The Tournament

I'm next. My stomach growls with hunger and the sharp, stabbing hunger pangs are now almost unbearable. As one of my opponents steps onto the scale, I examine his physique. "He doesn't look that strong", I tell myself. In reality, I secretly hope he doesn't make weight. My clothes are off as I step on the scale. "One eighty-seven point four", says the referee as he writes my weight down. The room is frigid and I rush to put clothes back on after weighing in.
The disgusting smell of locker room fades and is replaced by the fresh, lemony scent of mat cleaner. …