“The Spaniard’s” 9 Takeaways from a Life of Wrestling

Wrestler, MMA fighter, mentor, author and speaker Charlie "The Spainard" Brenneman.

Wrestling is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life. I’ve traveled internationally, competed in many sports, fought at the highest level in the world, and, yet, all of my values, philosophies and guiding principles come from wrestling. There’s just something about the sport. It hooked me when I was eight years old.


The Hollidaysbug Old-Timers Tournament is my first recollection of wrestling. Running around the Hollidaysburg Junior High School (Blair County, PA), barely old enough to really realize what the sport actually was, I was like a kid in a candy store. All I really knew what that my dad was mopping up on the mats, wrestling in multiple age divisions and weight classes. My dad was an average wrestler in high school, but compared to the other “old-timers”, he was as fit and ready as any athlete could be. At one point, he wrestled back-to-back “finals” matches, just a few minutes apart.


Just as I treated my experience on Spike TV’s Pros vs. Joes as a serious competition, so did my dad treat the Old-Timers Tournament. I guess that’s where I got my mentality, from my dad. By living by his code, he was making an impression on me. At only eight years old, I was taking notes (unknowingly of course).


Present day, with a 2016 perspective, it seems odd, impressive, cool and even a bit crazy to think that these middle-aged (old) men were going toe to toe on a wrestling mat, some not having wrestled competitively for decades. Imagine yourself now, present day, strapping on your wrestling shoes and going to battle with another person. Even more, imagine yourself putting on a wrestling singlet...and wearing it in public! I’m a professional fighter, and even I’d feel a bit awkward wearing a singlet.


The strains, pulls, tears and even lawsuits would plague the present day Old- Timers Tournament. Yes, there are some versions of “recapture the glory” and “good-time” tournaments floating around out there, but I’m not aware of any that were as intense as the ones that are embedded in my childhood memories. We all have those memories in one form or another. And those memories are what make us who we are—wrestlers!


My dad was 38-42 years old during his reign as the “Baddest Old-Timer in Blair County” (The oldest competitors were the Jackson brothers in their late 50’s). The effects of those years live on in my siblings and me, and I’m confident they will trickle down into our own children as well. Whether or not my kids wrestle is irrelevant; just as I am part German and Italian, so am I part wrestler. Gracie, my daughter, has no choice but to be raised part wrestler as well. She is the recipient of the guidelines and principles I learned from my parents and from the sport of wrestling. How fortunate she is. How fortunate I was. Not every kid is born with the privilege of being exposed to such an amazing sport and lifestyle at such a young age.


I started wrestling soon after my dad’s dominance ended at the Old-Timers Tournament. As a matter of fact, I got pinned in 19 seconds in my very first match at 8 years old. The next year I was 16-4. The next year I was 42-4. The next year I was 40-6. How, and WHY, do I remember that? Because, why wouldn’t I? We all do. I remember names, dates, scores and tons of other erroneous facts that comprised my wrestling childhood.


For decades, I grew and improved as a wrestler, but more importantly, I grew as a person. I was experiencing triumph and heartbreak when most kids were at home watching Saturday afternoon cartoons. I was being taught discipline, responsibility and perseverance. I cried. A lot. From 8-12, I would cry because I was mad for losing. Early on, I’d throw temper tantrums, my face turning red with anger. My dad was always there, harnessing my emotions, speaking to me calmly and objectively. From 13-16, I’d cry less and surely refrain from temper tantrums. But, I still cried. Not because I was filled with anger, but because my feelings were hurt. I tried so hard to win, and I didn’t. At 17 and 18, I cried, but I did my best to limit my emotions to a secluded location, disconnected from nearly everyone. (Later in life, well into my professional fighting career, I would come to really value and appreciate the seclusion of a locker room post competition. It’s where you, as an athlete, can escape every single thing related to competition and just “let go”).


High school wrestling was a success for me, but definitely not like I had imagined. Falling short in the PIAA state finals two years in a row left a scar that would take many, many years to heal. Even today, losing that second state title is one of the top 3 most heartbreaking experiences of my life. I had no choice but to forge ahead; it’s the only thing I knew.


I certainly wasn’t perfect in handling my emotions, but with maturity, experience, and the ongoing support and encouragement of my parents, I found a system that worked for me. I’m an emotional person. I cry. That doesn’t make me, or anyone else, less of a man. But, being able to harness those emotions in critical times is key to success.


Graduating high school as a “blue-chip” prospect, I was ready to “blast-double” NCAA Division I wrestling right on its butt. Visions of sugarplums danced in my head...Little did I know the intensity that awaited me. Let’s just say the first four years of my collegiate wrestling career were a BIG learning experience. For the first time in my life, I was average, less than average actually. But as I always did, I kept plugging away. It’s the only thing I knew. It’s what I learned at the Old-Timers Tournament almost 15 years prior. My dad had only shown me how to move forward. He was kind and always supportive, but when I needed to be pushed, he pushed.


I wanted more than anything to graduate from college with an All-American medal. But at the pace I was going, wrestling varsity wasn’t even a guarantee. You know what I did? I went back to my emotions. Wrestling had become “not fun.” The trips, the camaraderie, the excitement—it had all gone to stress, frustration and sweating the small stuff. I no longer loved it. I was doing it because it’s who I was, but the joy was long gone. I was basically in survival mode.


Prior to the first match of my senior season at Lock Haven University, I made a bold, but necessary, declaration. I took my brother and my dad aside and said, “That’s it. I’m done. This isn’t fun anymore. I don’t want any stress this season. I want to go back to how it used to be.” I don’t know if I was telling them or asking them if it was OK, but either way, it worked. I went on to at 35-11 senior season and finished one match away from All-American status. As a 34 year old, I feel content that I fulfilled my potential that season. Would I have loved to win that last match and come home with a medal? Abso-stinkin-lutely. But, sometimes the other guy is just better. Johny Hendricks was just better.


Almost three decades later, I’ve realized an absolute truth: True success is not measured by victories and defeats. True success is measured by the journey, by continually learning, improving and growing. It’s about owning your journey and being proud of it. That being said, I ALWAYS wanted to win. I still want to win in everything I do. But, winning isn’t the only thing. It takes years (sometimes decades) of experience to realize that. My advice to you, young wrestlers: Take advantage of your coaches’, parents’ and mentors’ experiences. Be intentional about growing as a wrestler and as person. You train every day to become an All-American on the mat, but how much work do you put into becoming an All- American off the mat? One day, wrestling will be over, but your life will have just begun.


I took the skills I learned in wrestling and transferred them into the world of professional fighting. I still smile when I think of how many guys were tougher than I on the mat...off the mat, too. I never fought prior to becoming a professional fighter (save for a scuffle at 12 years old). I was afraid of fighting. I’ve walked away from 20 fights in my life, I bet. If you would’ve lined up 10 of us wrestlers and asked which one would become a UFC fighter, I’d have been the last one picked, guaranteed. There were many factors that contributed to my success in professional fighting, but 3 of them stand out as invaluable. I had a clear vision of exactly what I wanted to be, a burning desire to become that person, and an unwavering faith that it would happen.


When I decided to leave my teaching position to pursue professional fighting, I was told it was a crazy idea. Maybe it was, but I made a plan. There were steps I followed to give myself the best chance of succeeding. I now spend my time teaching those steps to young people who not only want to follow their dreams, but also have the burning desire to see them through.


Below I’ve outlined nine key principles that helped me succeed at each level of wrestling: elementary, junior/senior high and college. Use them as yours, or use them as a guideline for creating your own.


Elementary

1. Make it fun. Fun is what I lost in college. It’s also what enabled me to finish my collegiate career on a high note. If you lose the fun in wrestling at a young age, and you might not make it to junior high.

2. Take a break from the tournament trail. Don’t be afraid to sit out a week or two here and there. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

3. Your child will do as you do, not as you say. Teach respect by showing respect. Teach hard work by working hard. My dad did, and it has lasted a lifetime.


Junior/Senior High

4. Don’t worry, there will be plenty of time to socialize when you’re older. Champions do what ordinary people aren’t willing to do. I don’t intend for you to never have fun, but I’ve missed many parties (or refrained from eating pizza) many times. It’s well worth it.

5. No matter what anyone tells you, your hopes and dreams are not crazy. I knew at 8 years old I wanted to do something extraordinary with my life. At 34 years old, my mentality is still the same.

6. Falling short of your high school wrestling dreams will forever be painful, but real men (and women) become better as a result. Conversely, achieving your high school wrestling dreams does not guarantee you success in life. At 30 years old, the real world doesn’t care how many state titles you won.


College

7. Go to class. By simply showing up and being aware, you can succeed. I went to every single Economics class at 8 AM on Monday/Wednesday/Friday my first semester at college, and I got an A. I knew very little, but my professor saw my dedication and persistence, and he valued it greatly.

8. Be aware of the concept of mitigating (reducing) risk in your life. College is full of opportunities to lose focus on your goals and get swayed in unfavorable directions. One seemingly small decision can effect the rest of your life. You’re in college to get a degree and wrestle. Don’t forget that.

9. Trust in your coaches. You don’t know more than them. They have been in your shoes. If they make a decision, there’s a reason for it. Do your job and remember, “All ships rise in a high tide.” Make yourself better, and your team gets better.


Author Bio:

Charlie “The Spaniard” Brenneman is a professional mixed martial arts fighter, speaker, mentor and author. Following a successful high school wrestling career, Charlie took his talents to Lock Haven University where he achieved a top 12 finish at Division I Nationals and 1st Team All-Academic. After teaching Spanish for three years and winning Spike TV’s Pros vs. Joes, Charlie decided to leave his job to pursue a master’s degree and begin his professional fighting career—“The Spaniard” was born. In 2011, he was ranked as high as #7 in the world, and in 2015, he published his autobiography, Driven: My Unlikely Journey from Classroom to Cage. Charlie currently lives in PA with his wife and daughter. You can find his program information and follow his blog at: www.charlie-brenneman.com.