I'm next. My stomach growls with hunger and the sharp, stabbing hunger pangs are now almost unbearable. As one of my opponents steps onto the scale, I examine his physique. "He doesn't look that strong", I tell myself. In reality, I secretly hope he doesn't make weight. My clothes are off as I step on the scale. "One eighty-seven point four", says the referee as he writes my weight down. The room is frigid and …showed first 75 words of 377 total…

…showed last 75 words of 377 total…feel like I'm having a panic attack. My heart is jumping out of my chest. I count down the last seconds in the match as I take my warm-up gear off, then I walk towards the mat. From the moment I set foot on the mat, everything disappears. There is no exhaustion, no pain, no nervousness, no bright lights, and no yelling. All I see is my opponent. All I hear is my coaches' voice.