Wrestlers try to take control in different ways, and are awarded points each time they put an opponent at risk of being pinned. They are taught that the legs and arms are pillars and, without punching or kicking, the goal is take out those pillars and control the opponent’s body and mind. Wrestlers push and pull to get past the opponent’s arms so they can attack the hips and bring the center of mass to the mat. Where the hips go, the body follows.

Wrestling, like life, almost always rewards calculated risk. And acting is just that, a calculated risk. It is a profession in which it can be difficult to make a living.

The training to become a wrestler sharpened and honed the internal chaos I felt so I could use it constructively. It gave me a special physical awareness of the world. And it helped me find my center, which is the key for any actor. To create authentic characters, actors have to strip away layers of themselves so audiences can empathize with the characters. A week after I joined the team, I won a wrestle-off for a starting position. After a month, although I was ignorant of most of the sport’s intricacies, I overpowered opponents in my first tournament, pinning two of them. I had never felt a rush like that.

Students and teachers in the hallways would congratulate me on victories. The thrill that gave me rivaled the way I felt on the mat. Only after I started wrestling did I first experience people smiling at me when I entered a room.

I think all change in life is painful, but nowhere was that more true than in the practice room at Magruder. I sweated pounds away, bled, broke a finger, taped it and continued. Actors endure a lot of rejection, but it is nothing compared with the pain of wrestling in a state championship tournament with a hand swollen to the size of a melon because you and your coach have an unspoken agreement that the X-ray can wait till Monday.