The Tournament

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 …

…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.