Man, those freestyle 62kg medals. They didn’t just pop up out of thin air, you know. It took a whole lot of sweat, and honestly, a bit of figuring things out the hard way.
I remember when I first started thinking about really competing in the 62kg class. Seriously. Before that, I was kinda all over the place with my weight, mostly wrestling a bit heavier. But my coach, old fella, sharp as a tack, he pulled me aside one day. He just said, ‘Listen, at 62kg, your style, your quickness? That’s where you could make some noise.’ Sounded simple enough, but dropping that weight and staying there, that was the first real fight.
So, I got down to it. Mornings started way too early, hitting the mats before most folks even had their coffee. Drills, drills, and more drills. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache. Then there was the running, the lifting, all that stuff to build stamina. And the food. Man, the food! Or lack of it, sometimes. Chicken and broccoli, day in, day out. There were days I’d just sit there, totally beat, thinking, ‘What am I even doing this for?’ It was tough, no doubt about it.
My first few competitions at 62kg? A disaster. Got thrown around a bit, learned some hard lessons. You feel like a fool, but you gotta pick yourself up. I started watching the other guys, the ones who were winning. How they moved, their setups, their timing. It wasn’t just about being strong or fast; it was about being smart on that mat. Coach kept it simple, just little pointers here and there. ‘Head up!’ ‘Control the hands!’ Small things that made a big difference over time.
Slowly, things started to click. I mean, really click. I started placing, then winning a few local meets. Then came the bigger tournaments. I remember this one regional event, the competition was fierce. Every match felt like a final. I was just in the zone, everything we practiced just flowed. And then, there it was. My first significant medal in the 62kg freestyle category.
Holding that thing, it felt heavy. Not just the metal, you know? It was all those early mornings, all that boring food, all the times I got my butt kicked and got back up. After that, a few more followed over the next couple of seasons. Each one has its own story, its own battle I remember. Some were close calls, pure grit. Others, I just felt unstoppable.
Those medals, they’re packed away now mostly, but sometimes I take them out. They’re not just about winning. They remind me of the whole journey, the grind. It taught me a lot, way beyond just wrestling. Taught me about pushing yourself, about not giving up when it gets stupidly hard. And yeah, it showed me that if you really pour yourself into something, you can surprise yourself with what you can do. It’s a good feeling, that. A real good feeling.
