I have been an underdog all my life in sports. Before high school, I never had a passion for any sport. I remember being thrown into soccer, baseball, and basketball by my parents. I used to dread going to practices. I couldn’t be satisfied in sports where I was relying on other people. Eventually, I grew to think I just wasn’t a sports kid. I remember my freshman orientation day. I was 93 pounds with no muscle. A senior wrestler was assigned to show me around the school, and he was thrilled when he found out my weight. It turned out the team needed smaller guys—they had no one for the 103-pound weight class. That day, I met the assistant coach and groundskeeper, Coach Lutz. Lutz gave me a million reasons to start wrestling. I didn’t know the first thing about the sport—a single leg from a double leg, a collar tie from an underhook, or even what a pin was. Yet, after much convincing, I gave in. I fell in love with the sport—it all made sense to me. On the mat, it was only me and the other guy. No teammates, no excuses. My freshman and sophomore years were limited because of COVID. My junior year, I took off for many reasons, but mainly to put on weight in the gym. My senior year was great. I had many good matches, wins and losses. But there were two other guys in my weight class. One had been wrestling since he was in diapers; the other matched my skill. After a long trip where I hadn’t practiced for ten days, I had a wrestle-off against the other guy (the more experienced one was ineligible due to grades). After a hard fight, I lost. I didn’t get another opportunity to wrestle off until just before states. Determined to prove myself, I worked even harder in that room. Then came senior night. This was my chance. My head coach told me he would put me in over the other guy because we would probably win the meet anyway. My whole family came to watch me wrestle. As I was warming up, my coach came over and let me know I wasn’t going in. The match was too close, and he wanted to make sure we won. I was devastated. My whole family had shown up, and they didn’t even get to see me wrestle. But that bitterness only fueled the fire underneath me. I worked even harder to prove myself before states. A few weeks after senior night, we had wrestle-offs for states. It was my turn—me against my buddy, the one who had wrestled instead of me on senior night. I had no animosity toward him; I was just determined to beat him and prove to myself that I was better. The whistle blew—double leg, pin. I won in the first round. I had succeeded in proving myself. I then lost the next wrestle-off against the guy who had been previously ineligible (he had since raised his grades). But it didn’t matter to me—I knew I wouldn’t beat him. What mattered was that I had proven to myself that I could do it. Through many failures in my wrestling seasons, I learned to fight even harder, to push even more, and to grow in passion. My failures weren’t setbacks—they were fuel and lessons. Not only did I learn to try harder, but I also learned that I could play sports. I could even be passionate about them. Wrestling has truly changed my life for the better.