Kyle Travers of RIT’s Wrestling team checks his weight after practice.
Michael Conti

When you’ve pushed yourself to the edge, strange things start to happen. You ache in places you didn’t know you had. You’re planning workouts in between workouts. Words like “weight loss,” take on new meanings. But you’re also more focused, more disciplined. Life is good on the edge. This is life for Kyle Travers, a 125 pound wrestler and third year Computer Science student at RIT.

Hours after class, he enters the mat room in search of another test. There he faces the one thing he’s more excited to see than a ham sandwich: his opponent for practice. Shin Wakabayashi, 2nd year Illustration major, is an equally scrappy 125 pounder, with just as much to prove as any other member of the injury-riddled Tiger wrestling squad. For hours, the two square off, challenging each other with their quickness and fluidity on the mat.

When it’s time for real competition, Travers says the only thing running through his head, aside from possible escape moves and opportunities for a takedown, is the singular thought: “I’ve been cutting weight this whole week, and I didn’t come here to lose.”

When it comes to disciplining both body and mind, the RIT wrestling team may have found something worthy of an hour-long infomercial on basic cable. But don’t tune into the Home Shopping Network just yet. The key to this kind of fat-dripping, muscle toning workout isn’t found in a new home gym or a abdomen-defining fat belt — It’s hard work.

In the underbelly of the Clark Gymnasium, every practice for the RIT wrestling team is an exercise in willpower, as trained athletes furiously hone their technique. Stop by a practice and you won’t hear the yelps and groans of the weight room in the Student Life Center. Instead, there is the steady pitter-pattering of feet scrambling and the satisfying thwock! of bodies hitting the mat.

Travers enters his final sprint during a weekend run.
Michael Conti

These student athletes usually begin and end each practice with a ritual known best to overweight, middle-aged women going through a mid-life crisis: the scale. Wrestlers will often lose three to eight pounds during a single practice, and they continue to keep track of their weight throughout the day and night. “You can lose up to one to two pounds when you sleep ... When your body rests, it breaks down fat and protein,” said Travers, who seems to know the exact combination of time and punishment needed to get him to the next match.

The point? To be the strongest wrestler in the lowest possible weight class. Weight class, for those unfamiliar, is the method in which wrestlers are divided to make matches fair and to ensure the safest competition. NCAA wrestling has ten different classes, ranging from 125 to 285 pounds. Because one can hypothetically wrestle better against someone who has a smaller muscle mass than you, wrestlers will collectively “cut” weight, a process of working out that removes excess water from the body before a match.

This has developed into an art form, one that many competitors see as a test of mettle. Those who are practiced can lose as much as 15 pounds or more over the course of a week. Using layers of “occlusive clothing” such as sweat-clothes and rubber suits, and utilizing sauna rooms, one can work to a point of exhaustion, a perpetual concern of athletic directors and trainers across the country. This is because working like this removes the body’s natural store of water that is necessary for maintaining the body’s natural functions.

“Losing body water is different than losing weight,” said Dr. Brooke Durland of RIT’s Student Health Center. “It tends to make one feel weak.” The dehydration practices employed by wrestlers, in addition to other weight constricting activities like ballet or boxing, can deplete the body’s natural store of glycogen.

Glycogen, found in the liver, is what the body uses for energy when its immediate supply of glucose is depleted in the course of a workout. Wrestlers, who often need a reserve of energy over the course of a day-long tournament, are doing their bodies a disservice when they cut unrealistic amounts of water weight.

Travers hooks teammate Shin Wakabayashi’s legs as he drives upwards during a practice match.
Michael Conti

Nick Ryan, a former wrestler and 2008 RIT School of Film and Animation Graduate, fondly recalls his wrestling experience. Weight loss, however, was the factor that almost brought his wrestling career to an early end. Wrestling at the 149 and 157 pound weight classes, he recalls putting his body through unnecessary stress to make weight. “Your body can only take so much,” said Ryan, who attributes his torn knee and Lateral Collateral Ligament (LCL) injuries to straining his body to an unhealthy degree. His solution was simple: move up two weight classes.

“I really tried to gain more weight, eating and building muscle during the summer, and it worked out,” said Ryan. Stronger at the 174 pound weight class, Ryan remained healthy and started on varsity for the entirety of his fourth year.

What makes this a 24-hour discipline, compared to sports like football and basketball, is the attention that every athlete must give to what goes in and out of their body. This meticulousness, combined with a work ethic that drives some to train at any time of the day, creates a state of mind that is unique to a wrestler.

Kyle Travers , speaks of a mindset that pushes him to go past his limit in anything he does. “If you want to do wrestling, you really have to want it,” said Travers. “When I was on co-op and I had to do overtime, the same mentality was there,” said Travers. “I’m dedicated to whatever I do, even if it’s sacrificing my body for the company.”

Those who work best under a tough deadline might find that the sport simplifies their lives. Wakabayashi, a second year Illustration major says, “It keeps you out of trouble, and gives you enough pressure to get your work done ahead of time.”