By Everett Munez
Medill Reports

Loud banging filled the air as wrestling trainees threw their bodies on the hard canvas, rolling forward and backward. As two wrestlers rolled in the ring, others in a queue waited their turn. Standing at the back of the line was a skinny 6-foot-5, 180-pound, bearded man with red hair that fell past his waist. Nathaniel Itter was a newcomer to the class, coming from his job driving a school bus. Itter first saw professional wrestling when he was 10 years old. He was flipping through the TV channels when he came across Randy Orton taking on John Cena in a Hell in a Cell match. He immediately fell in love. 

Late last year, Itter decided he would try his hand at wrestling. He knew it would be a challenge, especially because he had never played a competitive sport. Honestly, he had never even worked out. At 26, he was one of the oldest students in the class. He wasn’t very athletic and was near-sighted to boot. But he had a dream. He wanted to become a professional wrestler.

It was finally time for Itter to take his first step into professional wrestling. 

“Go!” the trainer shouted. 

Itter ducked under the top rope and gingerly stepped into the ring. 

No pressure, he thought. 

Itter crouched forward, placed his fists on the canvas and pushed off into a slow, awkward-looking roll. He knew the roll wasn’t pretty, but he completed it. 

Now for the back roll. Suddenly, Itter became aware of how silent the room had become. The other wrestlers were done, and all their eyes were on the newcomer. If Itter wasn’t nervous before, he certainly was now. Itter crouched in a squat with his fists above his head. He pushed off with his legs, placed his fists on the canvas and failed. He tried again. Another failure. Itter couldn’t get his legs over his head to advance the roll. 

Just as Itter was about to give up, he heard someone shout from the crowd. 

“Come on, man! You got this!” 

Suddenly, every wrestler in the room was cheering and slapping their hands on the ring’s canvas, urging him on

Re-energized, Itter once again squatted and lifted his fists above his head. He pushed off his legs, put his fists on the canvas … and completed the roll. The class erupted. Itter was officially one of them: a Freelance wrestler. 

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The camaraderie between wrestlers at the Freelance Academy in Chicago was evident from the beginning. When I entered the training facility, not a minute passed before the first wrestling trainee approached me, thinking I was a new wrestler.  “Hi! Nice to meet you! I’m Alfredo. Welcome to Freelance,” he said enthusiastically. Another one: “Hi, I’m Kobe! Welcome!”

Whenever a wrestler entered the room, they’d notice the newcomer and introduce themselves. After introductions, more than a dozen wrestlers gathered by the rings to stretch and joke about things such as the Drake and Kendrick Lamar beef. The room was never void of joy.

There was also the unmistakable stench of sweat and the distinct odor of dried vomit in the trash can. A 500-tablet bottle of Ibuprofen sat on a table next to a canister of Icy Hot. Pro wrestling may be scripted, but the risks are real. This is especially true at the independent levels, when wrestlers are not part of a bigger company like WWE or All Elite Wrestling. Independent wrestling, or the “indie circuit,” is essentially the minor leagues for wrestling. Aspiring wrestlers come here to get trained, get experience and get exposure. Top-end wrestlers on the indie circuit with momentum, or heat, might get paid over a thousand dollars per appearance. The unknowns make next to nothing, maybe just a drink at the bar. Most have to take on extra jobs to make a living. And yet, they still choose to do something so physically taxing. Something without much early financial upside.

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Itter’s chest and triceps screamed at him as he fought to complete another pushup. His vision became blurry as tears welled in his eyes and splashed on the floor. Exhausted, Itter looked up at the two wrestling rings. In the advanced ring, the wrestlers were practicing moves and running the ropes. Two wrestlers would stand at opposite ends of the ring and sprint at each other. When both got near the center, one would stretch out his arm as if to clothesline his opponent, who would then duck. Each would then rebound off the ropes, run at each other again and this time one would jump over the other. The dance continued until a wrestler locked arms with the other and tossed them. In the beginner ring, the wrestlers practiced falling, throwing themselves to the mat and attempting to land as flat as possible to mitigate any injuries.

After rolls, Itter tried to join the beginners’ ring, but the head trainer, Isaias Velazquez, stopped him. 

“Before you get to wrestle with us, you have to complete a conditioning test that all the wrestlers have to do,” Velazquez said. “Go outside the ring and do 100 squats, 100 pushups, 100 situps and 100 burpees.” 

Itter knew he’d have to build up his cardio and strength if he wanted to be a pro wrestler. He knew it would probably take him longer than the others to get in wrestling shape.

Itter ended his quick break and continued his pushups. His arms shook violently as he slowly went down and up for number 41. When he tried for another, his arms failed him and he collapsed to the floor. He knew this would be tough.

“When I hit that wall and I stop, it’s really frustrating to me because I second-guess myself,” Itter said. “Was that really my physical limit, or was that just what I thought? Could I have actually gone further?”

About two hours into practice, some wrestlers started to file out. It was 9 p.m. Itter had finally completed his 100 pushups. He was exhausted, but he wasn’t done. 

“I didn’t hear a bell,” Itter told me. 

When he completed his 30th situp, he was one of two people left in the gym. The other was a shorter wrestler named Chico Suave, known for encouraging beginners like Itter. Suave approached Itter, smiling. “Hey, man, you’re done,” Suave said. “You can go home.” Drained, Itter collapsed to the floor and stared at the ceiling. How am I going to do this? he thought.

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Everybody has to start somewhere. However, like Itter, most start with a love of wrestling. Ruben Torres, 24, aka Koda Hernandez, is one of the more experienced wrestlers. He joined Freelance in 2019. Torres’ grandfather and father watched wrestling, and Torres immediately became fascinated with legendary wrestlers such as Eddie Guerrero and Rey Mysterio. 

“There hasn’t been a time in my life when pro wrestling hasn’t been involved in it,” Torres said. 

Kaylen Lewis, 21, aka Mason Morgan, joined Freelance last year, but he’s already part of the advanced ring. His first encounter with professional wrestling was when he was flipping through channels and saw the Rock cutting a promo. 

“It all seemed so bizarre. I had to watch it,” Lewis said.

Many wrestlers had first-day experiences similar to Itter’s. Kobe Harrison, 21, remembers his first day vividly. He worked with Briana Sparrey, aka Kylie Rae, a Freelance wrestler who has worked with bigger wrestling companies such as AEW and Impact Wrestling. Like with Itter, Harrison was immediately thrown into the deep end, doing an overwhelming amount of cardio. Harrison got so dehydrated he even threw up. 

“I have one life to live, and this has been the only thing I’ve ever been certain about,” Harrison said. “I feel like if I don’t pursue that, then I let down my younger self and probably my future self.”

Crucially, Harrison had help, just as Itter will have. Every wrestler likened their fellow wrestlers to family. When one struggles, the others will cheer them on. This spirit of camaraderie, this idea of family, comes from Freelance’s founder, Nick Almendarez.

Almendarez, 33, founded Freelance Wrestling in 2014, but his love for wrestling began well before that. Almendarez grew up in the south suburbs of Chicago. He quickly fell in love with wrestling, watching on TV some of the greats, like “Macho Man” Randy Savage, Eddie Guerrero and Mick Foley. As a teenager, Almendarez and a group of friends scrounged up old tires, discarded gym mats and plywood to craft a makeshift ring in his backyard. In the ring, Almendarez became Matt Knicks, a wrestler fueled by his magical purple jacket. Knicks wasn’t the tallest or strongest, but when he had his purple jacket on, he was invincible in the ring.

Encouraged after his backyard shows drew a few dozen spectators, Almendarez wanted to try a bigger venue. He and his friends moved to a local park. Without much advertisement, his shows began drawing around 100 curious fans. This was what Almendarez lived for, and it encouraged him to pursue wrestling as a career. A couple of months into training, a trainer told Almendarez that Matt Knicks was a terrible name and he should change it. But there was no going back. Almendarez had already ordered wrestling gear with his alias emblazoned on it. On the independent circuit, Almendarez wrestled throughout the U.S. as well as in Mexico, Canada and England. He enjoyed it even though he wasn’t making a lot of money.

As he continued to wrestle independently, he felt he was missing something. Some of the wrestlers he encountered were only in it for themselves. 

“I was missing that camaraderie and vibe that we got from backyard wrestling,” Almendarez said. “Everybody was doing it because we love wrestling, and it wasn’t really about anything other than that.”

So he founded Freelance Wrestling, even though he knew he would “probably lose my ass.” From day one, Almendarez established a culture: “The rising tide lifts all boats.” If everyone works for the benefit of the whole, the individuals will benefit as well.

“You don’t have to earn respect. You automatically get it at Freelance,” Lewis said. “I feel like the reason I stayed so long was because of these people.”

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An exhausted Itter arrived home after another training session. It had been a couple of weeks since his first one, and he was slowly improving. It was getting slightly easier to roll, although there were still times he would slow down the class. He also changed his strategy. Instead of doing 100 of each exercise before moving on to the next, he alternated between them to give his muscles more rest. He’d start with sets of 30. When he got tired, he changed to sets of 15. When his muscles burned, he’d try sets of five. There were still times when he got emotional. 

“It’s a mental game as much as a physical one,” Itter said. “I try not to take too long of breaks because I have to stay in the zone.”

Itter entered the bathroom to take a shower. Because he was drenched in sweat and his muscles were sore, getting his shirt off was a challenge. When he finally pulled it over his head, he looked in the mirror and noticed something on his upper back: an angry, red bruise. 

“It looked like someone had punched me,” Itter said. 

It felt like a sign of progress. He was finally doing some work inside the ring. While he still wasn’t participating in matches or even practicing moves with the other wrestlers, he had started running the ropes. 

If you’ve ever watched professional wrestling, you might think bouncing off those ropes is fun. But the ropes are what gave Itter the bruise. They’re not really ropes. They’re high-tension steel cables wrapped in light padding. Running into the ropes can feel like running into a wall. However, for people who want to become pro wrestlers, injury is unavoidable. It might even be encouraging.

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Professional wrestling is scripted. It’s rehearsed. Every wrestling fan knows this. But wrestlers still risk real injury. So, while a kick may be simulated by slapping one’s leg upon “impact” to mimic the sound, there is no way to fake your body crashing to the hard canvas or getting your head bashed with a chair. There are ways to mitigate the damage, but never completely. 

Some wrestlers enjoy the pain. 

“We hurt ourselves in the safest way possible for others and for our own enjoyment, because for some reason, we’re just sick,” Harrison said. 

When the others heard what he had said, most laughed. 

“He’s young. He’ll learn,” Almendarez said. 

Yet, there is some truth to Harrison’s words.

Torres says it’s hard to explain, but he does believe pain can be oddly satisfying at times. 

“We do kind of like getting hurt, but it’s for the crowd and the adrenaline you get from it,” Torres said. 

For Torres, the feeling he gets from the crowd cheering him powers him through the pain. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel the ache in his body until two or three hours afterward. 

“The pain is almost like a sense of pride in a sick way,” Torres said. “You’re telling yourself that it’s worth what you put yourself through after a match.”

But Torres knows getting seriously injured could be a death sentence for a professional wrestler. 

“Wrestling is very much next man up,” Torres said. “You might lose your spot depending on what happens and how fast recovery is.” 

If a wrestler has some momentum before an injury, there is no guarantee that momentum will continue during the months it takes them to recover. They might be forgotten. A year ago, Torres dove between the middle and top ropes from the inside to the outside of the ring, known as a suicide dive. He crashed into his opponent and landed awkwardly on his knees. Although there was no tear, Torres still has knee pain because of this incident. 

This is why communication and trust are crucial in professional wrestling. These wrestlers are family. They don’t want to hurt each other. 

“You have to take care of your opponent as well,” Lewis said. 

Lewis severely sprained his finger three months ago while training with a newer wrestler. Because the wrestler had never worked with Lewis, he didn’t know how to properly execute his moves. Lewis says it’s important to technically know how to do the moves, but even more important to know the other wrestler. The more time wrestlers work together, the more they will understand each other’s communication style, timing and movement. The more they understand each other, the better the product will be.

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In a large auditorium in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood, Itter stood to the side with some of the other Freelance Academy trainees. They were here to support their fellow wrestlers at Feel the Force, a live show hosted by Freelance. Itter wiped sweat from his brow. The forum was packed to capacity with 600 spectators. Needless to say, it was loud. 

Itter watched as Almendarez, Torres, Lewis and others he knew entered the ring for their matches. Before Itter can be a part of a live show, he has to do so much more than conditioning. He has to learn how to execute moves and work with other wrestlers. He has to learn how to sell the moves and make it look like he’s in pain after taking a “shot” from another wrestler. He has to create a character, a persona in the ring. In some ways, having a good character is more important than being a good wrestler. If wrestlers can’t connect with the crowd, they will not succeed. As he watched Feel the Force, Itter saw a variety of absurd personas, such as a man-dog and a dad who stole his opponent’s mom. The characters were crazy, but they drew enthusiastic reactions from the audience.

As for what Itter’s character will be, he doesn’t know. He admits his dream of wrestling in AEW or WWE feels distant. However, hearing the crowd erupt at Feel the Force encouraged him. When he watched the show, he didn’t think about AEW or WWE. All he wanted was to be a part of the show. He could handle the vomit, pain and tears. For this crowd, for this dream, he felt like he could endure anything.

Everett Munez is a sports media graduate student at Medill. You can follow him on X and LinkedIn.