I was already late. Never did I imagine I would be participating in wrestling practice, but there I was. Late. And at wrestling practice.

If you’ve been in the building anytime after 4:00 p.m. during the winter sports season, you’ve likely seen (and certainly heard) the team sprinting around the second floor. However, to my dismay, practice was being held on the third floor. As I made my way up the stairs, I saw my future wrestling teammates speeding down them. 

When I approached the team, there appeared to be looks of confusion; they had girls on the team, but I was not one of them. I quickly introduced myself, and from then on I was known as “The Reporter.”

The team welcomed “The Reporter” with open arms and a courteous warm up lap. When we returned from our brief jaunt, I expected water or conversation. I did not expect Coach Hogans to say, “Line up by weight on the wall.” Not exactly sure of my weight and definitely not sure where my weight lined up among the other athletes, I stood in what would be my first of many moments of confusion during the practice. Luckily, Coach Hogans came to my rescue and I was given a place to stand. We were then immediately instructed to begin a wall sit.

After doing one-legged push-ups, we got in a line and began running laps around the third floor. Used to circular and not rectangular laps, I daintily ran around the corners while the other wrestlers took their chances with physics and the infrastructure of Jackson-Reed, bouncing off walls to maintain momentum. 

Coach Hogans finally allowed us our first water break, but we had to lunge to the water fountain, and, in true Jackson-Reed spirit, the closest three did not work. Then began the piggybacks, and my second moment of confusion.

After seeing a demonstration, I was admittedly terrified. For those who are naïve and innocent as I was, piggybacks are a drill involving one wrestler mounting atop the back of another who performs unwieldy sprints through the hallway in an epic feat of balance, speed, and strength. As both the ‘piggy’ and the ‘back’ in the drill, I managed to avoid catastrophic collapse, though I came close to crashing into lockers on every pass. 

Then, at long last, it was time to head to the mat. I trekked down with my trusty wrestling shoes, which were borrowed and smelled the part. Then, the wrestling began, the room erupting into violent matches. People were getting pinned left and right.

The main move that we practiced that day was called the “High C,” which naturally stood for “High Crotch.” In a complex motion that remains confusing to me, you kneel between your opponent’s legs and hurl them over your shoulder.

After our third water break of the practice, Coach Hogans began counting down as the wrestlers put one toe in the middle. Like the past 90 minutes of practice, I was unsure of what would follow. 

“10,” bellowed Coach Hogans. I looked around as each athlete got ready. “Nine, eight, seven,” it seemed as though everyone was strategizing. “Six, five, four, three,” they looked as though they were about to launch. “Two, one.” I stood still, Coach Hogans then informed me they were playing toe tag. If your toe is tagged, you can no longer stand on that foot. If both are tapped, you’re out. After acclimating to this intense competitive environment, I joined in for a round. 

As we met in the center of the mat one last time, my body sore in places I hadn’t known existed, I felt somewhat accomplished, but mostly confused why I hadn’t given the sport the respect it deserved. The running, pushups, and the technique to throw someone over your body are no easy feat. 

Limping off the mat, I untied my wrestling shoes, freeing myself of the elven footwear. With the help of Coach Hogans, I removed the matching headgear, and at approximately 6:15 p.m. on a Thursday evening, I left wrestling practice. •