Winning
Changes Everything—Let Me Tell You Why
Last night, I was
lying in bed, tossing and turning, when my mind wandered back to the wins that shaped my life. And there’s one that always jumps out—one that flipped a switch inside me and changed everything.
It was my junior year
of wrestling, the big match against San Mateo. The gym was packed with more students than the biggest basketball game. It pitted two powerhouses—San Mateo vs. Crestmoor.
This wasn’t just a
match; it was the match—Crestmoor vs.
San Mateo, two titans slugging it out. So it's no surprise that it was covered not
only by the newspaper, but cable TV was set up to televise the match.
My opponent? Peter
Yamashita. This guy had pounded me into the mat my freshman and sophomore years. He was built like a brick wall—stocky, strong, a linebacker in a wrestler’s singlet.
Me? I was the tall,
lanky kid in the same weight class, all arms and legs, looking like I’d snap in a stiff breeze.
The first round was a
stalemate—0-0, no takedowns, just circling like wary cats. The second round was a haze, a sweaty scramble I can’t quite pin down.
But the third? Oh,
that’s where the magic happened. I was down 3-2 with 48 seconds left. I got a bloody nose—typical for me—and Coach called a timeout, shoving cotton up my nose like a corner man in a boxing ring. “Get the reversal,” he growled. I shook my head. “Can’t hold him down, Coach. I’ll get it at the end.” Back I went, heart pounding.
We rolled out of
bounds with 12 seconds ticking. Normally, I’d hustle back to the center—Coach’s orders drilled into us since day one.
But not this time. I
had a hunch. I crawled back, slow as molasses, shoulders sagging, looking like I was done. Peter bought it—hook, line, and sinker. The ref yelled, “Wrestle!” and I erupted like a volcano.
I hit “the switch”—a
slick little move that flipped the script. I was on top, arm around his waist, gripping his wrist, pulling myself into control. The horn screamed. Silence gripped the gym. Then the ref belted out, “2 points Crestmoor!” I’d done it—4-3. I’d won.
The crowd lost it. My
teammates stormed the mat, hoisting me up like a conquering hero. That win—televised, in front of the home crowd—burned itself into my soul.
It wasn’t
just a match; it was a turning point.
Here’s the thing,
friend: that one victory handed me something bigger than a trophy. It handed me confidence. Sure, I’d win other
matches, but that night against Peter Yamashita lit a fire in me that’s never gone out.
Winning changes
everything—I mean everything.
I took that spark and
built a writing business from nothing, scratching out words that turned into millions for my clients and a tidy pile for me too.
That same grit got me
two black belts—one in judo, one in Brazilian jiu-jitsu—and a haul of hardware: three World Masters titles, a Pan American win, the Mundial in Brazil, plus four silvers and a bronze.
Get this: I didn’t
snag my first gold medal until I was 52. Fifty-two! But that triumph—and every one before it—traces back to that sweaty gym, a junior in high school, with 12 seconds on the clock.
The bottom line here is this:
Winning
doesn’t just shift the score; it shifts you.
It’s a lesson I’ve
carried through every hill and valley since. And in the ups and downs of life—when the losses stack up and the doubts start whispering—I lean on that moment.
It’s what pulled me
to Todd Rundgren’s “Just One Victory.” There’s a line in there that hits me every time:
“Somehow, someday, we
need just one victory and we’re on our way / Prayin’ for it all day and fightin’ for it all night / Give us just one victory, it will be all right.”
That’s my anthem,
friend. One win—one moment where you dig deep and come out on top—can light your path for decades. It did for me.
That spark fueled my
copywriting empire—and now I coach lives to ignite theirs. It’s why I guide people today, helping them snag victories that change them—not overnight, but over time—instilling that same grit and determination that carried me through.
So tell me: What’s
your one victory waiting for?
I’d love to help you
grab it.
Cheers,
Doug
D'Anna
My moment of victory that changed my life for the better, forever.
