My first interaction with wrestling… A Memoir

I tugged on the straps of my black Jansport backpack as I walked toward the royal blue doors and pushed them open, unsure of what was to come. What I began to witness was my first ever wrestling competition. However unlike the movies when something important happens, there was no glowing, no sparkles, no glitter, and no angelic voice going “Aahhh”. Instead, I was forcibly introduced to a smell like nothing I had ever experienced or hoped to have ever experienced. The gym didn’t usually smell like sunshine and flowers but this was excessive. The odour slapped me in the face, a scent that I would not only grow to tolerate (just barely) but also help to create. The sounds of whistles being blown, grunts being made, the slamming of bodies onto mats, the sounds of wrestling shoes hitting the ground as people jumped about to warm up. What was most memorable was the screams of coaches, passionate about the sport and their athlete’s performance. 

A few moments before, I was standing awkwardly outside the doors of my school’s gym. I had been debating for awhile whether I should enter or go back to Ms. Mckinnon’s period two, grade nine science class. On any other day, I wouldn’t have had this strange internal conflict in deciding whether or not to enter this room but it was not any other day. It was February 19th of 2015, the day of the TDSB Wrestling City Championships, hosted at West Humber Collegiate Institute. My high school. 

Two of my friends had told me the previous Sunday that they would be there. They went to Richview Collegiate Institute, the leading school for female wrestling in the region… at the time. I wanted to go see my friends but I also wasn’t sure how long was too long to let my teacher believe that I was in the washroom and I didn’t want to push my luck. 

I took a few steps further into the gymnasium looking around for some familiar faces. Rather than seeing my friends, I saw a room full of crazy looking people wearing these weird, deceivingly uncomfortable looking, spandex unitards coloured either blue or red. I felt quite overdressed in my grey, long sleeved school uniform top and black jeans, compared to the majority of the room.

I scanned the hustle and bustle of the room with people walking all around as if they were on a mission. Finally, I was able to spot one of my friends. She strut towards me stepping with her black and white Nike runners with white tape wrapped around the shoe, holding the laces down. We hugged, exchanged a few Hey, girl’s and walked over towards one of the mats to watch a few matches. We walked past several people gracefully stretching and others, in contrast, were bouncing around like a wild animal, but in common they both had a type of seriousness stamped on their face that I hadn’t seen before. I was careful to avoid stepping on the mats and to go around them, I had a feeling they weren’t supposed to be stepped on with normal shoes.

We kneeled beside a mat and as I watched these intimidating people do their thing. There were people on both ends of the spectrum. There were aggressive yet ballet-like movements by some and ugly, darting motions by others. However no matter how they wrestled something they all shared was the most hideous and unappealing facial expressions, though it was quite entertaining for me. 

I began to think how cool it would be if I were to do this. Then I began to think how I could go about giving this a shot. I wanted to at least try, but definitely not alone, I mean there was no way I could join the team all by myself. So thus began the scheming for a buddy to join this craziness with me.

I went back to class and had definitely pressed my luck and gone beyond the safe amount of time to be “using the washroom” but thankfully I had a nice teacher.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I sat in class unable to focus on the mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell, so I started to try and come up with possible excuses that I could use to keep myself from trying something new. What I came up with was that there weren’t enough girls on the team and I wasn’t an athlete by any means. I found myself adding the word “yet” to the end of those statements and I realized that deep down I wanted to try this. 

I went back to the gym during lunch time and though I thought it was impossible the stench somehow had managed to intensify from deathly to an aroma so strong that it could wake the dead. This time I was with a few friends to watch and absorb more of the sport. Everywhere I looked in the gym there was movement happening both fluid and stagnant, up and down, side to side, only interrupted by the blow of a whistle. 

This was a gateway experience causing an addiction. I promise I can stop at any time. I can quit if I really want to. This was the start of a relationship, a toxic, unhealthy relationship. One where I would receive innumerable bruises, be beaten up physically and emotionally, sacrifice time, money, and relationships. Not to mention quite a few black eyes causing others, especially teachers to be concerned for my well being. Yet I still come back to it despite the many reasons it gives me to leave. All of this because I love it and because of the joy that it brings me.

It takes a special type of crazy to be an athlete and an even more rare and unique type of crazy to be a wrestler. Wrestling is not for everybody but I discovered that it is for me.