Personal Narrative Essay: A Short Story

I walked in the doors and looked around at the blazing lights and large crowds. I walked up the large set of stairs in the dingy room where we were to get ready. I striped down to my shorts and walked onto the large scale to test my weight before the match. I weighed in at just 97 pounds. The matches went by weight, from smallest to largest, and were displayed on the clean wall by a projector mounted high in the gym ceiling. I was in the third set of matches, and could barely stand because of all the butterflies tightening my stomach. When the time came for me to start the match, I tightened my shoelaces and put on my head gear. My opponent and I walk to the score table, and look at each other. I don't know what he is thinking about but I know
what I am thinking about. I am thinking about all the hours after school that I had trained, but I was also wondering if it would be enough. I knew that I could have trained harder, I could have took less brakes, I could have practiced longer. We walked onto the mat, and met the referee in the middle. I shook hands with my rival and the ref blew the whistle. We started circling, around and around we went, both in a low to the ground, crouch-fight stance. He lunged, throwing one knee to the ground and grabbing my legs around the backs of the knees. I managed sprawl to the ground before he could get me on my back. Before he knew it, I was back up and I had my arm around his neck for a head throw. I was never good at shots, be it one leg, or two, so I had gotten exceptionally good at head throws. I threw him to the ground, full force, and jumped on his back. Two points for a takedown. We continue back and forth for all three sections of the match. He escaped, 1-2, he took me down, 3-2, I escaped and took him down, 3-6. Four and a half minutes later, the whistle was blown, I had won. On to the next match I went. I walked up to the scorekeepers table, still sore from my strenuous victory just before the match and met my second adversary that I would wrestle, still glistening with sweat as we walked together onto the mat.
The painstaking sport of keeping of your back and gaining points, all while trying not to die, had once again began. We circled around and around, our feet grabbing the ground to use a leverage to push against other. We pulled and pushed and spun each other while watching for the moment that an opportunity to spring would appear. It was a long match of each At this tournament, you could either lose twice, or win three times. This next match would either send me home, or put me against one last foe. I found my name on the board, found the mat I was to wrestle on and started to wrestle. We started circling. I could feel the grip of my shoes on the ground as I got ready to lunge, to jump at my adversary. I jumped forward at the same time as I harshly pushed his head. Just a few minutes into the match, I jumped onto his back. Easy pin. The sound of cheering penetrated my red hot ears. My body stung from head to toe because of the pure exertion I had put forth to the match. My neck felt like it had been tied in knots by a really large, and extremely heavy fat guy. And I felt as proud as I rightfully should have. Now all I had to do was win one last greweling match to make it to the district
tournament.