Making this post, I find myself with fond memories and a sad heart as I just learned my high school wrestling coach recently passed away.

Back in seventh grade, while still living in Lincoln, I started to Wrestle. As there were no fast-moving balls involved in the sport, wrestling would become the first sport I loved and competed in throughout high school.

Each week during wrestle-offs I had the opportunity to earn a spot on the varsity team if I could beat everyone in my certified weight class. My sophomore year I certified as a 126 pounder, while my junior year my certified weight class was 138 pounds. In short, I never made varsity in my certified weight class in my sophomore or junior year. Each year, there was a Senior wrestling in my certified weight class that I could not beat. Each of these wrestlers In their senior year, went on to medal in the State tournament and earned the Outstanding Wrestler of the Year award. However, towards the end of my junior year, in wrestle-offs I was able to beat the 155 pound senior to earn a varsity spot. My varsity record was something like four wins and four losses, which was good enough to earn me a varsity letter.

My senior year, I certified at 145 pounds and held the varsity position for the entire year. I had twenty-one wins against seven losses, including winning two matches and losing two matches in the State tournament. While I ended up one win short of a State medal, I compiled the best record on the team and earned the Outstanding Wrestler of the Year honor.

On the mat, RP had little impact on my performance. The most nerve-racking time would occur at tournaments where I had to locate either the red or green Velcro strap that I would wrap around my ankle for scoring. At the State tournament, Coach Powell noticed some blind wrestlers being guided to the center of the mat to get their ankle strap and they would start the match out touching their opponent in the standing position. I refused any accommodation as I did not want to draw attention to my loss of sight. Plus, I was at the end of my wrestling career, so making a change seemed silly.

My lack of vision did cause one wrestling practice to end abruptly. One day we were ending practice by running sprints on the track. There were some lights on in the parking lot and a few security lights around the track. I managed to follow the sound of footsteps and shadows while jogging to the starting line. Yes, by now, I should have already learned that following footsteps and shadows is not a good idea. Starting out in lane one, I took off as hard as I could run at the sound of the gun. After a few strides, I soon was crossing lane two and over into lane three. This progression continued until suddenly I was crossing out of lane eight and heading towards the bleachers. My sprint ended abruptly, as I found myself flying head-over-heals after my leg hit the second row of seats. I just checked, since the notch in my shinbone can no longer be felt, I am not sure if it was my right or left leg that hit the bleachers.

After I got done cursing, come to think of it I probably still owe Coach Powell some sit-ups and push-ups for the bad words, and we determine no permanent damage was caused, others told me they were surprised to see my cross track path, but thought I was going to jump up and finish my sprint on the bleachers. Since my coaches and teammates initial thoughts were, Mike is going to showboat by running a bleacher sprint instead of poor Mike is blind, I will let you decide how my acting as a sighted person career was going.

The fifty-something me would tell high school me to embrace your blindness and have the prettiest cheerleader guide you out to the center of the mat. When you need some sighted assistance ask for it instead of running in the dark. Master several takedown moves that initiate by touching your opponent at the start of a match. Unfortunately, high school me would probably ignore such advice.

Rest in peace Coach Powell and Go Rockets!