Imagine. Crawling out of bed. Putting your feet to the floor. One. Two. Three. You force yourself to stand up despite the covers and the sheets and the down pillow calling your name. It’s a struggle just to stand. Your leg muscles feel weak, almost empty. Muscles don’t work without water. You have no water in your system. Walking over to the scale, you strip down and throw your pajamas to the floor. Mom said to clean your room last night, but that isn’t at the top of your priority list. No. It’s not even on the list. You step on the scale; now step off. Wait for it to zero out. Step back on…still five pounds over. Weigh-ins are tomorrow morning. Is that even possible? Losing five pounds in a day?

Mom sets breakfast in front of you. “Here you go, honey.” “Tha-…” Swallow. “Thank you.” Your mouth is so dry it’s difficult to speak. Breakfast is one egg. The small excuse for a meal is tasteless in your dry mouth. But taste isn’t a priority. Getting your metabolism started is the priority. If you don’t eat in the morning your metabolism will freeze all day and you won’t lose weight from not eating. The small amount of water you get is a godsend. Swishing it around in your mouth, it moistens your gums and tongue. You won’t get any more for several hours. Twenty-four more hours until weigh-ins.

School is a slow, monotonous obstacle standing in between you and weigh-ins. Everything the teachers say goes in one ear and out the other. What strategy Shakespeare used to convey his message or identifying a chemical compound aren’t the priorities. Getting through the day is the priority. Your head is down most of the time. Sometimes you sleep. Sometimes your eyes are just closed. But always images of chocolate shakes and juicy steaks and ice cream cakes dance through your head like the child with dreams of sugar plum drops from How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

At lunch, your friends pull out their Swiss Cake Rolls and their Honey Buns and their Gatorades. They go to the microwave to warm up their left-overs of mashed potatoes or spaghetti or pizza. Now, you pull out your handful of turkey, slowly eating it bit by bit to make it last. When that is gone, you can’t help but stare at all the food on the table, how easy it would be just to grab a little bit. You have two options: dig down deep inside yourself and pull out the self-control to ignore the sweet treats and creamy mashed potatoes and buttered rolls or give into the desire of stuffing your face full of food that will send you spiraling into mental defeat; after that first bite all the rest is easy. But what’s one bite? No, you can’t. Making weight is the priority, and weigh-ins are in the morning. Only twenty more hours.

As practice rolls around, you force your way into two sets of sweats. It feels like a sauna. Step. Step. Step. You know what lies ahead on the mat, and you aren’t anxious to get there. As you wrestle, there is a conscious effort not to fall down. There is not an ounce of energy in your body; weakness seems to seep through your muscles all the way to your bones. You have two choices: lie on the mat and admit defeat or remember the priority and get up to fight your way through another two hours of hell. They say wrestling is a mental sport, but you can’t feed your body on good mentality. Fourteen hours until weigh-ins.

You go to sleep without dinner and without a care in the world besides your weight. Getting to sleep is difficult with cottonmouth and a different definition of sweet dreams: not good dreams, but dreams in which the focus is actually sweets. Ten hours until weigh-ins.

Imagine. Crawling out of bed. Putting your feet to the floor. One. Two. Three. You force yourself to stand up despite the covers and the sheets and the down pillow calling your name. It’s a struggle just to stand. Your leg muscles feel weak, almost empty. Muscles don’t work without water. You have no water in your system. Walking over to the scale, you strip down and throw your pajamas to the floor. Mom said to clean your room last night, but that isn’t at the top of your priority list. No. It’s not even on the list. You step on the scale; now step off. Wait for it to zero out. Step back on… you’re on weight. A surge of energy runs through you as you realize all that is left to do is to drive to the meet before you can weigh in. Maybe they were right. Maybe it is all about mentality.

The official calls your name. You step forward onto the scale….right on weight. Running to your meal waiting for you in the stands your legs still feel weak but it doesn’t matter. It’s all over. The food gives you back your energy, and the water courses down your dry throat like rain in a desert. When your meal is gone, it feels like a bowling ball in your shrunken stomach. But who cares? At least something is in there. You lean back, put your hands on your full stomach, and ready yourself for a day of wrestling.

People wonder, “Why do you wrestle? You have to starve yourself. I could never do that.” The reality of it is the situation above is one that you would put yourself into only if you didn’t control your weight beforehand. Every wrestler has gone through this situation at some degree at one time or another. Days like these are opportunities for learning. Learning what you’re made of. Learning what your limits are. Learning if this sport is really for you. My freshman and sophomore years I had days like these. I learned from it and haven’t had a day like it since. Yes it was terrible, but amends are made when I hear the wallop of the referee’s hand on the mat and the roar of my teammates, my coaches, my family. So why wrestle? Personally, I wrestle because it takes so much more to be successful. It’s a mental challenge I put myself through five months out of the year, and I spend the rest of the year critiquing my performances and my mindset. I wrestle to show I can accomplish what I want no matter the circumstances, be it limited calories or otherwise. But most of all, most of all, I wrestle because I have fallen in love with the sport and the lifestyle it necessitates.