Part 1

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I look to my left, and then to my right. I see thousands of people in the stands. I can hear music playing and the yelling of the crowd. The stench of sweat fills the air. I'm standing in the middle of the Pavelló Club Joventut de Badalona in Barcelona at 1992 Olympics, nervous about the most important day of my life. Being from the USA, Barcelona was a new experience, which is also nerve wracking. I walk out so everyone can see me. The crowd's roar grows louder.

The thought of backing out crosses my mind before I remind myself of all the time and energy I have put into something I love. Coach Manel approaches me with a stern look on his face.

"Anders, I want you to remember that no matter what, those years of sweat and blood were not for nothing. No matter what," he says with so much emotion in his eyes, "I will always be proud of you." Coach is the only person who has been there for me whenever I needed him. He is more of a father figure to me then my actual father, which is all that I could ask for in anyone.

Coach Manel reaches out to shake my hand. I step between the ropes into the ring. Then I look towards my opponent, Ariel Hernández. I size him up, he is built well. I'm guessing that Ariel is 6'0'' which is just an inch taller than I am. He talks to his coach about something, I'm thinking it has to do with the match. He looks vicious, like a caged tiger wanting out. 

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