During my High School years I participated in scholastic wrestling, a sport that is very similar to collegiate wrestling with some minor differences. I was probably in the best shape of my life.
Each match consisted of three, two-minute periods...six minutes altogether.
The third period was the toughest. My arms and legs felt like rubber. Mouth was dry. Breath heavy. And if the opponent was good, that meant you're going all the way with him, unless of course, one of you pins the other.
For the last week or so, I’ve had a rough going with this treatment (I even lost about three pounds this past weekend). In my naivety, I thought the side effects plateaued to a level where I can live a normal life – a state of idealism that left me facing the realty of the situation.
I can only imagine that it's going to get worse before it finally gets better.
This is my 'Third' period. But instead of the chances of getting pinned to the mat, I am fighting for my life.