Alix Lauer, the only girl on her high school wrestling squad, is among thousands of girls across the country competing in the traditionally male sport. At first she just wanted a good workout. Now, as her career comes to an end, she's aiming to win.

By BILL DURYEA, Times Staff Writer

© St. Petersburg Times, published February 8, 2001

ST. PETERSBURG -- The 114-pounder for the Northeast High School wrestling team brushes her chestnut hair into a ponytail and concentrates on the word "aggression."

She visualizes her opponent pinned to the mat in her signature cradle maneuver as she dresses for the match that evening. She pulls the red and white singlet with "Vikings" stitched diagonally across the midriff. The singlet stays rolled down to her hips until just before weigh-in. That's when the belly-button ring comes out.

And the three earrings.

And the thumb ring.

Alix Lauer, 17, is not like the other members of the Northeast team. She wears a little more jewelry, for starters. And she is the only one on the varsity who shaves her legs. The biggest difference, though, is that no one else wrestles in her weight class.

Alix's participation in such an overwhelmingly male sport makes her part of a growing sorority of female wrestlers that has pushed Title IX farther than many imagined when the gender equity law was enacted in 1972. The National Federation of High School Associations reports that the number of female wrestlers topped 2,300 in 1999; seven years earlier the organization knew of only 94.

Although high schools in other states have enough interest to organize all-female wrestling squads, Alix is the only girl on the Northeast team. Her presence in the workout room has ceased to hold any novelty for her teammates, but to a visitor it is striking.

At 5 feet 7 and 103 pounds she has the willowy build of a ballerina. The impression is only intensified by her long neck and delicate chin, which she keeps tilted ever-so-slightly downward. She is as quiet and thoughtful as the boys on the bus are rambunctious.

When the Vikings board the bus for the 15-minute ride to Pinellas Park High School on a recent Wednesday afternoon, the team's record stands at 10-1, making this one of the strongest squads in recent history.

Alix does not have a winning record. But while she went 0-14 last season, this year she has won three of her matches, two by pins.

"She does a good cradle and that's what she uses," her coach, Bill Dudley, says.

Her first pin at the Northside Christian tournament -- accomplished in 19 seconds -- was electrifying for her. "I flipped out," she says. "I wasn't expecting it."

Someone asked what technique she used to win.

Alix grimaces as St. Petersburg Catholic High’s James Dezarn tries to pin her during the St. Petersburg City Tournament.

"What's that move where you sit out and cradle them?" she asks the boys seated near her in the back of the bus.

"You mean, a "sit-out cradle?' " says one, doing his best imitation of a person who knows nothing about wrestling.

Alix blushes as they repeat her question and the answer, which they find funnier each time. She endures the teasing gamely, just as she endured their silence when she first tried out for the team as a junior.

The initial appeal, she says, was a grueling workout that she hoped would put her in good shape for spring track season. Her parents viewed it somewhat differently.

"I'm really proud of her now. But I had a lot of reservations at the start," says her mother, Elaine Lauer, a 50-year-old preschool teacher. "I was concerned about the injuries. I was concerned about the male-female roles."

Alix wore them down incrementally.

"First I told them I was only going to wrestle the other girl who was there," Alix says. "Then I told them the coach was changing my weight class, so I had to wrestle a boy. Then I told them the matches were mandatory."

Alix usually waits in the hall while the male team members weigh in before a match.

Her teammates figured she'd quit like the other girls, but she lasted the entire season. She came back this year and stuck with, it even though she lost her spot as the 103-pounder to a freshman. She moved up a weight class, even though it has meant that her opponents routinely have a 10-pound advantage.

"The guys are so much stronger," Alix says, "but I try not to think about that. It's like running. I say to myself, "What's stopping me from putting this leg in front of the other? Nothing.' "

As she explains this, Alix is outside the weigh-in room, where 30 teenage boys are milling around in their underwear, waiting their turn on the scale. The door is open and her teammates occasionally shout at her to quit looking. In truth, the only time she looks is when someone shouts her name.

While she is sitting in the hall, Mike Shoopman, the 103-pounder, bounds up like the kid brother she doesn't have and tells her that "her personal trainer is here." Alix winces just as a large, intense man in stretch shorts turns the hall corner.

"Hey, it's your adopted dad," he announces loudly.

The wrestling team practices after school, usually putting in a couple of hours filled with wrestling, pushups and climbing ropes. Here Alix practices with freshman team member Michael Shoopman, 14.

The man presses a book on wrestling technique into Alix's hands, urging her to work on her stance, which he then demonstrates. He's just a fan, not associated with the Northeast team. Alix listens politely. When you're the only girl, you sometimes get attention you didn't seek.

When Alix's time to weigh in arrives, the opposing coach says it isn't necessary. She's obviously under the maximum.

Before the warm-ups the referee checks the wrestlers' fingernails. Though Alix's are already short, she has to trim them even more.

Her mother arrives along with Israel Scott, 21, who is visiting Alix from San Diego. There are plenty of parents in the crowd of 60 or so, but Israel Scott is probably the only person who can say he is a boyfriend of one of the competitors.

At the least he's the only boyfriend who will publicly offer a good luck kiss, which he does shortly before the team convenes for a last-minute pep talk.

During English class, Alix, left, chats with friend Stephanie Dell. They are studying Shakespeare, but Alix’s favorite line comes from Martin Luther King Jr.: “You must become the change you wish to see in the world.”

Alix's opponent from Pinellas Park happens to be one of the team captains, a senior named Daniel Lee. Often, boys who must wrestle girls become more gentlemanly on the mat than might otherwise be expected.

"It's almost comical," Dudley, the coach, says. "They have to run a hand through the crotch and they get a little hesitant."

Daniel avoids this problem by slapping Alix's head down underneath his right arm, levering her body with his left arm and neatly flipping her onto her back. Alix struggles to bridge her neck to keep her shoulders off the mat. After 24 seconds she succumbs.

Elaine Lauer grimaces briefly, seeing Alix walk off nearly in tears. The take-down hurt Alix's neck, and it shows on her face.

"I was in too much pain to fight out of it," Alix says later, as she eats a vegetarian Subway sandwich Scott brought her.

The team goes on to lose the meet by a wide margin, a function of being pinned seven times. The bus ride back in the rain is a subdued affair. Losing has dampened the boys' enthusiasm. Alix is as calm as she was on the way over.

The season is drawing to a close. Most of the team will wrestle only a few more matches -- Boca Ciega and Largo, a tournament at Northeast and then the District meet today. For Alix, who says she probably will not continue wrestling in college, tonight's match probably will be the last time she pulls on a singlet.

"I wish I had started as a freshman," she says.

She climbs off the bus and waits at the curb for her mother to pick her up.

She has just enough time to put her jewelry back on.

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