Wiltz

Stumbled on this article from www.InsideTexaswrestling.com
http://www.insidetexaswrestling.com/news/?p=30

Cutting Weight, the Dark Side of WrestlingBloged in News and Information by Randy Lewis Wednesday November 2, 2005

Cutting weight, the dark side of wrestling. Almost everyone who has ever wrestled, with the exception of some heavyweights, has had to cut weight at some point in their careers. Many wrestlers, at all levels, have at times cut way more than they should have. At times in my career, I also fell into this category. Most wrestlers have their own “weight cutting stories,” and in this article I will regale you with a few of my own.

This article will not discuss the proper diet, nor will it discuss the correct way to slowly lose weight, but rather it will give you some of my insights and thoughts as to why myself and others cut weight, and how it affected both our mental and physical abilities. To me, cutting weight has always been the hardest part of wrestling, both physically, and especially mentally.


In high school, I wrestled at or near my natural weight, cutting only 3 or 4 pounds during my season. During the summers, for junior nationals, I would sometimes cut 7 or 8 pounds, but nothing that was too difficult. In college, and international competition, that would change dramatically. At times, I believe I cut too much weight, and when that happened, it took a mental and physical toll.

Throughtout my fifteen years wrestling and coaching with Dan Gable at the University of Iowa, coaches J Robinson and Dan Gable put me and others through thousands of very tough and very physical workouts. I was able to go through all of them, and never break mentally. However, when it came to cutting weight, it was a different story. I have seen the toughest wrestlers in the world break mentally from cutting too much weight. Cutting weight will always be a part of our sport, no matter what rules go into effect. I do like most of the new rules that help to cut down on the amount of weight that wrestlers lose.

In high school and college wrestling, weight cutting has changed dramatically because of the new rules. With colleges and high schools outlawing saunas and plastics, weighing in one hour before matches, and the new hydration rules, the amount of weight cutting, particularly by dehydration, has been significantly reduced. When I look back on my college career, I wish these new rules had been in place then. In college, I wrestled two years at 126 and two years at 134, with a five-hour weigh-in for duals and night-before weigh-ins for tournaments. If I were wrestling under today’s rules, I would have wrestled at 133 for two years and at 141 for two years, and that would have been seven pounds that I did not have to sweat off for every meet.

I find it interesting that while high school and colleges have made rules to eliminate or reduce weight cutting, in international wrestling, FILA has made rules that have forced some wrestlers to make a very difficult decision to cut even more weight than in the past. By dropping down to seven weight classes, and having only one weigh-in for tournaments, the night before, they are forcing some wrestlers to cut a ton of weight.

With only seven weight classes internationally, some great wrestlers have been forced to make a very difficult decision to either cut an extreme amount of weight, or to have to add considerable muscle mass, which I believe could lead to a sharp increase in the use of steroids.

I think wrestling has been a sport where steroid use has been kept to a minimum, but with only seven weight classes, a wrestler “caught” in between weight classes may make the decision to “juice” to move up a weight class, and that is more likely to happen with fewer weight classes, and too much weight between weight classes. It is my belief that FILA should go back to 10 weight classes for the world championships, and then go to 7 for the Olympics if necessary. FILA has no chance to reinstate weight classes at the Olympics if we don’t already have them for the world championships.

What I want to do in this article, is give some of my thoughts on weight cutting, both now and in the past, but before I do that, I would just like to share some “old school” weight cutting stories from the past, to give you the perspective that I am coming from.

Starting Easy. Getting Harder

When I first came to the University of Iowa, I had never really cut much weight. My freshman year, at the start of the season, I made the starting lineup at 126 pounds. The most I had ever weighed at the start of the season was 135 pounds, and at the beginning of the year in college, they give a three pound weight allowance. I was usually only one or two pounds over weight after every practice, making weight was very easy.

However, I was a growing boy, and as the season progressed, every week I kept getting bigger and bigger until the week before the Big Ten tournament I weighed 141 pounds. At the NCAA’s and at the Big Ten’s, you have to make scratch weight. All of a sudden, I was 15 pounds over. At the beginning of the year, I only had to cut 6 pounds, but at the end of the year I was wrestling at the same weight, but had to cut 15 pounds. I was not used to cutting weight, and it was very hard for me to make weight for both the Big Tens and the NCAA’s.

At the NCAA’s, after the second round, I was 7 1/2 pounds overweight. I had never cut more than 6 pounds in one workout. At the time, you could weigh-in either that night or the next morning. I had about 3 hours to make weight, which should have been plenty of time.

Sleeping with Gable

I worked out for about an hour and lost about five pounds, and then I mentally broke, and decided to make weight the next morning. I went and drank a quart of gatorade and showered up, thinking I’d just weigh in the next morning. I knew I had to avoid Gable and the other coaches, or they would make me make weight that night.

With about 45 minutes left to weigh-in, Gable found out I was planning on making weight the next morning and he quickly grabbed me and said your making weight tonight. He got me in the sauna, (he was in his street clothes) and got me doing all sorts of exercises. When time ran out, I was still 1/4 pound over the weight. I had to make weight the next morning, and Gable didn’t let me out of his sight, making me spend the night in his room.

I made weight the next morning and went on to place second that year in the NCAA’s. That would just be the first of many times I broke cutting weight. That summer, I would cut from 144 pounds down to 125.5 pounds to make the world team and wrestle in the world championships. Making weight that summer and the next year in college would prove to be very difficult, and very tough mentally. I probably broke mentally about four or five times that summer, and here are a couple of those stories.

Randy’s Mental Breakdown at the Drowning Pool

It was a hot, humid summer day in early July in Iowa City, about two weeks before the world team trials. I weighed 138.5 pounds before practice. That was 13 pounds over. Coach Gable was having a cookout at his house that night, with the team and friends and boosters all coming. Gable knew I was struggling with my weight, and he told me I couldn’t come to the party until I got my weight down to 130 pounds.

After going through the wrestling practice, I weighed 132 1/2. It was about 100 degrees out, and very humid, and I put on my plastics and went for a run around Iowa City’s Finkbine golf course. About half way around the course, I was really hot and really thirsty, and I broke mentally. I pulled off my plastics and the rest of my gear except for my shorts, and tried to cut back across the golf course to walk back to the gym. When I got by the clubhouse, I saw the swimming pool. I was so hot and thirsty, that I jumped into the pool to cool off. I was so thirsty, that I just stuck my head under water and drank what seemed like a gallon of pool water.

Only after I drank my fill, did I look up and realize that mounted on the wall was a drinking fountain, with ice-cold, clean drinking water. I never did make 130 that day, but Gable let me come to the cookout that night anyway. As I sipped on my first Miller Lite that night, it not only tasted great and was less filling, but a thought ran through my head. You know, that pool water tasted even better than this Miller Lite.

A few weeks later, out in Squaw Valley, California, I had to make scratch weight four days in a row, to make the world team. Making weight was so hard, that every day after I made weight I honestly didn’t even care if I won my matches. I remember vividly thinking, well if I lose I don’t have to make weight again. Somehow, I managed to make weight all four days, and when I faced 1976 Olympian Joe Corso on the final day, I had pinned all of my opponents up until then.

After struggling hard to make weight four days in a row, I went out and got pinned by Joe Corso in 12 seconds in the first match in a two out of three. I remember thinking, man, I cut all this weight for 4 straight days and then get pinned in 12 seconds. I thought no way did I lose all this weight and work so hard to be the alternate. After the last weigh-ins were over, it suddenly seemed very important again to win. That afternoon I went out and won 11-7 and then pinned Corso to make the team. I broke many times that summer, pulling off my sweats and dipping my head in pools and streams up in the mountains, but in the end it made me a lot mentally tougher. After that, I became a much better weight cutter, and I learned a few lessons from the King of the Cutter himself, Bruce Kinseth.

The King of the Cutters

My sophomore year in college, I wrestled over half my matches at 134 pounds, but the second half cut down to 126. It was a big cut for me, and Bruce Kinseth (incidentally the brother of NASCAR champion Matt Kenseth), the self proclaimed King of the Cutters took me under his wing and showed me how it was done. Kinseth was in phenomonal shape, and at 6 feet was very tall and skinny for a 150 pounder. I had never seen anyone who could sweat like Kinseth. He could easily lose ten pounds in just one hour. At the time, I could only lose five or six pounds in an hour. Bruce’s philosophy which he gave to me was “You can’t cut weight on an empty stomach.” What he meant by that was that he would rather be 12 over and full, than 10 over and hungry.

Bruce would come in to practice the day before a meet 11 or 12 pounds over, and he would work out for an hour and 15 minutes and get down to weight. Then he would go eat a big dinner and drink liquids and he would come back that night 10 or 11 pounds over again, work out and lose it all, and then show up 6-10 pounds over the next day about an hour before weigh-ins. He would lose the weight and then gain back between 10 and 13 pounds before his match that night five hours later. I could only do about half of that, and was amazed at Kinseth’s ability to lose and gain weight.

One day about two hours before weigh-ins, I was farther over than Kinseth. I was 6 1/2 over, and Bruce was five pounds over. I was all bummed out being so far over, and Kinseth said, “Lewboo, will it make you feel any better if I drink a couple pounds of water so I’m farther over than you?” I said “Yeah it would.” Bruce then went and drank two pounds of water, and got back on the scale. He was 7 pounds over. 35 minutes later, Bruce was on weight. It took me an hour and 20 minutes to lose my 6 1/2 pounds.

That year (1979) Bruce and I were selected to wrestle in the All-Star meet in Corvallis, Oregon. We had just wrestled in two duals meets that weekend at Michigan and Michigan State. Bruce and I both wrestled up a weight in bot of those duals. Afterwards, we drove to Chicago and were eating and drinking liquids the whole way. We then flew to Oregon and arrived on Sunday night. We were scheduled to weigh-in on Tuesday afternoon. They were giving a five pound weight allowance for the meet, and when we arrived in Oregon I weighed 143 pounds, and Bruce weighed 174 pounds.

Bruce was 19 pounds over the 5 pound allowance. He weighed more than the 167 pounders. Bruce’s body was full of liquids, and he lost 14 pounds in one workout. The next day, in the morning, Bruce and I worked out, I got down to 3 over, and Bruce got down to 2 over. We then had a big lunch, and went to practice later that afternoon. Bruce was 11 over, and I was 9 3/4 pounds over. Weigh-ins weren’t scheduled until noon on Tuesday, so I was in good shape.

However, all the other wrestlers were very close to weight, and they all wanted to weigh-in after practice, and not have to the next day. Bruce and I both agreed to it. Bruce worked out for an hour and 15 minutes, and made weight, losing 11 pounds. Less than 24 hours earlier he had been 19 pounds over. I lost my 9 3/4 pounds, but it took me 2 hours and 45 minutes, and I was hurting. Once again, Bruce had shown why he was called the King of the Cutters. Bruce and I both won the NCAA’s that year, and Bruce pinned everyone he wrestled at the Big Ten’s and the NCAA’s, earning the Outstanding Wrestler Award, along with a tremendous amount of respect. Three years later, Bruce would win the U.S. Open at 180.5 pounds, beating Dave Schultz in the finals.

Another big 150 pounder that Iowa had around that time was two-time NCAA champion Chuck Yagla, who once missed making weight at the U.S. Open at 149.5 pounds by a quarter of a pound. Chuck then wrestled at 163, and had to cut weight the second day of the tournament to make 163. He still won the tournament.

Why cut weight?

Most wrestlers cut weight because they don’t want to have to compete against bigger wrestlers. Some want to be that bigger wrestler. For most wrestlers, they cut to give themselves the best chance to win. Some do it for the team. Some do it to make the team, and some do it to avoid a specific opponent.

Troy Steiner was the defending NCAA champion his senior year at 142 pounds, and was undefeated and ranked number 1. For the team he cut down to 134 pounds so Lincoln Mclravy could come out of redshirt and cut to 142 pounds. Lincoln ended up winning the NCAA’s at 142, while Troy Steiner ended up third at 134, losing to Cary Kolat in the semifinals. The next year, Darryl Weber was Iowa’s 158 pounder for the first half of the season. Gable pulled Joe Williams out of redshirt, and Weber cut down to 142 to make the team and become an All-American. Two years later, Weber would win the NCAA’s at 167 pounds.

When I did cut weight in college, I wanted to keep my size and strength, and I tried to weigh as close to my normal weight by the time I stepped out on the mat to compete. Back under the old rules, I believe that as a team, Iowa had the advantage over other teams because we were able to recover and gain our size back faster than other teams. My sophomore year of college, I won the NCAA’s at 126 pounds, and when I wrestled in the finals I weighed 142 pounds. The next year, when I won at 134 pounds, I weighed 143 pounds before the finals.

For the mental aspect of cutting weight, wrestling against John Azevedo, I felt like I was a full weight class bigger than him when we stepped out on the mat. John had wrestled at 118 pounds the year before, and I just knew in my heart that I was going to be way too big for him. We were both in great shape, but I ended up wearing him out in the third period and won 20-14, because of my size. If I did cut weight, I wanted it to help my mental preparation, not hurt it.

Throughout my career, whenever I cut a lot of weight, I used to believe I could recover and win by being bigger, and stronger, which I talked about in my article ” Mind Games”, which I wrote last year. If I wasn’t cutting weight, I would use that to think that my opponent would be too sucked down to beat me. To me, cutting weight was mostly mental. When I first started cutting weight, I wasn’t very good at it, and I broke several times, but later I got better at it, and it made me a lot tougher mentally. However, if I had it to do over again, I would always move up a weight when in doubt.

Some of the most legendary weight cutters that I know of did just as well when they moved up a weight class, some when they moved up several. Gene Mills won Tibilisi at 114.5, and was a legendary weight cutter. He later got fat and happy, and still made a world team at 136.5, and won the Midlands at 142 pounds. Melvin Douglas cut hard to make 180.5 and 16 years later took Steve Mocco to overtime at heavyweight. Bruce Kinseth won the US Open at 180.5, Mark Churella moved up two weight classes in one year at the NCAA’s and won his third title. Rick Sanders did just as good at 125.5 as he did at 114.5. Looking at the careers of many great wrestlers, they almost all do well when they outgrow a weight class and don’t make that huge cut.

In 1989, I cut to 136.5 for the last time, and I felt like I was going to die. After that, I moved up to 149.5 for good. While I never made a world team at 149.5, I did beat several world medalists and a world champion twice at that weight. I wish I had gone up to 149.5 sooner, rather than later. Weight cutting has caused many wrestlers to quit the sport too soon. If I had it to do over again, after 1984 I would have taken two years off to party and lift weights, and then gone 149.5, rather than cutting to 136.5 again. So, all you young wrestlers out there, leave the big weight cutting to us “Old School” idiots, and don’t try this at home, remember we were trained professionals.

gg121and2

Wiltz,

I've read this before. I found the part about Kinseth particularly interesting.

JensenS

I used to have this saved to my computer before my hard drive shit the bed this summer. Thanks for digging it back up, quality Lewboo story.

Trusty

Ya gotta love Lewis..."I would have taken 2 years off to party and lift weights"

JensenS

I came across the E-mail I got from John Rizzuti that contains basically all the Lewis stories save for that one. Here's the first one.

THE TOUGHEST KID ON THE BLOCK
All Rights Reserved


In the fall of 1969, Jim Brandt, the gym teacher at Meadowbrook Grade School in Rapid City, South Dakota announced that in six weeks all students were going to take the President’s Physical Fitness Test. He posted the school records for each event. He told all of the 5th graders to try and pick out one record and see if any of us could beat it.

I saw that the school record for chin-ups was 18. I tried to see how many I could do. I did 12! When I went home that day, I told my dad about it. He said, “Why don’t you try doing 12 every day for a week, and then the next week, do 13 every day and then the next week do 14 every day until you get up to 18.”

I listened to him, and by the time of the fitness test, I could do 18 chin-ups. I tied the school record.

I also started wrestling that year for the first time. I became the school champion at the lightest weight class of 65 pounds. I knew only three moves, the double leg, half nelson, and the stand up. Jim Brandt and my dad, Larry Lewis took a bunch of us kids to the AAU Age-Group kid’s regionals to qualify for the state tournament. In my first official tournament, I went 5-0 and won the regional. From there it was on to the state tournament.

As I warmed up with the other wrestlers before the tournament started, I was in awe of competing against the best kids in the state. Some of them had been wrestling for three or four years. They had medals on their jackets, too.

I went and told my dad that some of these kids looked tough with their medals. With all their experience, I didn’t think I could win. My dad said “They might look tough, but I’ll bet none of them can do 18 chin-ups like you can.”

He also told me not to think of them as the best kids in the state. He said what if they were from Rapid City, and they went to Meadowbrook Grade School, and what if they lived right next door to us? If you couldn’t beat them, then you wouldn’t be Meadowbrook school champion, and you wouldn’t be the toughest kid on your own block. He said, “you are the toughest kid on the block aren’t you?”

I smiled, and said, “I sure am!”

Before my first match, I asked my opponent, a kid named Dan Blye, if this was his first state tournament. He said that last year he got second place. Feeling a little more nervous, I asked him how many chin-ups he could do. When he said 16, I felt better.

Knowing I was stronger than he was convinced me that I could overcome his experience, and beat him. I can vividly remember thinking that if he lived in Rapid City, if he went to my grade school, and if he lived next door to me, I could beat him. I knew I was the toughest kid on the block.

When the referee blew the whistle, I immediately shot in on a double-leg and would not let go. The matches then were two 2-minute periods, both starting on the feet. I ended up winning the match 4-1, getting both takedowns, and losing a point for choking.

I had five more matches that day, and I won them all by scores of 4-1, or 4-2, or 4-3. In every match I got points against me for locking hands or choking. I got every takedown and I would not let go once I got on top.

Before every match, I asked my opponent how many chin-ups he could do. Not one could do 18, like I could do. I also remembered to think about every match, not as if I was going up against the best kids in the state, but I brought them back in my mind to Rapid City. To Meadowbrook grade school, and all the way right next door. To my block.

At the end of the day, not only was I the South Dakota State champion at 60 pounds, but I was still the toughest kid on the block.

The next year, I went on to repeat as state champion at 65 pounds. From there, it was on to my first national tournament in Miles City, Montana. While I was warming up I saw a mean-looking kid with a crew cut about my size.

I went up and said hello and asked him what weight class he was wrestling. He said he was at 65 pounds and he was going to easily win the tournament. He said he was a two-time state champion from Wyoming and had never lost a match.

I told him I was a two-time state champion from South Dakota, and I had never lost either. He said he was going to easily beat me, and I had never had any kid tell me that before. I figured he must really be tough to go around telling other kids he was going to whip them. (This was the days before Muhammed Ali.)

I went over to the brackets to see who I had to wrestle, and wouldn’t you know it, I had the two-time state champion from Wyoming. Truth be told, I was scared. Then I asked the kid how many chin-ups he could do? When he said he could do 18, I smiled.

By now, I had set the Meadowbrook school record with 20 chin-ups. I knew I was stronger than the kid from Wyoming was. I remembered that if he were from South Dakota, if I couldn’t beat him, I wouldn’t be a two-time state champion. What if he was from Rapid City, and went to Meadowbrook grade school? What if he lived on the same block as me?

If I couldn’t beat him, I wouldn’t be the toughest kid on the block. Well, I got fired up and went out and whipped the kid from Wyoming 16-0, on the way to winning the tournament. Not only was I now a national champion, but I was still the toughest kid on the block.

It was this mindset that I continued to have great success, winning national titles at every age-group and winning the NCAA’s as a sophomore and making the world team as a true freshman. That took me to January 1980.

That was my junior year in college. In the middle of the college season, I went to Russia to wrestle in the toughest tournament in the world, the Tbilisi Tournament. This meet is considered tougher than the world championships or the Olympics, because so many Russians entered. The Russians at the time as they are now, were considered the best freestyle wrestlers in the world.

At the time, I was 20 years old, and wrestled at 136.5 pounds. Gene Mills and myself were the only two collegiate wrestlers to make this trip. At the time, I was a junior in college and thought I was the best wrestler in college at any weight.

I was the only collegiate wrestler at that time who had made both the world team and had won a NCAA title. While Mills was also a NCAA champion, he had not yet made a world team. I considered myself to be a better wrestler than Gene Mills.

What I saw from Gene Mills on this trip totally astounded me. “Mean Gene the Pinning Machine” as he became known, went on a tear. Wrestling at 114.5 pounds, Mills went 8-0 in the Tbilisi tournament, with 7 pins. In the finals, he was ahead 18-0 when they cautioned the Russian out of the match for stalling. I went 0-3 against the Russians and 5-0 against other foreigners on this trip.

Mills was pinning Russians right and left. How was he doing it, I asked myself? He was getting really psyched up before each match, saying I’m going to pin this Russian, I’m going to tear him up, nobody can go the distance with me.

I remember thinking, these are the Russians he is talking about, the best wrestlers in the world. How can he think he can pin them and beat them so easily? I thought, I am better than Gene, why is he pinning these Russians, and I am losing to them.

And then it hit me.

Mills was pinning these Russians and I wasn’t for the simple reason that he believed he would pin them. I was thinking, these are the best wrestlers in the world, how can I beat them? After the tournament, I remember thinking that if Gene Mills can pin these Russians, then so can I.

A few months later, the United States and the Soviet Union had a dual meet in my hometown, Rapid City, South Dakota. I was picked to wrestle for the United States team against the best Russian wrestler at 136.5 pounds, Victor Alexeev, a two-time world champion.

At the time, my record against the Russians was 0-5. Back in my hometown, my dad and all my friends all asked how I thought I could do against the Russian. I told them all I was going to pin him. They all said Randy, “how can you say you are going to pin the Russian? He is the best in the world, and you have never beaten a Russian.”

I told them, “Last night I looked through my old high school scrapbooks, and I counted all the matches I wrestled here in Rapid City in high school. I was 50-0 with 48 pins, and I won the other 2 matches by scores of 12-0 and 23-2. That’s what I do in Rapid City is pin people.”

And then I looked at my dad and told him, “Dad, tomorrow night, I am not going to be wrestling the best wrestler in the world. I’m going to be wrestling another kid who may have grown up in Rapid City, and may have gone to Meadowbrook grade school, and may have lived right next door to me, and tomorrow night we are going to see who really is the toughest kid on the block.”

Over 7,000 fans showed up the next night to watch the dual meet between the United States and the Soviet Union. The Russians won the first 3 matches before I stepped on the mat against Victor Alexeev. They had the momentum going their way.

Two minutes later, when I threw Alexeev on his back, I heard the loudest roar I had ever heard, only to be eclipsed 20 seconds later when the referee called the fall. With victories by Lee Kemp, Chris Campbell, Ben Peterson, and Larry Bielenberg (over 2-time Olympic champion Ivan Yarygin), the United States scored our first-ever dual meet victory over the Soviet Union.

My father, Larry Lewis organized the event, and former USA Wrestling Executive Director and now head of the U.S. Olympic Committee (USOC), Jim Scherer has said it is still the most successful USA–Russia dual meet he had ever seen.

After the meet, I hugged my dad and told him I was still THE TOUGHEST KID ON THE BLOCK.

JensenS

ideamark has the match referenced in this story on his Lewboo highlight tape.




I

n my first article, The Toughest Kid On The Block, I told the story of how I was able to get mentally ready to compete and believe in myself, even when facing the best wrestlers in the world. One thing I was always aware of, even in fifth grade, was that before you step out on the mat, you have to give yourself at least one good reason to believe that you can win.

Also, the more reasons you can find to believe that you can win, the easier it becomes to win. Throughout my wrestling career, I always tried to give myself as many reasons to win as I could. For the first eleven years of my career, this was very easy for me to do. For the next couple of years, it became much more difficult.

When I first started wrestling in fifth grade, I was able to win for two reasons, because I could do more pull-ups than my opponents could, and because I thought I was the toughest kid on my block. After that, I continued to win, and my reasons for winning became more varied.

In my mind, there are three things you need to be successful in wrestling. They are strength, technique and conditioning. Fortunately, all three are areas where anyone can get better. Anyone with the desire can get in better shape, they can get stronger, and they can improve their technique. What I set out to do, to be successful every time I wrestled, was knowing that I was in better shape, physically stronger, and had better technique and skills than anyone I wrestled.

It was easy to believe I could win when I had the advantage in all three areas. The only way to get that advantage was to go to Wrestling Camps, lift weights, and wrestle and train as hard as possible. In high school, I ran cross-country, so when the season started, I was already in great shape. When I wrestled, I wrestled at an extremely high pace that few others could match.

Coming from South Dakota, I spent much of the summer competing in tournaments against the best kids in the country. I went to camps learning from the top coaches – learning early how to win. I believed in myself, and was on my way to a very successful career.

By the time I entered the University of Iowa, I experienced success at every level. I had won five AAU age-group national titles, the USWF Junior Nationals, three high school state titles, and an Espoir World Championship.

At Iowa, the success continued. My true freshman year I placed second in the NCAA’s, and that summer went on to make the world team, beating five former world team members in the process. My sophomore and junior years I went undefeated against collegiate competition and won back-to-back NCAA titles.

My junior year in college, I also made the 1980 Olympic Team, but was unable to compete because of the boycott. I am not telling you all of this to brag, (well, maybe a little), but to let you know how confident I had become in my abilities. This confidence came because I had always stepped out on the mat knowing for certain that I was more prepared than my opponents were.

I stayed in great shape year round, and had spent years working with the best coaches and training with the best workout partners in the country. Like my dad told me when I was young, the more things that you do right and the fewer things wrong the better your chances of success.

Having done everything I could to prepare myself for success, it was very easy for me to step out on the mat with confidence. The only time I did not totally believe in myself was against the Russians, and I finally got over that hump, which I wrote about in the article The Toughest Kid on the Block.

Basically, I had spent my entire wrestling career winning almost every time I competed. My confidence was at an all-time high. This was a big reason for my success. Heading into my senior year of college, I was in great shape, and full of confidence.

After winning the super-tough Midlands tournament for the 3rd time, I went into January of 1981 undefeated against collegiate competition for three years. I was ready to win my third straight NCAA title. I was wrong. I would not win another tournament in the next two years.

In January of that year, in a dual meet against NCAA champion Jim Gibbons of Iowa State, I suffered a severely dislocated elbow. (The match has been shown on CSTV repeatedly and is sickening to watch.) It was a brutal injury. I ended up wrestling in the Big Ten Tournament (placing second) and the NCAA Championships placing 7th that year. Over the next two years, I wrestled in several tournaments, but I did not win any of them. I was shattered. In tatters.

I had a series of injuries including knees, back, shoulders and more. Over that two-year period, I only had one phase where I was able to work out for a month straight without taking at least one week off. It seemed like every time I competed, I had only been on the mat for a week or two before the whistle blew. I had believed in myself and won in the past because I had always been totally prepared. I had never been injured and was always in great shape.

I am not using these two years of injuries as an excuse, but rather to show how I was not mentally strong. I did not believe in myself enough to win, when everything was not perfect.

I didn’t lose in the NCAA tournament my senior year because I dislocated my elbow, and I didn’t lose every tournament I wrestled in for the next two years because of other injuries. I lost because I was not mentally tough enough to believe in myself. During that time, when I stepped on the mat I doubted myself, thinking how can I win when I have only been on the mat for two weeks in the last two months.

I doubted my shape, my wrestling skills, and my mental toughness. I forgot to give myself reasons to believe I could win. I hoped I would win instead of knowing that I would win. I had forgotten how to win. I needed to learn how to win again. During this time my legendary coach Dan Gable brought me into his office.

Gable told me I was too good of a wrestler and too much of a winner to be losing like I was. I told him I never felt like I was more prepared than my opponents were because I was constantly coming off of injuries.

Gable said that was just an excuse. He said I needed to go into my matches with reasons to win not reasons to lose. He was right.

In 1984, before the final wrestleoffs to make the Olympic team, I had injured my knee. For three weeks before the trials, all I could do was ride the bikes and lift weights. I didn’t know if my knee was going to be okay or not. Gable told me not to worry about my knee. He knew me well enough to know that if I tested my knee and it hurt, I would lose.

At this point in my career, it was all mental. I did not test my knee at all, knowing that if it hurt in practice I would lose. I went into the trials just assuming that my knee would hold up, and if there was pain I probably wouldn’t feel it in a match as I would in practice. I went into the final trials giving myself reasons to win, not reasons to lose.

I was still in great shape, my strength was real good, my wrestling skills and techniques were great, and I had been a winner my whole life. Three weeks off the mat shouldn’t matter. My knee held up fine, and I went on to make the Olympic Team and win the gold medal that year. The trials were the first time that I was able to win coming off of an injury, something I was not mentally tough enough to do before.

Gable had helped me become mentally tough so I believed could win. I learned that you always need to give yourself a reason to win, and for over two years I had not done that. I had found reasons to lose instead of reasons to win. I’d like to finish this article by telling one more story about a reason to win.

In 1988, in the finals of the Olympic Trials, wrestling against current OSU head coach and six-time world champion John Smith, I injured my knee, completely tearing my PCL. Five months later, in December, I got back on the mat. I had been training for about a week when USA wrestling called and asked me if I wanted to wrestle in a dual meet against the Russians in Tempe, Arizona on Dec. 30th.

I asked what I would have to weigh, and they told me 143 pounds. I weighed 163 at the time but I said okay. I was to wrestle the Olympic silver medallist, Stepan Sarkisian who I had wrestled twice before, going one and one.

The day before weigh-inns, I was eleven pounds over. I saw Sarkisian and he looked huge. Sometimes at these Russian duals they are not real strict on weigh-ins, so I asked if we had to make weight for sure. I double checked with the officials and told them to make sure the Russians all have to make weight too. I had to work real hard to make weight the next day. Real, real hard.

At noon on the 29th, we weighed in. I stepped on the scale and weighed 143. Sarkisian stepped on the scale and weighed 150. The officials let it go. I was pissed. I couldn’t believe they made me lose all that weight and let Sarkisian weigh in seven pounds over.

The Russians were laughing at me. My face was all sucked in and I was totally dehydrated.

I made up my mind right then that I may be all sucked down right now, but tomorrow night I was going to be bigger and stronger than Sarkisian. That would be my reason to win. In the next 30 hours I put back on 16 pounds, and I weighed 159 before I stepped on the mat to wrestle the Russian.

Sarkisian was the biggest, strongest 136-pounder I had ever seen, but by the time we stepped on the mat before our match I was bigger. And stronger. And tougher. And meaner. When we lined up before the match, Sarkisian looked at me and said, “Randy, today you are very big, yesterday you were very small.” My face was full, and my arms and legs had regained their size also.

I looked at Sarkisian and flexed my bicep and said “Yes, today I am very big and very strong, I weigh 159 pounds, very big.” I had just given myself my reason to win. We had a wild match with the lead changing three times. We were both exhausted near the end of the match when with 20-seconds left and Sarkisian leading 5-4, I got in on a bear hug. Sarkisian tried a headlock and it ended up being a slip throw.

That year the rules were no points for a slip throw, but you got to stay on top and attempt a turn. With five seconds left I put every ounce of energy I had into a gut wrench against the strongest guy I had ever wrestled. On that night, I was bigger, and I was stronger, and I got the gut wrench for two points and won 6-5. I still had enough energy to jump up and raise my arms to the screaming crowd of over 6000.

I will tell you this; it was one of the most satisfying wins of my career.

JensenS

THE RULES of ENRAGEMENT


I

n no other sport do the rules change as often and drastically as they do in international wrestling. Football, baseball, golf, track and field, soccer, boxing, and almost every other sport are consistent with their rules, year-in and year-out. They may make few changes, tweak some minor rules every now and then, mostly with the intent to increase scoring and fan interest.

College wrestling’s rules have stayed pretty much the same over the last thirty years, with the biggest changes being the technical fall, and the manner in which overtime matches are decided. Takedowns are still two points, near falls are still two or three points and the escape is one point.

FILA, the International Governing Body for wrestling, however, has made numerous rule changes over the last twenty-five years that have drastically changed the nature of our sport. Recently, these changes have made the sport dull and boring and have taken away the true combativeness and physicality of wrestling as it was meant to be. Can you say clinch?

Having been around freestyle wrestling at a world-class level since 1977, I have witnessed many of these changes, and I believe most of them have hurt our great sport. I have not followed Greco-Roman wrestling closely, so when I refer to the rules for the rest of this article, I will be talking about freestyle only. I came on the scene in freestyle wrestling in 1977 when I won the Espoir World Championships. So, I will start with the rules since then.

With this article I’ll discuss the rules and changes that FILA has made over the years and my thoughts on how they affected wrestling. Before I do that, however, let me tell you what I feel wrestling should be.

Wrestling should be a test of character. It should be about strength, technique, speed, conditioning and will. Wrestlers should be required to wrestle hard all the time, and to attack and score points the whole match, even while ahead.

The goal in wrestling should be to pin your opponent, just like the goal in boxing is the knockout. Like boxing, wrestling is a one-on-one battle to find out who is THE MAN. Fans in boxing expect the fighters to throw punches the whole fight. Boxers usually hold up to that standard. Those that don’t fight exciting fights, don’t make the big money. In wrestling, the rules have changed so much, that taking risks to score points, especially with the lead, is just not worth it anymore.

There was a time when it was. That was then. This is now. This is not wow.

From 1977 until 1980, I believe the rules were at their best. Matches were nine minutes long, with three 3-minute periods. There were no technical falls. Points were awarded for stalling, with the first caution being a warning, the 2nd and 3rd were penalized a point, the 4th caution was two points, and the 5th caution ended the match. There were two points for exposure, and if you held you opponent on his back for 5 seconds you were awarded an additional point.

The officials did not let you bury your head or back up at all. The fall was the objective. Wrestlers were encouraged by the rules to work for the fall. During this era, throws in freestyle were much more common than today. Even with a lead, the officials made you continue to attack, either by shooting or attempting upper body throws.
In a 9-minute match, with points awarded for passivity, you could afford to get behind and still win. Strength, conditioning, and technique were all important. Being able to go hard for nine minutes was important, and you had to be able to continue to score throughout the match. The scoring was incredibly high between the best wrestlers in the world, especially when compared to the scoring in the late eighties and early nineties.

In 1979, Andre Metzger wrestled two defending Olympic champions at the world championships in San Diego. He hammered Ying Yang from Korea 19-15, and lost 13-9 to Vladimer Yumin from the Soviet Union. Later, there were two defending Olympic champs going at it as Yumin won 27-3. Russ Hellickson lost the gold medal match 13-12 at the same meet.

In the world championships in 1978, as a 19-year old freshman, I lost a match by fall with one second left in the match. I was getting pounded 30-16 at the time. Matches like that were common, because of the rules and the way they were applied. Tournaments were round-robin with bad marks, which were okay except they did not produce a championship match, which I believe is vital for wrestling to keep its fans interested in what’s going on.

Weigh-ins are at scratch weight. You made weight every morning, two hours before competition started. Having to make weight daily put an emphasis on conditioning and mental toughness. However, as the rules are now, I like having only one weigh-in the night before competition.

During these years, the officials did not give enough time on top to attempt more than one turn. Since a leg lace took too long to lock up, it was rarely used. Gut wrenches were not used very much either, because unless you hit a high bridge, they were scored two and two. There was too much risk and too little reward.

In 1981, all that changed. Starting that year, the matches were shortened to six minutes. Wrestlers were put down in par terre instead of penalized points for passivity. And, points were awarded for going off the mat under attack. At the time, being put down for passivity instead of being penalized a point was a good idea.

It worked for a while. Most of the best wrestlers became good enough on top and could turn their opponents. By the year 2000, wrestlers had worked on par terre so much that it was becoming increasingly difficult to turn a good wrestler. When a good wrestler had the lead, he could stall as much as he wanted to if he was good at defense.

The change to six minutes was intended to increase the action, b