I was an unusually brilliant and athletically talented African American young girl, so my parents did what any other parent would do… they made me wrestle.

I would consider young 11 year old Trinity Thomas a normal girl. I was oddly obsessed with Starbucks, curious about lipstick and eyeshadow, and only wanted clothes with galaxy print or covered in mustaches. Just like any other young adolescent girl, I soon realized I was “destined” to be a cheerleader, so I bombard my parents about becoming one. I begged day and night until one day my dad told me to put on some workout clothes because he had a surprise. This was it. The beginning of my cheerleading career.

I hopped in the backseat of the car, excited to become the next prospect for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading Squad. Less than 10 minutes later we pull into a parking lot with nothing but sweaty white little boys and beer belly dads. I quickly realized this was not cheer camp.

From there, a wrestling star was born. And did I fall in love with the sport? No. I hated wrestling. Every single minute of it. The late night practices after school. The constant thought in the back of my head of catching ringworm. Seeing the older boys with cauliflower ears and thinking to myself, “I’m next”. The only thing keeping me from quitting was dad, who I was too scared to admit that every day on the mat was equivalent to hell for me. Oddly, I was a very good wrestler… until I wasn’t and stopped going to practice one random day in September. Till this day the random smell of wrestling mats registers in my brain and it sends a shiver down my spine.