four really good mondays
“Diamonds are forever.” The Shirley Bassey sample reverberated through the speakers. It was early, dark, and cold. The sun hadn’t risen yet and winter still clung to the air. I backed out of the garage, down the driveway, and into the orange glow of the lamp post in the cul-de-sac. It was a short drive to the athletics entrance, enough time for one song. I turned up the volume on the console.
“Good morning, this ain’t Vietnam, still, people lose hands, legs, arms, for real.”
I wasn’t on my way to war, but I had a battle ahead of me—a test of willpower. It was the last morning of mat drills and my anticipation ran high. I was eager to be done with mat drills, but also felt the pressure of closing out the month on the best note possible. Diamonds don’t form without pressure, and neither do the best football teams.
Feet! Hit!
Mat drills are high-intensity speed, agility, and conditioning drills performed on wrestling mats. They were held early on Monday mornings for four weeks at the start of the spring semester. We reported to the big gym by 6:00 a.m. for warmup lines. After warmups, we hustled into the wrestling room, kicking off our sneakers in the hallway and stepping onto the mats barefoot. Once we all huddled into the wrestling room, the coaches began to yell orders.
“Lines of five!” “Linemen with linemen, skill with skill!”
The lines were for organizational purposes only—our places in line would soon become irrelevant because there was no hiding in these drills. There were stories of coaches locking doors to prevent players from leaving, and setting large trash bins in the corners of the room for anyone who needed to puke. Truth be told, there was always at least one designated trash bin for vomit, and while the doors were never locked, they were usually kept shut to contain the noise.
Mat drills always stirred some tension amongst the team because we never knew what to expect. Junior players were especially on edge as they were all participating in their first season of mat drills. The juniors heard stories of mat drills from senior players and alumni, but couldn’t grasp the difficulty of mat drills until they experienced them firsthand. The drills themselves, surprisingly, weren’t that hard. What made mat drills difficult was a combination of how early they were held, the speed and intensity expected of us, the heat of the wrestling room, and having to restart drills when we didn’t meet their expectations.
The coaches had a succinct format for the drills. If the team wasn’t following it exactly, we had to start over. To begin each drill, a line of four to five players dove out as high and as far as they can onto the mats, then quickly pushed themselves up to chop their feet from either a two-point or four-point stance (a two-point stance is an athletic position, and a four-point stance resembles a bear crawl position). We chopped our feet as fast as possible and waited to see what the coach at the station wanted us to do next.
“Feet! Feet!” the coaches shouted.
We chopped our feet even faster. Coaches waited before giving the next instruction until they were satisfied with the speed of a line's chop. Once they were satisfied, coaches began pointing and calling out instructions.
“That way! That way! Here! Hit! Feet!”
We were expected to perform each drill at full speed, mirroring the direction the coaches pointed and called out. At any given station, we could be doing shuffles, seat rolls, bear crawls, and some crazy drills where we had to roll onto our back, then back onto our chest, and finally into a chop from a two-point or four-point stance. “Hit” meant to do an up-down as fast as possible and then get back into a chop. It was high-intensity from start to finish and it was exhausting. When our strength coach blew the whistle, each line dove out to the next station. It was almost impossible for a line to complete a station perfectly, but the coaches weren’t looking for perfection—they were looking for our absolute maximum effort.
Players dive out to a four-point chop in mat drills, Wayzata, 2000-2009
How We Respond
Football is not an easy sport, and the season is long. We were still months away from our first game, and yet we were working like we were in camp. Coaches continued to shout, “We are setting the tone for entire season! Who are you going to be when adversity comes?” Mat drills were designed in a way to see how the team responds when put in a state of extreme stress and discomfort. The coaches put us in situations where we had to decide whether we were going to give in or come together and push through as a team. More than any other team sport, football tests how a team responds to adversity. And adversity came in different forms throughout the season.
How would we respond when we’re lightheaded and cramping up in the summer heat during training camp?
How would we respond when our legs feel like they’re giving out during a conference rivalry game on the road?
How would we respond when our heart is pounding in the fourth quarter of the state championship game at the Metrodome?
All of these scenarios ran through my mind as I battled through strain and fatigue. I remembered all the years I played in a Wayzata football jersey, dating all the way back to the summer of 2005, when I was just 10 years old. I thought about my former coaches and the friends I had made along the way, many of whom were in the wrestling room, giving it their all alongside me. I thought about Friday night lights at Wayzata—our marching band, the packed stands, and the booming sound of the PA announcer echoing all the way to our cul-de-sac. I thought about the people who doubted I was big enough to play defensive end too.
Legacy
I was set to start at defensive end that season, and I had big shoes to fill. The legacy of defensive linemen at Wayzata is storied. Kit had started at defensive end as a junior on the 2010 state championship team and earned all-state honors, but he was graduating. I immediately think of alumni like Tobi Okuyemi and Kevin Potas from the 2008 state championship team, as well as my brother’s teammates, Javier Avendaño and Beau Illikainen, who both played defensive end in 2007.
These guys were all bigger than me when they played—I was only 185 pounds. But what I lacked in size, I made up for with speed and finesse. After years of training and patience, it was finally my time—my first year starting. I had aspired to start on varsity since I was in fourth grade. I watched James Laurinaitis play in his senior year at Wayzata in 2004, just a few months after my family moved to Minnesota. All of these thoughts and memories fueled me to finish strong as our last mat drills came to a close in our senior year.
Defensive Linemen, Wayzata Football Tribute to the Decade 2000-2009, Matt Lombardi
Not only did mat drills strengthen our mindset, they also played a critical role in building our team culture and identity each season. It was as if the more mentally and physically taxing situations we endured together, the tighter-knit we became. The camaraderie between the seniors and juniors began to form too. Still, holding your friends accountable can be tough, but it was necessary for growth—both on and off the field.
21
Mitch, was one of the three team captains and our starting running back. I met Mitch in youth football when we were 12 years old. When we were sophomores, Mitch scored four touchdowns and ran for a total of 247 yards, in a baggy sophomore home jersey with the number “21,” during the 2010 state championship game at the Metrodome. His championship performance became one of the best ever in Minnesota, but this season, Mitch was in street clothes for mat drills, rehabbing a torn ACL from the 2011 season. Of course, it killed Mitch to watch the team from the sidelines—he lived for mornings like these. But the team needed him healthy for our senior season, so he sat out mat drills to avoid risking reinjury.
Mitch was a passionate leader who led through his actions. In his captain speech, he admitted that he wasn’t big on speeches and was never the best with words, but emphasized his ability to lead by the way he played on the field. The team respected him not only for his athletic accomplishments, but also because he strived to lead the team by example. He understood the culture required to secure the program’s fourth state championship, and that’s why his presence at mat drills was important.
There were no more than ten minutes left in mat drills. The coaches were pushing us to give everything we had in those final moments. I caught a second wind when I realized we were in the homestretch. Because I was considered an “undersized” defensive end, I ran in lines with defensive skill players like linebackers and defensive backs. At the first station, I was in a line of five quickly shuffling from a two-point stance, planting my feet and changing direction with urgency. The coach at the station, a Wayzata alumnus, locked in on me. He pointed to the right, and our line quickly followed suit. “Hit!" he yelled staring at me. Our line hit the deck and quickly rose to our feet. He pointed to the left and to the right, and to the left again. I was laser-focused. Not only was I getting in and out of shuffles faster than anyone in the line, I was doing up-downs faster too. By the time the line could push themselves off the ground, I was already up and chopping my feet. Then, I heard Mitch, dissatisfied, behind me:
“Go all the way down, Jess! That’s bullshit!” he called out.
“Hmph,” I grunted. It was a blow to my ego. I couldn’t help but think how easy it was for Mitch to yell that from the sidelines as he watched us go through hell. I was frustrated because I believed I was going all out. It wasn’t until later that I realized that Mitch was pushing me to compete with myself, he saw that I had more in the tank. Mitch and I were teammates, but we were friends first. As a captain, it was his responsibility to hold everyone to a higher standard—even his friends. I channeled my frustration into a burst of energy—slamming my body to the mat in up-downs and making more ground in shuffles as sweat and snot flew from my face. It wasn’t pretty, but Mitch had pushed me to a higher level of performance that I hadn’t tapped into. He was pushing me beyond my limits.
More Than a Drill
That’s what mat drills did. They instilled leadership, resilience, and injected grit into the team’s DNA. The coaches were demanding, but we also held each other to the highest standard. We supported and cheered one another on. We weren’t installing new plays or learning technique; it was all about putting forth our very best effort as a team. When the final whistle blew, we gathered in the center of the mats. Coach A, our head coach, congratulated the team and said, “That’s what’s going to take you somewhere in world.”
Last mat drills, Wayzata, 2012
Mat drills were never just about football—they were a test of mental toughness and the ability to push ourselves and each other beyond our limits. The lessons I learned in those grueling early morning sessions didn’t just stay with me on the field that season; I relied on them to navigate challenges in other areas of life well after high school. Whether it was grinding through training camps in college, studying for the bar exam, or putting long hours in at work, the same principles applied: discipline, resilience, and effort. Mat drills didn’t just prepare us for the football season, they prepared us for life.
