My wrestling season in 2025 was all right, I guess. I was 22-4 on paper, which is not bad, but somehow still not good enough to get me where I needed to go. Districts were last weekend and I placed third in districts. Only the top two advance to the next level, so that was frustrating. It was like I had worked so hard, made all the practices, all the sacrifices, for it to all end there. It’s difficult when you feel like you tried your best and still didn’t succeed.
One of the hardest matches this year was towards the end of the season, and it’s one that I will never forget. I was grappling with a kid who was tough, and I knew from the start that this wasn’t going to be easy. I was down by points the entire time, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t catch up. I gave it everything I could think of—shots, escapes, reversals, you name it—but nothing seemed to work on this guy. Whenever I thought I was gaining ground, he managed to shut me down.
By the last period, I was exhausted and frustrated. I could sense the time ticking away, and I knew I was close to being defeated. There comes a point in a match when you think that it might be impossible to come back. It felt like all hope was lost. But something within me just refused to give up. The clock was winding down, and every second felt like it was taking an eternity.
And then, out of nowhere, in the final few seconds, I did something I never planned. I managed to catch him in a move—I still have no idea how it happened. It was one of those times in wrestling when everything just clicks. You’re not even thinking; you’re just acting. The next thing I knew, I had him on his back, and the referee was counting. The buzzer blew just as I got the pin. The crowd went crazy, but quite honestly, I was too tired to care much by then. I was exhausted from the match, from pushing myself as hard as I did. In a way, that was victory and relief in one. One minute I was staring defeat in the face, and the next, I had won.
That match is the kind of thing that makes wrestling so thrilling. It’s those last-minute victories that you recall most, even when the season in general didn’t turn out as you’d like. Yet, satisfying and intense as that contest was, the season still didn’t conclude the way I’d like. Placing third in districts was worst for me. I did not wrestle poorly—I just was not good enough to place in the top two, the only two spots that advance to the next level of competition. The frustration of being so close yet still not good enough is hard to explain.
It is one thing to lose a match when you know you have given it your all and still just did not have enough to get the win. That’s hard, but at least you can walk away knowing you fought as hard as you possibly could. But when you’re that near to being able to do it, and still don’t do it, that hurts in a different sort of way. It’s like getting to the doorstep of your dream, only to have it slammed in your face. The hardest part was sitting there and watching the other two guys advance, knowing that I had a bit more to give. The reality that I might have been able to do better, and perhaps ought to have done better, hung over me.
Looking back at the season now, I guess my 22-4 record wasn’t so bad, but it’s not as fulfilling because I didn’t advance to the next round. It is not just about the wins; it is about winning the right ones—the ones that matter. Sure, it is nice to have a winning record, but in the grand scheme of things, it is the postseason record that truly measures a wrestler’s success. And when you are left there with a third-place finish, you cannot help but feel like you are missing that final piece of the puzzle.
I think this is something that a lot of athletes can relate to. You can win as much as you want, but if you don’t win when it counts most, it is almost as if it doesn’t even matter. The big games, the ones that push you the most, are the ones that determine whether or not your season was successful. I know I could’ve done more, and I know I was capable of finishing ahead of the guys that did finish ahead of me. It’s just frustrating when you fall short, you know, especially after working so hard all season.
What keeps me going, though, is knowing there’s always next year. Wrestling’s a sport where nothing’s ever for sure. You can’t just sit back and hope on what you’ve accomplished in the past; you have to keep pushing, keep improving. It’s an ongoing grind, and the thing about it is that sometimes things don’t go your way. Maybe next year will be different. Maybe it won’t. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’ll keep working, and I’ll keep trying for more.
I’ve learned a great deal from this season. I’ve learned about persistence, about fighting through frustration, and about how one second, one step, can change everything. And although it didn’t end with me advancing to the next round, I know that each match, each lesson, will help make me a stronger wrestler. So here’s to 2026, and the hope that it will bring more success. Until then, I’ll keep training, keep improving, and keep my eyes on the goal.
