Louis Lee, Kurash (DOCO 2025)

While in Bukhara, an idea struck: why not photograph female Muslim wrestlers? I pictured the power and grace I could capture and set off into the winding streets, hoping intuition would guide me. My first stop, a local gym, was a bust—my broken gestures weren’t getting through. Disappointed but not defeated, I pressed on. Finally, a helpful gym manager, aided by a translation app, grasped my mission. She sketched a map to a nearby sports complex, and with new resolve, I followed her directions. As I arrived, I could hear the pulse of training—the steady rhythm of grunts and bodies hitting the mat. Inside, a group of young male athletes moved through intense drills, their focus unwavering. In a Muslim country, it wasn’t surprising that women’s sports weren’t as prominent, especially considering my spontaneous approach. The kids were initially curious, even laughing at my awkward attempt to break the ice with a kangaroo hop. But as the practice resumed, the room fell silent. Every movement was executed with skill and discipline. The youngest wrestler, maybe eight, showed a maturity that felt beyond his years, while the older boys moved with a quiet strength that embodied the spirit of kurash—a blend of athleticism, strategy, and respect. After the first day of training, I thought it would be nice to treat them to ice cream. But they politely declined, explaining that the coach wouldn’t approve. An assistant coach, his voice soft with pride, confided, “We have a few future Olympians here.” The next day, I returned to witness the intensity of actual matches. Each bout was a blur of speed and skill, and I could only marvel at their grit. Though I knew I’d miss their upcoming competition, I felt a deep gratitude for the chance to have captured their spirit firsthand.

Images have been resized for web display, which may cause some loss of image quality. Note: Original high-resolution images are used for judging.