Worth the cake

I was beyond hungry. Cutting weight for wrestling is a terrible thing. I have this love/ hate relationship with food and the off season kills me. But, its September and it’s time to buckle down and dig in. It’s not that I don’t like meat and vegetables, its simply that carbs are delicious. Carbs are divine. No, strike that, reverse it- carbs are the devil. And Satan has a new name, and its covered in chocolate.

Anything covered in chocolate would be fine, or rather not fine and avoidable. But I’d heard that chocolate was good for your heath. It tastes delicious. Why wouldn’t I incorporate that into my daily regimen? Oh, that’s right… carbs have no nutritional value. Those carbs are junk, and make me layer in sweats and a trash bag to do H stair runs in the gym before practice. Those junk carbs lave me drained before practice begins and I feel like I have spaghetti arms and Jell-o legs. Spaghetti wouldn’t be so bad. That whole wheat stuff is total garbage though.

It’s only eight a.m. and I wake hungry. Try to fall asleep hungry, and pretty much most of the day feeling my stomach shrink and my body resist. Every part of this is unnatural to me. I keep saying “I don’t have to do this”. The chubby kid in me wants a few doughnuts and a cup of coffee to wash it down. I want to be comforted by comfort foods. I want chocolate cake damnit. But, no. I have a eight ounce protein shake and head out the door, dreaming of Valentine’s day. The day after wrestling ends. The day after my career as a wrestler should end. The beginning of new beginnings I think- days filled with delicious chocolate cakes. Red velvet, German chocolate, devil’s food, layered with ganache… I’m not picky at this point I have no favorite as long as it has chocolate in it. Milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, or a mixture of all three would be lovely too. I wonder why they don’t make chocolate chicken.

I suck it up and get ready to go. The day is mundane, but I make it through. Celery and carrots are not the same as chocolate, even though I pretend carrots are diet cheetoes and celery is food sent from the Gods for warriors. Pre-practice work out leaves me a little drained, and practice wipes me out. I’m confident that I’ll do well for the challenge and get the varsity spot. I’m obviously wrong this week and next, but when I get to the weight class more suited for me, I’ve built a tolerance for carrots and boiled chicken with spices. I’m hydrated, and leaner.

By the third week I’m in my new skin and I’m stronger because of that sacrifice. It’s in my head now. I’ve put the miles in, pulled the weights and sweat the sacrifices. The day before challenges I maintain that routine, but on the morning of challenges, I eat eggs and bacon to stay strong. Tuna and an apple at lunch get me mentally ready to overcome the opponent I’ve called friend in this male-dominated sport. I’m in my zone, and I avoid my phone. I get to practice early, clean the mats and jog with a few layers. I get on the scale and I’m where I need to be. It’s a lower class with less experienced wrestlers I don’t often roll with. I make it through practice and the coach calls our names for challenges.

His whistle blows to start the first period and I’m holding my own. He’s got moves I’m not used to but I’m more flexible than he is, and I make it through. The second period I think I have him but his shoulder rolls to avoid the mat just before the whistle. Now I’m pissed and I let it go. I didn’t sacrifice all those delicious carbs to take stats and cheer the team week after week. My career as a high school wrestler was ending, and I wanted to go out on top. I managed to roll him to his back for the pin and my teammates had a look of support. I wasn’t out of the woods. But I’d earned my spot on the lineup Saturday morning.

Friday night’s practice was brutal, and most went out to binge for energy. I couldn’t afford that luxury. As the only girl on the team, I ran a little more there, letting coaches remember my dedication. It offset going home to the steak and vegetables my mom was making. I ate, showered again, and crashed. Saturday morning was a blink, and I was out the door.

My family was in the stands at the anthem, anxiously waiting for what they would hope would be a victory. I gave it my all but lost on points. I didn’t give up. My back wasn’t on the mat. I still had work to do. I won the next challenge and repeated the cycle I had the week before. This Saturday would be different. My hand was going in the air. It had to. I hadn’t given up so much and tried so hard for it not to. The cards weren’t stacked in my favor though, and I was seated against a fierce opponent who had wrestled well and much longer than I had. I was humiliated. I wanted nothing more than to bake a chocolate cake and eat the whole damn thing. But no, I hadn’t earned it yet. That was coming though, I could feel it. I felt it each press I did at the gym that Saturday night and each night afterward.

The following week, I wasn’t challenged for the spot. I’d earned it, and the boy in my weight class ate too much. I was under weight and could have had cake and still made weight. I told myself no, not until I’d accomplished what I’d set my mind to do. That Saturday, I didn’t win a match. I didn’t win a match, I won four of the five. I was almost undefeated. My folks almost lost it. I’d gotten over that spell and I was on a tear. I should treat myself to cake I thought. My mouth salivated at the thought. I relished the thought. But, I shelfed it.

Next week I went undefeated in the tournament and I beamed with accomplishment. My folks wanted to celebrate. They didn’t understand that the season wasn’t over. That I had to maintain discipline. My healthy choices of diet and exercise allowed me to drop another class without being weak, and I won the challenge in that class and went undefeated in the contest. My record was positive, where I won more than I lost. That allowed me a spot at the district competition.

I didn’t win them all, but I won enough to advance to the regional competitions the next week. Competition would be grueling. My mind said I wouldn’t make it through. I was competing with boys who’d played football and worked farms and had mannish arms to throw me. I held my own though. It was a double elimination contest. I won the first match. My mind was set. I won the next one too. Sadly, I lost in the third round. I was pinned quickly in the fourth, stopping the train headed for state competition. It was time for cake.

I could have been sad, not having made it to state champion. No one on the team went farther than I had. I’d accomplished more than most had. I sacrificed more than most had. We had a team dinner the next day. I went home and showered. I took a nap. I’d planned to make two chocolate cakes. One was for the team dessert table, and the other was earmarked for me. When they were frosted, I looked at that mouth-watering deliciousness, and decided victory is best shared with friends. These brothers worked as hard as I did, and even though I was finished with wrestling, I wasn’t going to start making dumb decisions. Everything in moderation, right?