You notice it before the concluding whistle sounds. A boy—perhaps ten, or even nine—leaves the mat as if he’s burdened with bricks. His face is flushed, his eyes wet. Awaiting him is his father, arms crossed like a judgment. “You lost to that kid? You were ahead by two.” The boy opens his mouth, yet nothing he utters will suffice. The reaction is immediate: a shake of the head, a clenched jaw, maybe public admonishment. It’s not a lesson. It’s not support. Just humiliation.
The culture of cutting
Wrestling possesses a lengthy tradition of weight cutting. For decades, competitors—some as young as eight or nine—have been taught that discipline involves dehydrating, fasting, and sweating to reach the lowest feasible weight class. It’s presented as a measure of toughness. A rite of passage.
However, the science reveals a contrasting narrative.
Studies indicate that 25–94 percent of youth combat athletes utilize rapid weight loss techniques such as dehydration, extreme caloric limitation, and excessive exercise in sweatsuits. These actions are perilous at any age, but for children—whose bodies are still developing—they can be catastrophic. One research project discovered that adolescents who regularly cut weight during puberty showed stunted growth relative to their peers. Additional studies have noted heightened risks of cardiac arrhythmias, electrolyte imbalances, heat stroke, renal strain, and chronic bone health problems. There is no verified performance advantage to drastic weight cutting—and indeed, a 5 percent reduction in body weight can hinder strength, endurance, and cognitive functions.
More than just physical harm
It’s not merely the biology that raises concerns. It’s the emotional terrain these children are maneuvering through—one that too frequently prioritizes victory over well-being. A message is being conveyed—sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly: your value is linked to the outcome. Not the effort. Not the progress. Only the result. This mentality not only exhausts kids—it distorts their self-perception. It cultivates disordered eating patterns, anxiety, and the notion that deprivation equals worth.
What if we approached it differently?
What if we redefined our role as adults in youth sports? What if coaches emphasized development over domination—and parents honored perseverance over podium placements? What if, instead of fixating on numbers on a scale, we instruct kids on how to nourish their bodies, respect their growth, and foster emotional resilience? And what if we gave equal focus to the connections between teammates as we do to the competition brackets? Some of the most impactful lessons in youth sports occur not on the mat—they transpire at post-tournament meals, during team hikes, or in hotel corridors during overnight excursions. Connection cultivates resilience. When kids feel they belong—to each other, not merely to the scoreboard—they are more inclined to remain in the sport, to uplift one another, and to cultivate a healthier relationship with competition itself.
It’s worthwhile to ponder: how many “bad matches” are merely the visible indicators of an unseen strain? I’ve witnessed kids being blamed for subpar performance when the genuine issue was fatigue from an aggressive weight cut.
Dehydration hampers reaction time, endurance, and strength. Even minor fluid loss can diminish performance by up to 10 percent, yet we compel children—many weighing under 100 pounds—to wrestle after spitting in cups and skipping meals. Then we reprimand them for their sluggishness. That’s not toughness. That’s a trap.
Medical organizations have already called for progress. Numerous recommendations include hydration assessments, minimum body fat percentages, and restrictions on how much weight can be lost and regained. These guidelines exist to safeguard kids, but they’re only as effective as the adults who enforce them.
The role of clinicians—and communities
As a clinician, parent, and someone who has observed this unfold up close, I’m convinced we can improve. We can inform families about the long-term repercussions of weight cutting—both physically and psychologically. We can identify warning signs in adolescent athletes: fatigue, hormonal imbalances, stunted growth, anxiety, disordered eating behaviors. We can advocate for policy enforcement—not only at the elite level, but in local clubs and recreational programs where these practices often initiate. And most critically, we can steer the discussion toward health and personal growth—not solely accolades. Because no child should have to compromise their well-being for a medal that matters more to the adults around them than to themselves. Especially not for applause that fades before the weekend concludes.
*Sarah White is a nurse practitioner, small business owner, and premedical student located in Virginia. With a background in clinical practice and caregiving, she offers a distinctive perspective on the intersection of medicine, family life, and community service. She volunteers with the Medical Reserve Corps and is preparing to apply to medical school in 2026.*
*Sarah is also the founder of two emerging ventures: [Wrinkle Relaxer](