Kansas Wrestling Forums General Discussion College Dyer

Article authored by Justin Dyer appearing in the W.I.N. magazine this month.

Dyer Puts Wrestling in Perspective

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have tasted neither victory nor defeat.”
— Theodore Roosevelt

By Justin Dyer, Special to W.I.N.

A pair of losses at the national tournament this year ended my season a day earlier than expected. It also postponed for at least another year the fulfillment of two of my personal athletic goals: to be an NCAA All-American and a national champion. However, the time since the tournament has given me time to reflect on my life and the role that wrestling plays in it.
If I were to have reflected on my season and my experiences immediately after the tournament, they would have likely been different than they are today. It is often said that hindsight is 20/20, and the amount of time that has elapsed since the tournament allows me to see more clearly where I may have gone wrong and how I may be able to plot a better course for the future.

Because of the immense amount of time and commitment I have invested into the sport, the emotional cost of failing to reach my goals has been very great indeed.

My performance at the national tournament, as the culmination of my collegiate season, carries the ability to either erase the disparate individual disappointments and failures of the season or to synthesize them into a greater, overarching chagrin that will remain in the back of my mind until the first match of the next year.

For the past two seasons (and the past two national tournaments), the latter proved to be the case.

After the 2005 tournament, a teammate of mine who lost his final match in the same round that I did — had we would have won, would have become All-Americans — shook his head in disillusionment and remarked, “Five years of wrestling wasted.” Another senior teammate — who did not even earn the opportunity to wrestle at the national tournament — replied in a rare moment of inebriated wisdom, “Correction: Five years of wrestling accomplished.”

Since that night, the dichotomy between my teammates’ perspectives has given me food for thought. Increasingly, my personal philosophy of wrestling and competition has tended toward the latter perspective.

If wrestling is only about medals and trophies, praises and recognition, then it is a shallow and ultimately hollow endeavor. There must be something more, something that gives value to the sacrifices, the commitment, the work, the competition — the heartbreak and the failures — even when these things are not accompanied by success (as we typically define it).

This idea is a far cry from claiming that results don’t matter: Anyone who has ever competed (and invested himself in that competition) knows that results do matter. And while I have been tempted at times to downplay my desire to succeed in an attempt to diminish the pain associated with losing, the harsh winds of reality that always blow strong in the wake of defeat remind me that the importance of outcome is an inevitable fact of sport. But simply winning is not the only meaningful measurement of success; it is not even the most important.

The wrestling mindset is one that is all too-often outcome oriented. When ESPN dedicated a portion of its series “The Season” to documenting the personal stories of the 2002 Iowa Hawkeye wrestling team, the world caught a glimpse of just how intense and emotional the successes and failures of a wrestler can be.
After the unbeaten and No. 1-ranked Mike Zadick placed seventh at the NCAA National Championships, the documentary chronicled how weeks went by before Zadick and his father began speaking to each other again.

The emotional pain associated with the loss was simply too great for both of them: Zadick likened the experience he had to the death of a close family member and Zadick’s father shed a tear on camera as he spoke about the tournament. Zadick’s brother, Bill, a former Hawkeye himself, commented that time would not erase the pain that Mike felt. Instead, the older Zadick suggested that his brother would wake up each and every day feeling worse than he did the day before. The elder brother felt a sort of empathy that not many in the world can feel.

(To finish the remainder of this article, subscribe to W.I.N. Magazine through the merchandise section or inquire about a subscription via e-mail.)

That's a very good article. Dyer really puts into words what most wrestlers feel after losing out at regionals, state, or any other tournament. I for one can relate to what he's saying.

He also includes words that most wrestlers need a dictionary to understand! LOL

No Swayz that just you, I understood perfectly

I can't wait to read the entire article. Justin seems to have a renewed value in being able to compete and enjoying the journey!

As I have told many people who are on the inside of wrestling, as well as those who are on the outside of the sport. Just the opportunity to be competing at the college level is a fantastic experience in itself. Now days with such a limited amount of funds and spots on teams, I just sit back and admire the past accomplishments of these young men and the opprotunities they will have in the future. I have always thought that every time you step on the mat a lesson is about to be learned, whether that be in winning or losing. And in a lot of cases some of the most important lessons are learned in losing as well as winning. In wrestling as well as life there is a great amount of similarities, some good some bad but always a lesson. Justin is very smart, a self driven young man with a great attitude. And after reading the article he wrote, he has already learned more lessons than alot of people. Keep up the hard work and best of luck in the coming seasons

Justin Dyer is the complete package, one of the brightest minds, compassionate, competitive and a man at peace with his values. Have ordered the subscription and urge others to do the same. For those who know Justin, you won't be surprised by his growth and maturity. For those who don't, here is a wonderful role model for ALL wrestlers, regardless of your age.

The complete article from W.I.N. magazine:

By Justin Dyer, Special to W.I.N.
PERSPECTIVE ON WINNING
Dyer found success in means, not end, to goal

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have tasted neither victory nor defeat.”
— Theodore Roosevelt

A pair of losses at the national tournament this year ended my season a day earlier than expected. It also postponed for at least another year the fulfillment of two of my personal athletic goals: to be an NCAA All-American and a national champion. However, the time since the tournament has given me time to reflect on my life and the role that wrestling plays in it.

If I were to have reflected on my season and my experiences immediately after the tournament, they would have likely been different than they are today. It is often said that hindsight is 20/20, and the amount of time that has elapsed since the tournament allows me to see more clearly where I may have gone wrong and how I may be able to plot a better course for the future.

Because of the immense amount of time and commitment I have invested into the sport, the emotional cost of failing to reach my goals has been very great indeed.

My performance at the national tournament, as the culmination of my collegiate season, carries the ability to either erase the disparate individual disappointments and failures of the season or to synthesize them into a greater, overarching chagrin that will remain in the back of my mind until the first match of the next year.

For the past two seasons (and the past two national tournaments), the latter proved to be the case.

After the 2005 tournament, a teammate of mine who lost his final match in the same round that I did — had we would have won, would have become All-Americans — shook his head in disillusionment and remarked, “Five years of wrestling wasted.” Another senior teammate — who did not even earn the opportunity to wrestle at the national tournament — replied in a rare moment of inebriated wisdom, “Correction: Five years of wrestling accomplished.”

Since that night, the dichotomy between my teammates’ perspectives has given me food for thought. Increasingly, my personal philosophy of wrestling and competition has tended toward the latter perspective.
-
If wrestling is only about medals and trophies, praises and recognition, then it is a shallow and ultimately hollow endeavor. There must be something more, something that gives value to the sacrifices, the commitment, the work, the competition — the heartbreak and the failures — even when these things are not accompanied by success (as we typically define it).

This idea is a far cry from claiming that results don’t matter: Anyone who has ever competed (and invested himself in that competition) knows that results do matter. And while I have been tempted at times to downplay my desire to succeed in an attempt to diminish the pain associated with losing, the harsh winds of reality that always blow strong in the wake of defeat remind me that the importance of outcome is an inevitable fact of sport. But simply winning is not the only meaningful measurement of success; it is not even the most important.

The wrestling mindset is one that is all too-often outcome oriented. When ESPN dedicated a portion of its series “The Season” to documenting the personal stories of the 2002 Iowa Hawkeye wrestling team, the world caught a glimpse of just how intense and emotional the successes and failures of a wrestler can be. After the unbeaten and No.
1-ranked Mike Zadick placed seventh at the NCAA National Championships, the documentary chronicled how weeks went by before Zadick and his father began speaking to each other again.

The emotional pain associated with the loss was simply too great for both of them: Zadick likened the experience he had to the death of a close family member and Zadick’s father shed a tear on camera as he spoke about the tournament. Zadick’s brother, Bill, a former Hawkeye himself, commented that time would not erase the pain that Mike felt. Instead, the older Zadick suggested that his brother would wake up each and every day feeling worse than he did the day before. The elder brother felt a sort of empathy that not many in the world can feel. He had experienced the disappointment of failure during his own collegiate career, and its yoke did not rest lightly on his shoulders.

After my freshman campaign ended in an 0-2 showing at the national tournament, Eric Akin, a former coach of mine and a accomplished wrestler himself, articulated to me an outlook on wrestling that is in stark contrast to the prevailing attitude of most wrestlers today. He told me that, for him, wrestling is not a means to an end. He does not wrestle simply for the sake of getting medals and recognition (or whatever other extrinsic factors may motivate someone to compete). Instead, wrestling is an end in itself. The medals and trophies, rankings and recognitions, all represent a way in which he has failed to reach his goals. They sit on his mantel and hang on his wall in order to remind him that although perfection is not a possibility, it is worth pursuing nonetheless. It is a lofty statement from someone who has pursued perfection (and fallen short) his entire career. As a four-time All-American at Iowa State University in the early 1990’s, Akin never won a national championship, losing in the finals of the national tournament his senior year. Since then, he has spent over a decade trying to make the United States Olympic team, losing in the finals of the 2000 Olympic Team Trials to a wrestler he had beaten in the senior-level national finals just months earlier.

The intrinsic satisfaction that Akin is able to garner from the sport comes from his eternal outlook on life in general. Because he knows that we both share a Christian faith that informs our everyday lives, he was able to share with me a spiritual perspective that has since been pivotal to my own personal philosophy. He views the ability to wrestle as a gift from God that must be used in accordance with God’s purposes.

Few will go on to compete after college; none will compete professionally. But all have the ability and opportunity to, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, know the great enthusiasms and the great devotions and to spend themselves in a worthy cause.

When divorced from this understanding, wrestling in and of itself becomes futile and fails to satisfy. Those who fail to see wrestling for what it is will likely shy away from sacrifice and pain, unless they are assured success in the end. And though it may sound overly philosophical (or possibly even mystical), embracing sacrifice and commitment, and the emotional pain that they bring, within the great challenge of competition, is a way in which we can bring glory to God’s purposes on earth.

In the film “Chariots of Fire,” the main character says, “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast…. To give up running would be to hold him in contempt.” Could it have been said any better?

The implication of these ideas on my training and my competition is immense. As I write this, I am the one who needs to be convinced of their legitimacy, because I am the one who must sacrifice for the sport and the one who must know why it is that I decide to do so.

If my reasons for wrestling are purely extrinsic, then the means of getting there will surely provide an unenjoyable experience in the end. For what comfort will a medal provide me ten years from now if I have not lived my life in order to glorify my God? Conversely, if I embrace all aspects of the sport for the intrinsic worth of their pursuit, my place will never be among “those cold and timid souls who have tasted neither victory nor defeat.”