Iker Garcia

Mrs.Hood-Esparza

Humanities

16 November 2018

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My dad is my role model. He has gone through so much and yet he keeps his head up. Something that I am just now starting to develop. So much crazy shit happens around him and yet I don’t see anything denting his armor. He keeps on pushing on. Jose Luis Garcia is my father. The same father who named me Iker not ecker or I ker, Iker Luigi Garcia. The same father who has done everything to make sure I have a roof on top of my head. The same father who always pushes to put food on the table. I have noticed this since I was young. Ever since we lived in National City. National City, the place where I was born. The place where I grew up. The place that made me the determined person that I am today.

My Dad has always had high expectations for me. He wants me to do what he couldn’t. Get a good job and be able to spend time with family. I caught on to this ideaology at a young age, probably when I was in kindergarden. From kinder to today, junior year, I have been pushing to have a better life in which I can support myself and my loved one. My elementary school years I spent at Lincoln Acres, a public school in National City. The entrance to the office says at the top EST since 1927. You walk past the office and get out of the main building and you will see a field to your right, classrooms right in front of you, and a playground with a parking lot size blacktop where kids would play together. One thing is for certain, you would not see me playing. I was so caught up with school that I didn’t really look into socializing. I thought I didn’t have time and that I could instead spend that time reading or doing homework in order to make my Dad proud. I was always awkward and shy. I lacked self confidence, mostly because of the way I looked. My teeth. I am Superman and my teeth are like kryptonite, my weakness. Kids would tell me “why are your teeth so big?” Aye you look like a beaver!” “Could you open this for me with your big teeth?” To this day I still don’t know if those kids were joking or not, either way, those comments hurt me, I would try to laugh it off but deep down it did hurt. Eventually though I just focused in school and making my dad proud. My dad has always been caring for me. Ever since I was young, my dad would get involved with school. He wanted me to know that I had his support in my studies. He could see a pathway for me opening up as I continued through school. I always pushed to be the best in my class, to make me proud, but also to make my dad proud. Being able to show my dad that I got one hundred percent on my tests felt great. However, this came at a cost. I get very anxious with school. When this happens I lose appetite completely. Almost as if my digestive system would shut down. I couldn’t eat, I could not force myself to eat. It wasn’t until that thought of school passed through my head and out, that I could eat a meal. On top of being anxious about school, I was also getting picked on about the way I looked. This destroyed me, my confidence in academics and in socializing. It took me until 7th grade for me to start building myself back up.

In 7th grade I came to High Tech High. It was a new start. Sure people looked at my teeth and made fun of it, but I promised myself before I arrived that I would embrace the way my teeth looked. I wouldn’t let it ruin my middle school experience. Back home I was perfectly fine until 8th grade retreat. I found out there was a pool at the camp. I immediately felt scared because I wasn’t comfortable with the way I looked. Not with my teeth, but with my body. There were people skinnier than me. They were much leaner and I felt insecure. I wanted to look and feel good. I went to my Dad for advice. He told me to go on 3 mile runs every other day and to do sit-ups everyday. However, I didn’t eat. During this time I was feeling stressed and anxious about school. I had a B plus in my class, something that I had never had before and on top of that I was going to become a freshman in the upcoming year. As I had said before, I don’t eat when I am anxious. Reflecting on my actions, I was working out with an empty stomach.  Little did I know that this action reduced my red blood cells in my body which could have some serious consequences. At 8th grade retreat I still was not confident with myself, I had flabs. Eventually I just said fuck it and continued on with my life. After this, I went back to my normal life. Normal eating habits and everything.

In 8th grade I found out about wrestling, I told myself I would join in order to make my Dad proud outside of something academically and to also make myself proud. I also told myself to join in order to get into better shape. I have always been skinny fat, never fat, never skinny, in the middle. After the whole 8th grade retreat thing I began to really want a good physique. Freshman year, I remember showing up to wrestling practice the first day. I saw a senior named Nick. Nick was buff, I immediately began to look up to him. When he would wrestle he went hard, every move was precise. His weight class was 135, not my weight which was good because that meant I didn’t have to go against him. I didn’t want to go up in weight because I didn’t want wrestle  against a senior named Arky. Arky to me was a scary person. He had 3 years of wrestling experience under his belt and what did I have? Nothing. I was a loser. I was not strong or fast. I was a scrawny little freshman who was going up against an athletic senior. A freshman vs a senior. I didn’t want to confront something that I already knew the outcome to. So I decided to stay at 120.  This came at a cost.

I didn’t want to wrestle at 128 so I wouldn’t eat. I began to do the same thing I did in 8th grade: work out on an empty stomach. Our wrestling workouts were tough and I was literally forcing my body to its limit. My first tournament was at Mater Dei, I won two of my first five matches of my life. I felt incredibly proud. So did my Dad. I was happy. As the season progressed I ate less and less. I was pretty stressed about school at the time and once again I lost appetite. I thought it was fine, “what the heck I am eating less meaning I won’t gain weight, big deal.” It was a big deal, I began to lack hemoglobins in my red blood cells. I began to feel weak, dizzy at times. I couldn’t win, I didn’t have the energy to wrestle. Before each match we could eat, I didn’t have the appetite because I was so stressed with school and nervous with my wrestling matches. In practice I felt so tired. I didn’t know why. I began to count my hours of sleep, 9 hours every freaking day. What the fuck? Why am I so tired? At this time my dad and I had a tough relationship, I think we were disagreeing in things. He wanted me to do things one way but I would say no. This resulted in us not talking. We didn’t really interact. He didn’t notice me feeling weak and feeling cranky. When I went for a check up at the doctors they took my blood. They sent it to a laboratory. On a different day, they called us back, the doctor told me I had iron-deficiency anemia, meaning I was lacking iron in my blood system. I wasn’t putting food that had iron or other essential nutrients into my mouth, my poor intestines couldn’t absorb the necessary nutrients. On top of not wanting to eat, I got pressure put on top of me by my Dad. I was still disagreeing with my dad and he would tell me eat, “You have to eat otherwise you’re going to become anemic.” I told him I was fine and to quit bugging. This would get him pissed. I would be sent into a whirl of emotions. I was mad, frustrated, but most of all I was hungry.  I wanted to give him a piece of my mind but I had no energy to do so. I was like fuck it, I don’t give a shit if this is our relationship for the next 4 years. Once wrestling season ended, I began to eat.. I wasn’t eating a lot but I was eating nothingless. I was still obsessed with my physique. In wrestling I saw boys with big chests, defined shoulders, triceps, biceps, you name it. I was just a kid with straws for arms. I didn’t know what to do. I was still stressed about school and didn’t have a large appetite. My Dad saw I still wasn’t eating like I was supposed to. We kept on arguing. Even if it had nothing to do about me not eating. This was the point in which I was down with my dad, I really didn’t give a shit about our relationship anymore.  Freshman year came to end, I felt like I had weight lifted off of my shoulders. Summer came.

        The old Iker began to come back. I was eating, I was helping out my Dad with his work and our relationship began to build up again. It was not overnight, but it was building. I remember one time we were in his work truck driving home from school and I began to talk to him about wrestling. I told him about the kids I saw, how they were so built and defined. He told me “You have to workout, lift weights do crunches etc, but most importantly your diet. Sure you could eat clean but the point is to keep on eating. You have to feed the muscle.” I was skeptical about his knowledge behind fitness but he told me that before I was born he was built. Just like I described those kids, he was like that as well, but bigger. I had this in the back of my head, I want to look like that, I want to be buff and strong. I didn’t execute this vision of mine until preseason of wrestling in sophmore year.

        I asked my dad if he could take Brandon and I to the gym. He agreed. We went at 5:00 in the morning. I was excited. I could already see myself benching 135, curling 40 pounds etc. I went to grab the 20’s, began to curl them… oh shit, they're heavy. I felt like a loser, what kind of person can’t curl 20 pounds. My Dad saw this and told me its fine, “you’ll get stronger, you’ll see.” I couldn’t bench more than the bar. I felt so useless. I began to lose hope in my dream, my vision. My Dad helped keep my head up. My dad bought me protein powder, I guess he was impacted by the whole anemia situation that he felt it was necessary to get me protein powder so I could at least take protein powder, one of the building blocks for building muscle. We kept going on this streak for a good 3 months until wrestling season officially started. I began to win matches, I was stronger. I was actually eating now, I had energy. I had oxygen running through my body. At a Hilltop meet we were going against Mt. Caramel. We began to wrestle, he tries to go into a double but fails, I am successful in avoiding his shots. I sunk my half in after 2 periods. I pushed, got chest to chest and boom… I pinned him! First win. The second one against Eastlake I was nervous. I got on the mat, bell whistled, things got real. He was pulling me back and forth, he had a firm grip on my neck. Eventually, though I took him down and went for the pin. Second win. I remember calling my dad after my second match and telling him I won 2 matches. He told me, that the gym was paying off. I felt that was true and it motivated me even more.

I have come to learn more about my body. I realize that I am fucking it over by getting stressed out. It’s a domino effect. I get stressed, I don’t eat, next thing you know I am in bad terms with my Dad and my health. That’s not right. In college when I get stressed out about school or other things, I can’t just stop eating. If I want to get the physique I want and maintain my relationships, I have to eat. Even if it is something quick like a protein shake, I am getting energy, I am not starving myself. I still tend to not eat at times but I force myself to. I can’t let things get in front of my eating. I began to get sick and started to have a shitty life. It happened to me once and I won’t let that happen again.