One of them is Hamid Sourian, 27, who won a gold medal in London in the 55 kg (121 pound) Greco-Roman competition and started wrestling when he was 7. Without the lure of the Olympics, he said, he probably would not have pursued the sport. “Training is hard,” he said. “You suffer to become the best. If there are no Games, there is no motivation.”

Mr. Sourian was happy to be a champion, a “qahreman” in Persian, but following his coach he strove to be a pahlavan. “That title is granted to you by the people, not in a championship,” he said. “It’s about being high-minded, having good ethics and being generous. He who stays in touch with his roots becomes a pahlavan in the eyes of the people.”

The quasi-mysticism that lies at the foundation of Iranian male culture has roots in the Iranian tradition of the “Zurkhaneh,” the house of strength. There men dressed in loincloths follow a workout schedule hundreds of years old, to religious chants, while wielding heavy clubs and bow-like weights above their heads. Usually a session ends with a wrestling match between two pahlavans, the highest in the house’s hierarchy. Though declining interest has forced the closing of many of these clubs, their values are still held high by many.

One problem, Iranian wrestling officials admit, is that the country does not allow women to wrestle, a decision that would update the sport and possibly make it commercially more attractive.

“It is true that not allowing women to compete limits us,” Mr. Asqari admitted. “But we cannot allow it due to our Islamic beliefs.” No women will participate during the Wrestling World Cup competition, Mr. Asqari confirmed. “It is hard for us to change,” he said. “Things are good the way they are.”

At the Marqoobkar wrestling club, in the Nasiabad neighborhood, Mr. Dodangeh kept a strict eye on his boys.

“Don’t talk,” he shouted at two chubby boys (“heavyweights,” Mr. Dodangeh said) who lay entangled on the mat. “Let’s send them home for today,” he concluded. “They are getting tired.”