(no subject)
So floor hockey team is 0-2...boo on that. But we are getting better. We only lost by a close margin both times. What's up with me hurting my private regions in sports recently? Last night will make it twice in four days. I hurt them in wrestling on Sunday (i forgot to mention) and last night i was running full speed and my stick got caught between someones shoe and my nuts, the stick stopped.....I didnt...It was quite painful. Plus I took a stick to the gut, but the guy apologized and was cool about it so its all good.
I'm getting an award today for a writing contest I won...Well I took fifth place, but I get a $100 cash prize so its winng to me...lol 5th out of 1200 students isnt bad. I submitted my narrative essay on cutting weight for wrestling my junior year. It was very descriptive. It had things like....I ripped the trash bag off in the shower to allow the pool of cold sweat collected in it to drain...Not those words exactly but things like that...very descriptive. Im gonna see if i can find a copy..lol
I found it. Let me know what you think. Is it worth $100... Cause thats what its getting me...lol
The Wrestler
The Wrestler walks in the door of his weathered house, returning from school and a three-hour long, intense wrestling practice. His body aches in every place possible. Muscles ache in him that most people have never used before. He is reluctant to check his weight, knowing that the rest of the day entails nothing, but more pain, hunger, and lightheadedness.
The Wrestler’s stomach yells at him to feed it, but there isn’t much he can do, simply because even a sandwich could mean the difference between making weight and not. It has been yelling at him for more days then he can count, but it's the first match of the wrestling season tomorrow and it is an on-site weigh-in. Besides, he has taught himself to ignore the bothersome screams of hunger and treats them as meaningless chatter. He staggers to his fridge, portions out a small salad, and even rewards his hard work with a small amount of salad dressing. He did not drink any water because water adds weight. In the wrestling world, water is not a requirement, but a reward after making weight. He devours the small salad within minutes and heads to the bathroom to check his weight.
The disappointment on his face is visible when he reads the 195 on the scale. He knows that he will make the 189-pound weight for tomorrows weigh-in, but it’s going to be another long and painful night. He knows that if he doesn’t make the 189-pound weight-limit, he will have to wrestle the next weight-class up, which is the 215-pound weight-class. He also knows that in wrestling you can move a wrestler up a weight-class, but not down any. He has to make the weight.
He remembers the first weigh-in after football season and remembers nearly fainting at the sight of the 225 that showed up on the scale. It seems so long ago to him, but it has only been three weeks; three weeks of hell. The thought of losing 30 pounds in three weeks may seem crazy and dangerous to some, but to the select few who live this way, it is seen as nothing more than a lifestyle and a necessary task.
The Wrestler searches the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink for his first layer of clothing. He pulls out a trash-bag and rips three holes in it; one in the bottom and two in the sides. Now the trash bag looks like a shirt, and that is exactly what he sees it as. As he puts the trash-bag over his head and onto his skin, it starts to sweat instantly. He then walks back to his room, grabbing four t-shirts and layers them on. Next, follows a sweater and then, a hooded sweater. Then, he pulls on gloves, a stocking cap, and a winter coat. Finally, he bolts out of the back door, wrapping a wool scarf around his face. As he exits the house the winter air strikes his face. Thank God for the scarf, he thinks to himself. The thermometer reads 12 degrees Fahrenheit as he rushes past it, onto the road. The muscles in his legs are tight from practice, but he knows that as he jogs the lactic acid built up in his legs will be worked out of his muscles and they will loosen up.
The Wrestler runs by houses, buildings, shops and various other places in the city on his way to the track outside his sanctuary, his high school. His high school is not only the place he has studied for the past two years, but has sweat, bled, and even cried on occasion. Everything he has worked for is for the pride of himself and his school.
The track on the other hand is viewed by The Wrestler as an enemy that has to be conquered. He knows that he has to run at least four miles to sweat off the six pounds needed. That means 16 laps around the track, as each lap is a quarter-mile. He begins running, his heart still pounding in his chest from the run to the track. By half-way to the four mile mark, he begins to slow down. He tricks his body into running faster by offering a reward of a lap walk, if he can sprint two laps.
The Wrestler begins sprinting. He makes it half way through the first lap before his side starts searing with pain. He doesn't stop; he won't allow himself to stop. He finishes the two laps, ignoring the blinding pain, and walks his victory lap. Five more laps he says to himself, as he can feel the sweat swishing around between the trash bag and his skin. After his victory lap he begins to jog again. He jogs another four long laps, before sprinting the last. Again, he ignores the pain and dizziness while denying the fatigue. He stops on the mark, his chest wheezing in the cold air. His every breath brings him pain. His knee is throbbing with pain; an old injury from both football and wrestling. He takes deep breaths in an effort to slow his heart down. He starts limping towards home and gets about two blocks before he jogs the rest of he way.
When he reaches home he peels off all of his layers of clothing, one by one, that are soaked through with sweat. He tosses them in the washer, and starts the cycle. He heads to the bathroom and rips off the trash-bag in the shower, to give the pool of collected sweat a place to drain. The sweat is icy cold now, an astonishing difference from the heat he felt while running. Tiredly, he checks his weight. He reads the 188 displayed and knows he will make weight the next day. The Wrestler turns the shower on as hot as his skin can take, getting the last bit of sweat out that his body will allow. As he takes a shower he sways from exhaustion, the heat making it that much harder to stay awake. Finally, he passes out in bed.
The next day, he eats a salad for breakfast (no dressing this time) and heads to school. After classes, with no lunch, he walks in the wrestling room, knowing he will make the 189 weight limit. His coach sees him and crushes all his hard work.
"I’m bumping you up a weight-class. There’s a better wrestler at 215, so you are wrestling 215 today."
Anyways, my group member that has my car for ME101 has disappeared off the face of the earth and he has our car with him. So we have a meeting with our professor today to see if we are going to fail or not, or what else is going to happen. I am soo pissed at that kid. How can he leave us high and dry like that? Gah!
This weekend is going to be crazy busy. I have a partyish thing to go to friday with my fraternity. Its a celebration of how much money we raised for the St. Judes Cancer Research Hospital. It should be fun. Then I'm hanging out with a bunch of people this weekend. Then I am wrestling Sunday in the State Finals for Freestyle Wrestling. I'm really excited, even though im not 100% when i get there and in my wrestling mode I wont feel the pain of my shoulder blade, back, goodies, or forearm anymore.
My goodies, my goodies, my goodies...not my goodies...lol ok im done.
I think thats it, if I remember anything else i will edit yo. Peace out home skillet. Fo' rizzle.
I'm getting an award today for a writing contest I won...Well I took fifth place, but I get a $100 cash prize so its winng to me...lol 5th out of 1200 students isnt bad. I submitted my narrative essay on cutting weight for wrestling my junior year. It was very descriptive. It had things like....I ripped the trash bag off in the shower to allow the pool of cold sweat collected in it to drain...Not those words exactly but things like that...very descriptive. Im gonna see if i can find a copy..lol
I found it. Let me know what you think. Is it worth $100... Cause thats what its getting me...lol
The Wrestler
The Wrestler walks in the door of his weathered house, returning from school and a three-hour long, intense wrestling practice. His body aches in every place possible. Muscles ache in him that most people have never used before. He is reluctant to check his weight, knowing that the rest of the day entails nothing, but more pain, hunger, and lightheadedness.
The Wrestler’s stomach yells at him to feed it, but there isn’t much he can do, simply because even a sandwich could mean the difference between making weight and not. It has been yelling at him for more days then he can count, but it's the first match of the wrestling season tomorrow and it is an on-site weigh-in. Besides, he has taught himself to ignore the bothersome screams of hunger and treats them as meaningless chatter. He staggers to his fridge, portions out a small salad, and even rewards his hard work with a small amount of salad dressing. He did not drink any water because water adds weight. In the wrestling world, water is not a requirement, but a reward after making weight. He devours the small salad within minutes and heads to the bathroom to check his weight.
The disappointment on his face is visible when he reads the 195 on the scale. He knows that he will make the 189-pound weight for tomorrows weigh-in, but it’s going to be another long and painful night. He knows that if he doesn’t make the 189-pound weight-limit, he will have to wrestle the next weight-class up, which is the 215-pound weight-class. He also knows that in wrestling you can move a wrestler up a weight-class, but not down any. He has to make the weight.
He remembers the first weigh-in after football season and remembers nearly fainting at the sight of the 225 that showed up on the scale. It seems so long ago to him, but it has only been three weeks; three weeks of hell. The thought of losing 30 pounds in three weeks may seem crazy and dangerous to some, but to the select few who live this way, it is seen as nothing more than a lifestyle and a necessary task.
The Wrestler searches the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink for his first layer of clothing. He pulls out a trash-bag and rips three holes in it; one in the bottom and two in the sides. Now the trash bag looks like a shirt, and that is exactly what he sees it as. As he puts the trash-bag over his head and onto his skin, it starts to sweat instantly. He then walks back to his room, grabbing four t-shirts and layers them on. Next, follows a sweater and then, a hooded sweater. Then, he pulls on gloves, a stocking cap, and a winter coat. Finally, he bolts out of the back door, wrapping a wool scarf around his face. As he exits the house the winter air strikes his face. Thank God for the scarf, he thinks to himself. The thermometer reads 12 degrees Fahrenheit as he rushes past it, onto the road. The muscles in his legs are tight from practice, but he knows that as he jogs the lactic acid built up in his legs will be worked out of his muscles and they will loosen up.
The Wrestler runs by houses, buildings, shops and various other places in the city on his way to the track outside his sanctuary, his high school. His high school is not only the place he has studied for the past two years, but has sweat, bled, and even cried on occasion. Everything he has worked for is for the pride of himself and his school.
The track on the other hand is viewed by The Wrestler as an enemy that has to be conquered. He knows that he has to run at least four miles to sweat off the six pounds needed. That means 16 laps around the track, as each lap is a quarter-mile. He begins running, his heart still pounding in his chest from the run to the track. By half-way to the four mile mark, he begins to slow down. He tricks his body into running faster by offering a reward of a lap walk, if he can sprint two laps.
The Wrestler begins sprinting. He makes it half way through the first lap before his side starts searing with pain. He doesn't stop; he won't allow himself to stop. He finishes the two laps, ignoring the blinding pain, and walks his victory lap. Five more laps he says to himself, as he can feel the sweat swishing around between the trash bag and his skin. After his victory lap he begins to jog again. He jogs another four long laps, before sprinting the last. Again, he ignores the pain and dizziness while denying the fatigue. He stops on the mark, his chest wheezing in the cold air. His every breath brings him pain. His knee is throbbing with pain; an old injury from both football and wrestling. He takes deep breaths in an effort to slow his heart down. He starts limping towards home and gets about two blocks before he jogs the rest of he way.
When he reaches home he peels off all of his layers of clothing, one by one, that are soaked through with sweat. He tosses them in the washer, and starts the cycle. He heads to the bathroom and rips off the trash-bag in the shower, to give the pool of collected sweat a place to drain. The sweat is icy cold now, an astonishing difference from the heat he felt while running. Tiredly, he checks his weight. He reads the 188 displayed and knows he will make weight the next day. The Wrestler turns the shower on as hot as his skin can take, getting the last bit of sweat out that his body will allow. As he takes a shower he sways from exhaustion, the heat making it that much harder to stay awake. Finally, he passes out in bed.
The next day, he eats a salad for breakfast (no dressing this time) and heads to school. After classes, with no lunch, he walks in the wrestling room, knowing he will make the 189 weight limit. His coach sees him and crushes all his hard work.
"I’m bumping you up a weight-class. There’s a better wrestler at 215, so you are wrestling 215 today."
Anyways, my group member that has my car for ME101 has disappeared off the face of the earth and he has our car with him. So we have a meeting with our professor today to see if we are going to fail or not, or what else is going to happen. I am soo pissed at that kid. How can he leave us high and dry like that? Gah!
This weekend is going to be crazy busy. I have a partyish thing to go to friday with my fraternity. Its a celebration of how much money we raised for the St. Judes Cancer Research Hospital. It should be fun. Then I'm hanging out with a bunch of people this weekend. Then I am wrestling Sunday in the State Finals for Freestyle Wrestling. I'm really excited, even though im not 100% when i get there and in my wrestling mode I wont feel the pain of my shoulder blade, back, goodies, or forearm anymore.
My goodies, my goodies, my goodies...not my goodies...lol ok im done.
I think thats it, if I remember anything else i will edit yo. Peace out home skillet. Fo' rizzle.