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The following reviews were reprinted with permission.  

"This searing confessional reads like a novel and is just as suspenseful. Readers groan as Whitsett's blind determination to succeed affects relationships with those closest to her...Her health suffers as she continues to train through bronchitis and a cracked skull plate. Will she learn to admit...vulnerability? This is sports psychology at its rawest: experienced and described firsthand... Any...athlete would be interested in this story."  --- Library Journal

"Lisa has written a journal which introspectively delves into her fears and disappointments and into the often illogical thinking that may have plagued many of us...this book is not a skirts-versus-pants monologue.  It is about recognizing the fine line that exists between obsession and pure enjoyment of our sport—win or lose."   --- Mike Gerald, Amateur Wrestling News

"In this heart-wrenching autobiography...the climax of the book does not happen near the end, when Whitsett finally relaxes and nearly defeats the world champion as her USA team wins the prestigious Klippan Cup International Championship. Rather, it occurs a few weeks later when she realizes that her value as a person is not based on how many wrestling matches she wins. All athletes, regardless of gender, should be able to relate to Whitsett's life story. Currently, Whitsett's book is one of very few of its kind... (Hard to imagine it being any better written;)... 

--James Blasingame, VOYA

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Not (necessarily) about wrestling

Reviewer:   Anne Hewitt (Australia)

I am not a wrestling fan - in fact, I know nothing about the sport. Never-the-less, I found Lisa Whitsett's book amusing, well written and entertaining. Within a few pages I was drawn into her easy to read narrative, and was impressed by the honesty and emotional intensity with which she tells her story.

I would recommend this book to anyone looking for an enjoyable and easy way to fill their time - whether they are a fan of wrestling or not.

An excellent book

Reviewer: Margaret Anderson from Durham, NC, USA

Lisa is an accomplished amateur wrestler and has made her mark on the sport. Her book details her life in the sport she loves and it shows that she fears no one except herself and the possibility of failure. It shows how she battles her inner demons to become the best wrestler she can be and is an honest and frank appraisal of her efforts. I highly recommend this book to any young person who is interested in becoming a wrestler, especially females. It is my hope that Ms. Whitsett will write a second book about her life in the sport that will bring the reader up to date on her current efforts to advance women's amateur wrestling.

The many faces of courage

Reviewer: J. Reggie Roberts from Santa Cruz, CA, USA

All too often we hope to catch a glimpse of something worth our attention, and this is definitely one of those times. This original and revealing book certainly packs an astounding punch, especially in the descriptive style for which the author takes. In allowing us into HER mind (and the unique world of many amateur wrestlers), Lisa Whitsett transforms herself into an educator extraordinaire, by ultimately giving us a first hand lesson on what it's like to face ourselves, and the inner demons that forever attempt to cripple us from within. Tremendous introspective to the very soul of a grappler.

Beneath the Armor of the Athlete

Reviewer: David Costill from Muncie, IN USA

Lisa's personal battle with the emotional strain and anxiety of athletic competition is clearly depicted in this excellent book. Every athlete will be able to relate to the pre-competition stress, and fear of failure. The book is well written and easily read. Highly recommended for any athlete who has experienced the brain strain associated with competition.

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The following are partial excerpts of chapters one and twenty-three. 

chapter one

     An hour remains.  I am four pounds over my wrestling weight.  Running the same route I have since early this morning, I pass the drinking fountains and vending machines displaying pictures of life-sized cans of cola.   Even that cannot produce enough saliva to coat my tongue, white from dehydration... I suck the last drops of precious water from my muscles in an effort to make weight.  It is a slow death...Blistering heat slaps my face and scorching dry air engulfs me.   Every taste bud on my tongue scrapes the roof of my mouth as I wipe the white crust from my full lips, dry like dehydrated fruit, cracked and bleeding.  As I hop up and down, squat jump, do anything to perspire, my muscles feel like they’re scraping against each other inside my skin.  My long locks of brown hair, originally fastened in a ponytail, are loose now, matted by layers of dried sweat, and cling to my gaunt face.  My skin, ordinarily light olive is tainted by today’s torture and has been replaced with a chalky undertone.    

     One by one, the other wrestlers exit the sauna for their weigh-in, leaving me alone to bake.    The heat seeps through me like hot lead as I touch a weak hand to my face.  Sweat is finally beading on my forehead.  I rest my head on the back wall and struggle to keep my legs moving.  My insides swirl around in the heat and my body eats away at itself.  My heartbeat, arrhythmic, pounds out the words in my mind.  I can do this.  This pain is expected.  Just keep going.  I can do this. Whatever it takes. My lungs constrict and my breathing is shallow.  I glance at the clock through the tiny square window in the sauna door.  Time has nearly run out.  I wipe a tear from my eye with my sweatshirt and emerge from the sauna with the desperate hope I have lost enough water weight.  

        “Lisa, you’ve got one minute,” the official warns, “and then I have to weigh you.  No exceptions.” I gasp in acknowledgement and more blood rushes to my head.  The wrestler has not returned with the scissors and my sweaty hair lays limp on the cement around my head.  Time runs out.  I push off the wall, faint and nauseous as I return upright again.  The official helps me regain my balance.   I let out a deep breath and step on the scale.  The digital numbers bounce back and forth, taunting me.   I close my eyes.  Please make this.  

chapter twenty - three

     You’re so hard on yourself.  The words roll around in my head like rusty pedals churning on an old bicycle.  I see visions of practice after endless practice, tournament after tournament, pounding headaches and stone-faced competitors. The constant invulnerability, the toughness; all of it floods my head and gushes over my heart.   The pouring shower engulfs my ears and mutes the outside sounds.  Panic rises in my chest like a tidal wave. I am a volcano, erupting with the repressed disappointment, frustration, and anger that I never allow myself to feel.  I clamp my hands over my mouth, choking on tears as a primal sob pours from my core.  I recall the anxiety before all the tournaments, faintly covered with mental techniques that mask it but don’t erase it.  I overflow like lava, crying uncontrollably and gagging on the tears.  

     Pounding water crashes over me as the tub fills.  I soak in a mixture of fatigue and sadness at what I have become.  I do not even recognize myself.  I hate what I see.  An inflexible, blindly determined, and defensive athlete has replaced the girl I used to be: confident and secure.  Emotionally, I push people away, even those who love me, too scared to ask for help, too proud to ask for support.  Instead, I continue to train, continue to perform feats of athleticism, continue to exert myself in the name of my sport.  Deep down, I know; I am so hard on myself.  And for all my toughness, I have not had the courage to look beneath it all and ask myself why.  

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