  He gets caught riding too high and I’m quick enough that I can squirm my way out from the bottom.  So, as long as I can hold my own, and keep my head straight, even if a move goes wrong, I’m sure I can pull off a win.

            I glance at the clock.  I have five minutes until warm-ups.  I head out to catch the tail end of a J.V. match before heading towards the boys’ locker room.  I can hear the CD player blasting a Limp Bizkit song, with our heavyweight trying to sing along.  I just shake my head and smile as I open the door.

            The gym is dark as coach pushes his way through the locker room door.  You can hear the murmur of the fans and the band director calling for cooperation from his members.  Coach comes back and gives us a few more “words of wisdom” before Josh Anderson, our 103 pounder, jets past him and the band erupts in sound.  As I take off around the mat the crowd is on their feet clapping and cheering.  As we circle the mat, I can feel the energy in the room.  The stands are packed; there isn’t an empty seat anywhere, and rightfully so.  We’re the only two undefeated teams in the conference.  Someone will walk out of this gym tonight with a mark in the loss column, and it will not be us!

            “There sure are a lot of people here tonight, huh Katie?”  Brandon Hanson, a wide-eyed freshman asks during stretches.

            “Yeah, they’re all here to support ya Brandon.  Don’t worry about them, just concentrate on wrestling and what you need to do for us tonight.”

            Brandon just got brought up tonight for Varsity since Michael Smith broke his collar bone last night in practice.  So tonight, and for the remainder of the season, he will be our 119 pounder.

            Butterflies are dancing in my stomach as we line our edge of the mat.  I can tell the girl singing the National Anthem is nervous, because her voice is shaking and she’s flatting badly.  All I know is she can’t be as nervous as I am.

            She finally finishes signing and the crowd claps politely.  Josh’s name is called and he steps out onto the mat to meet his competitor.  As my name is called, I start to walk out to the mat.  I walk with confidence and honor.  My opponent gets to the center before I do, even though his name is called after mine.  He jogged out to the middle, but I like to take my time.  I look him in the eye as I reach for his hand.  I try as hard as I can not to break a smile. I can see the look in his eye; he’s not going to like this.  He barely touches my hand and mutters “good luck” before turning and running off the mat.

            I jog back to the warm-up area where one of the coaches is talking to Josh.  I grab a jump rope and jump until I hear his match start.  I head to the font row of chairs and sit down.  By this time, Josh is already in control and should have no problem pinning this kid.  He’s up seven to nothing by the time the second period starts.

            I keep an eye on him as I walk back behind the team and start to get out of my “warm ups”. I hear the ref slap the mat and the crowd explodes.  I know Josh stuck him good.  As I’m putting on my headgear my cousin Andrew comes to give me a few last minute tips.  Before I run off he gives my hand a quick squeeze for good luck.  I run out to the scorer’s table and give them my name.  Out on the mat I meet him in the middle.  Thus far, we are both equal.  The score is zero-zero, no one is in control, and no one is losing.  I reach out my hand and wait for his.  He barely touches my hand at first, but I grab his hand with authority and give it a firm, confident shake.  The ref looks to the scorer’s table, gives them a quick nod, and blows the whistle.

**Characters displayed in this story are fictional.  Any similarities with real people or situations are completely coincidental and unintentional.