In my freshman year, I was an awkward fourteen-year-old girl who had spent her whole life wanting to be like everyone else. I did not know who I was. I had no sense of individuality, no drive, no strength, no confidence, nothing. That was until a junior girl, Lainie, introduced me to wrestling. Lainie was in my weights class and suggested that I give wrestling a shot—so I did. The first time I walked into the wrestling room, it scared me more than anything. There was just something about the space that was so intimidating. About forty high school boys sat on the mats, either talking or just flat-out sparring with one another, while the four coaches just watched and laughed. As I was scanning the room, Lainie caught my eye. The way she walked just radiated strength and power, and her confidence rippled off her in waves. This space was Lainie’s—you could tell she was at home.  The sharp blast of a coach’s whistle pierced the air, and everything went silent. The boys stopped their wrestling, immediately sitting down and turning to face the coaches: Espinosa, Leiker, Ellingson, and Sanders.  “First day of practice,” Espinosa said. “Now you all give me your best or get out.” And on that note, we began.  That first practice was the hardest thing I had ever done. A mile run as a warm-up, followed by a hundred different shots, none of which I knew, ten minutes of stance and motion drills, tutorials of five moves I had no idea how to even begin, and then ending with fifteen one-minute periods of live wrestling. It was miserable, but I was determined to see it through. I would wrestle this year, and if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t do it the year after. But little did I know, this sport would become my everything. That first year was like nothing I had ever experienced before. From the satisfaction of completing a hard practice to the feeling of pride and power after winning a match, wrestling made me feel unstoppable. But why, after concussions, hyperextended limbs, and two different injuries that required surgery, did I keep coming back to the sport causing me all of this pain?  When you look at all the injuries wrestling has given me, you could easily say that the sport of wrestling to me means pain. But that is not what it means. Wrestling means persevering despite the pain and obstacles thrown at you. Wrestling means keeping a clear head when your mind is screaming for you to run away, to hide. Wrestling means having compassion and caring for your opponents, no matter the outcome. Wrestling means being a part of a team of the strongest women you will ever meet.  But most important of all, wrestling to me meant finding myself. Wrestling gave me the confidence, determination, and fighting spirit that I never would have found otherwise. This sport has put me in the most difficult of situations where others may have given up. But that is one thing wrestling has never taught me. It has taught me to persevere. I also know to expect more from myself, and my only limit is my mind. Four years in this sport has given me more than I dreamed of; it has made me a different person in the best way possible. As my coaches always say, “We are not here just to make you better wrestlers. We are here to make you better people.”