Life lessons from a laxative.

My senior year in high school, near pinnacle of my wrestling career, I had a life lesson. It was about mid-season wrestling season. I was having a good year and doing quite well. In fact I don't think that I had lost any wrestling matches up to then. I had just made a weight cut from 152 to 145 lbs. It was one week before Christmas and I had just one match before the Christmas break. It was a dual meet between Pine View (a St. George team). I was lined up to wrestle a tough opponent, a kid that I had wrestled previously and beat. The first match was a tough match but ultimately I got a lucky head throw and pinned him in second round. I remember feeling lucky because I could tell that if I wasn't on the ball all the time with this kid he could beat me.
Well, the morning of the dual meet came and I got on the scale at about six AM and realized that I was about 4 lbs over weight. I was feeling a little lazy and didn't feel like running all morning to loose the weight so I sluffed class and drove up to Wal-mart for a little diet aid. I had heard from a couple of friends that they were successful loosing weight fast by taking Ex-lax, so I thought I would give it a try. I hadn't ever tried this magical chemical and to my surprise it came in little chocolate bars. I though it was too good to be true. I bought the box and went out to my car, read the directions and took two pieces of chocolate. I liked the chocolate though it had a little chalky taste to it. But who cared it was chocolate, I hadn't had that in a couple of months. Instead of going back to school, I went to the mechanics shop at the college where I had a class, and a fellow wrestler was there working on his truck. I decided that I would hang out with him just in case the chocolate kicked in. After about an hour of helping my friend I realized that the chocolate wasn't working. I figured that it was because I was dehydrated, and figured that it may take a larger dose to make it kick in. So I took one more bar. Another hour passed and I was getting worried. No happy ending. So I wisely took another bar. By the end of the school day, I boarded the bus with 5 servings of Ex-lax brewing in me. I couldn't explain it just the fact that maybe Ex-lax was like firecrackers, every now and then you get a pack of duds. The whole trip down I spit in a cup to try to get a little more weight off, and when we got to the other school's locker room fortunately I was only about a half pound over weight. So I threw on some plastics with some sweats to cover them and went for a run. It only took about 30 minutes of running to get down to the weight that I needed to be. I weighed in, made weight, showered and got ready for the matches. Still no moving experiences. The Pine View Gymnasium was packed that night as I warmed up. My School was only 45 minutes away, so most of my school was there, friends, family and of course girls that I liked. I was excited. I wanted a quick win. Then I could relax, get some cookies and take a break until after Christmas. After watching the lower weight my match came, I ran to the score keepers to check in and get an ankle band. I strapped on the identity band and ran out to the middle of the mat. The referee had us shake hands, and then it happened. I felt a rumble that I had never felt. It felt like it had come from the very depths of hell. It felt like the final battle from Braveheart had just erupted in the lower most part of my colon. I knew that I was in trouble.
The referee said "wrestle", and we were off. We circled, and instead of my regular low stance I had an awkward high "clenched stance" which allowed my opponent to easily take me down. I remember falling to my belly trying to decide how to better keep my dignity. Do I loose the match and loose my state ranking? Or do I loose something else and loose all social status that I had ever earned or for that matter would ever earn? While I was trying to make up my mind my opponent turned me and got a couple of more points. Here I was trying my best to keep the floods gates closed. It seemed like my stomach was going through stages every 10 seconds for each dose that I took. I found myself praying one of the most sincere prayers that has ever been uttered on a wrestling mat. I made at least 10 promises to God of things that I would change in my life, if only he would help me pull this off. I found myself humbled, trying to think of any sin that I could sell off in exchange for some type of saving grace. Then I happened, I noticed an opening in my opponents game, the same opening that I had found in our previous match. A perfect chance to stand up and sink a head throw. I reached up and sunk the head lock deep and threw him hard onto his back. The position gave me the advantage and there was no way in the world that this kid was going to get away. It took about 15 seconds for the referee to hit the mat. I had won and I knew who was responsible. I jumped up. We shook hands, my hand was raised and I ran off the mat. I made it. I knew how I made it, and I knew who made it possible.
Ever since then, I have found myself in similar situations, not Ex-lax situations but others that my dumb decisions have gotten me in to. I find myself selling off sins for some type of redemption. It's kind of funny and strange is some sort of sick way because it always seems like I get bailed out. It seems like I am always finding mercy, even when I don't deserve it.