So much about this year has been turned upside down. It seems that there's more uncertainty than ever, there's more of a longing for normalcy than ever, and there's more anxiety and tension than ever.

We've been doing in-person school since day 1, and I feel so fortunate about that. It's been a considerable help in my efforts to take care of my own mental health. I realize every day all these little things that I've taken for granted.

The time leading up to the start of the high school wrestling season could have easily been much more nerve wracking, but thanks to my involvement with the soccer team, I was pretty preoccupied with other things. I could have been overwhelmed by the uncertainty and the unknowns of whether or not we'd get a wrestling season, what it would look like, how we'd have to do things differently, and how the pandemic would stand in our way. While I kept myself busy and those feelings of anxiety never took hold, I still struggled to build excitement for the upcoming wrestling season.

I should have been on cloud nine, looking forward to the outstanding season my seniors would have, the continued growth of our girls program, and our growing numbers. But the excitement seemed stunted.

The week of our hydration test, I felt very little enthusiasm. The first day of practice, I feared I would just be going through the motions. Then, as we began our team meeting to go over rules and policies, I learned that 6 of our kids would be quarantined due to being close contacts with positive Covid-19 cases. Three more would follow later that week.

But things began to shift when I first put on those shoes and stepped on the mats.

Despite the stifling sensation of trying to coach and yell with a mask on, I felt a familiar sensation coming back. The sounds of feet hitting the mat as they jogged, the smells of mat cleaner and rancid wrestling shoes that needed to be washed, the feeling of the air as twenty-some teens ran by me. My body suddenly fell in step as I began reviewing stance and motion, and I welcomed the ache of two bad knees, the burn of the leg muscles from holding a stance, and the breathlessness of trying to talk after hitting a series of blocks, counter-shots, and sprawls. The hellish feelings were like a bygone friend whom I'd forgotten about, but had suddenly reappeared in my life.

I use the phrase "return home" when I talk about keeping a good stance. Downblock, return home. Level change and attack, return home. Sprawl, return home. Just like I continually told them to return home to a safe and powerful position, I felt like I'd returned home myself. For the better part of 28 years, wrestling has been my "home."

Thanksgiving Break came and went, along with our scrimmage. No fans allowed due to state regulations. Our first competition resulted in a 3-1 dual record and a 2nd place team plaque. Three more competitive came to pass.

I witnessed kids winning their first varsity matches, JV kids getting their first taste of the sport, and girls making their debut into the exponentially growing domain of girls wrestling. I witnessed the blood, sweat, and tears, along with a dislocated kneecap, and it felt like home. It was one of the first times I truly felt normal since last March.

Without missing a step, I found myself consoling seniors who'd experienced heartbreaking losses and first-year wrestlers who felt like they had no chance of finding success. It was second nature to mix into my coaching speeches messages of faith, overcoming obstacles, setting goals, and learning life lessons through the sport.

It wasn't until my alarm went off at 3:00am on a Saturday morning that it really dawned on me. An early morning departure for a Saturday tournament meant I arrived at school long before anyone else. I get the prepackaged meals from the kitchen cooler. I unlock the doors. I double check the singlets and jackets. I triple check the supply tub and med kit. I'm all alone until the first kids trickle in.

Suddenly it becomes a flurry of movement as they check weight and check their gear. Then we load up on the bus and depart for our competition.

The bus is cold and dark and silent, except for the sounds of the engine, the road, and the partially cracked windows.

We're driving an hour away, but I feel like I'm home.

Bus ride to the Tonganoxie Invitational, Saturday, December 19, 2020