“Pressure Is a Privilege”
“Pressure Is a Privilege” I read and watch a lot of wrestling-related media—this won’t surprise anyone who knows me. Beyond loving the sport itself, I’m drawn to the craft of coaching and mentoring. Recently, an article in WIN Magazine listed several of PSU Coach Cael Sanderson’s “truisms,” and one of them hit me hard: Pressure is a privilege.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that idea—how it has shaped me, how it shapes the young athletes I work with, and how pressure, when approached the right way, can turn people into diamonds.
This past weekend, our team had its first true opportunity to respond to the pressure of competition. We’ve been talking a lot about our individual “recipes for success”—standards not defined by wins or losses. We sent our second line to an eight-team varsity dual tournament at Sumner HS, while our third and fourth lines competed in the JV round robins. Our 1’s traveled north to the Edmonds-Woodway Invite to test themselves against some of the best 1A–4A teams and individuals in the Northwest.
Both events gave our boys exactly the right level of pressure—enough to stretch them physically and mentally as they head into a week of reflection and growth. I’m incredibly proud of what I saw from so many individuals and from our team as a whole.
Sumner Duals
At Sumner, I watched Eban Nau, Elam Dunton, and Isac Deonigi lead their teammates with skill, purpose, and intentionality. The dual team finished 4th of 8 and opened their day with a dominant performance against Monroe’s varsity squad. Our leaders had the team mentally ready, and they took the mat with confidence and clarity.
I loved watching our 126-pounder, Peter Edmonds, storm back from behind in the third period—wrestling like his hair was on fire—and pin the same kid who teched him one year ago at this very event. My heart soared hearing our JV athletes cheer on their dual-team brothers, loud and appropriately rowdy. Every time our teammates scored a takedown, a unified “THREE!” roared from our bench. It was clear: we were there, we were scoring, and we were moving as one unit with shared purpose.
Edmonds-Woodway Invite
After the first dual, I jumped on I-5 and headed north, hoping to arrive in time for the blood rounds and semifinals. A quick TrackWrestling check told me I had time, so I made a pit stop at Auda’s Barber Shop across the street from EWHS. I never know what I’m walking into when I drop into a new shop unannounced, but this one was a gem—family-owned, warm, welcoming, with skilled barbers who greeted regulars with hugs and laughter. Egypt vs. UAE soccer played on the TV, and the whole shop was electric.
But under that hot towel, listening to the buzz of excitement, I started to get anxious to get back to my boys. I knew the toughest rounds were coming, and I wanted to see how they responded to the moment—and the pressure.
Again, I was so pleased. The kids wrestled out of their minds and finished third, behind a private school from Alaska and the powerhouse Cardinals of Orting.
As I coached them through the late rounds, I gathered a massive amount of data and insight—fuel to help us move closer to our collective and individual recipes for success. Taking wins and losses out of the equation: we wrestled well, and several individuals leveled up.
Alex Othon wrestled with purpose and intensity, dominating multiple matches.
Crew Lambro and Jace Macatangay displayed true servant leadership—supporting, lifting, and guiding teammates by example.
Gavin Wells wrestled with intensity and composure all day, showing how a champion responds to pressure and adversity in the finals.
David Weile, a freshman, stepped onto the big stage and made a statement—beating top upperclassmen, rebounding from a tough loss, and marching back through the bracket to finish as a backside champion.
As proud as I am, we also collected clear data on areas of growth. I’m looking forward to talking with the team this week about our strengths, our opportunities for improvement, and how each of us responded to pressure.
Pressure Shows Up Everywhere
Every day we face opportunities to respond to pressure. Sometimes it’s subtle—a looming exam, an important meeting. Other times it’s huge—an athlete’s first time on the state stage.
Pressure doesn’t disappear as we grow; it simply changes shape. And no matter what form it takes, we always get two choices:
How we respond to the pressure.
How we choose to view it.
It’s fascinating to watch how differently people react. Some seek pressure out. Others avoid it at all costs.
Sports practices and competitions are some of the best environments to observe real-time responses to pressure. Whether it’s the NBA Finals with a championship free throw on the line or a pee-wee wrestling match between two six-year-olds—pressure finds a way in.
Recently, I talked with an athlete about the concept of “fight or flight.” He agreed that a big match could trigger that instinct—we’ve both seen athletes fold (flight) versus fight through adversity. Sometimes it feels easier to say “I didn’t care” after a loss than to give everything you have and still fall short.
He wasn’t convinced that a tough practice could trigger the same emotions. But the truth is, good practice is designed to simulate pressure. Hard live work, changing routines, challenging partners—training environments create controlled, meaningful pressure.
One of my favorite tools is the pit drill, which I often use to close practice. A light, middle, and heavy wrestler stand in the center. One at a time, fresh partners jump in, wrestling the pit athlete as if they're down by one with short time left. The pit athlete never rotates out.
It’s physically brutal—and mentally transformative.
The Day I Chose Flight - Regret is Hard.
When I wrestled at Central Washington University in the late ’90s, my coach, Kevin Pine, ran the pit drill often. One evening after practice, he called over to me: “Feist, be ready tomorrow. You’re in the pit.”
I’m not sure why, but it got in my head. We were preparing for a big event in Vegas and had a dual at Highline CC that week. I was beat up, tired, and suddenly consumed with anxiety.
By the next day, I was dreading practice.
As practice built toward the pit drill, I slipped into the bathroom during a water break—and stayed there. I sat in a stall, delaying the inevitable. By the time I came back, it was too late: Coach had put someone else in the pit. He said nothing.
Relief hit first. Then embarrassment. Then disappointment. I knew exactly what happened:
I chose flight over fight.
I let myself down—I let my team down.
Coach pulled me aside afterward. He didn’t yell. He simply shared his disappointment and told me I’d sit out the upcoming dual at Highline. It was the right call, even if I didn’t understand it at the time.
Calling my parents to tell them I wouldn’t be competing—especially at a hometown dual—was one of the most humbling conversations of my life.
That night, I walked to Coach Pine’s house, knocked on his door, and apologized. He accepted it—but the consequence stood. It needed to.
I was bitter about that experience for years. Only later did I realize what he was doing: creating controlled opportunities to face pressure, to learn, to grow. As a young man—still very much a boy—I didn’t see the gift he was giving me.
Now, as a coach and an “old man,” I get it. And for what Coach Pine did for me, I will love him forever.
Pressure, Standards, and Accountability
My boys had a great week of practice and competition. I’ve been pushing them, holding them to high standards, and praising them when they hit the mark. When they fall short, I hold them accountable—and they rise to it.
Coach Pine, and other influential mentors in my life, taught me that high standards paired with high accountability are forms of love. They communicate belief. They shape character. They teach young people to see pressure not as a threat, but as a privilege—an opportunity to grow, to perform, and to become more than they were yesterday.
Your in Wrestling
Coach Feist
(reflections of an aspiring headlock hero)