LEWISTOWN – Nic Bedelyon’s voice fills the wrestling room–sharp, sure, alive with the rhythm of a coach who never left the mat.

“I want these kids to understand what it takes,” he said.

On July 12, Bedelyon will bring his “Bedelyon Trained” Day Camp to the Mifflin County Regional Training Center, but the roots of this event go deeper than one summer day or the numbers on his résumé. They stretch back to the hills of Mifflin County, through seasons of sweat, bus rides, and long nights on hotel floors chasing tournaments up and down the East Coast.

Bedelyon’s credentials land with the weight of a hammer: two-time MAC champion, four-time NCAA qualifier, a pair of All-American finishes for Kent State, and 113 college wins tucked in the back pocket.

For Mifflin County kids and their parents, those numbers have gravity–they are proof, sure, but they are also a map. Before Rider University, before the titles and podiums, Bedelyon was the skinny kid at Indian Valley fighting for every takedown, collecting 123 wins, climbing to the state finals, losing to Jordan Oliver in a close match, and learning the cost of wanting more.

The camp will be a single day, a shot for local wrestlers to chase something better under the eyes of a coach who knows the ground they walk.

“I know what it’s like to be the small-town kid,” Bedelyon said. “Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one working. I want to show them they’re not alone. They can be great from here.”

He emphasizes the importance of work–how the hours add up, the hard choices, the miles driven for one more shot at a ranked opponent. For parents, Bedelyon’s story is an answer to the nagging question: Does the grind pay off?

Session one opens at nine sharp. Technique, repetition, details that matter on a winter Saturday when the house lights go down and the gym fills with the sound of sneakers on the mat. There’s a break, and then more work–short, direct, purposeful.

“I want them to see what it looks like competing at the highest level,” Bedelyon said. “It’s not about being flashy. It’s about doing the right thing, over and over.”

Lunch brings pizza and, inevitably, stories–about the time he lost in the state finals, about the slow, steady climb through college wrestling’s meat grinder. “It’s not the medals,” Bedelyon said. “It’s what you become in the process.”

Wrestling camps can blend together for kids–same drills, same speeches, same tired slogans–but Bedelyon aims for something sharper. He wants every wrestler in the room to walk away knowing what they need to fix and why.

“There’s no magic,” he said. “You build your style, but you start with the basics. And you don’t skip steps. The best guys I’ve coached are the ones who buy into that.”

He’s seen it up close at Rider: wrestlers who started with nothing but drive and turned themselves into All-Americans. Ten so far, under his watch. “If you’re willing to be coached, if you’ll fight for every inch, you can make it.”

Parents who pack the car and drive the morning haul to Electric Avenue want more than sweat–they want a blueprint. Bedelyon, son of Central Pennsylvania, knows what it’s like to scrape for resources and drive an hour for better competition. He built his career one practice at a time, and he still remembers the faces who nudged him along.

“I think about the people who helped me,” he said. “If I can give these kids, even a piece of what I learned, it’s worth it.” For many parents, Bedelyon represents the full circle: local kid makes good, then brings it all home.

After lunch, the afternoon session resets the room. Now it’s live wrestling, problem-solving, finding ways to score when the legs are tired and the mind starts to drift.

“Matches are won in these moments,” Bedelyon said. “You want to see who breaks, who finds a way. That’s where the best separate themselves.” He keeps his approach simple: a product of a wrestling life stripped of shortcuts and easy answers.

As the clock hits 3:30, the room empties–sweat, pizza crusts, and maybe a new sense of purpose. For Bedelyon, that’s the goal. He’s driven the same roads, heard the same doubts, and proven you can build something lasting from small beginnings.

“I hope they walk away believing they belong,” he said. “I hope they see the path, even if it’s hard.” There’s no fanfare, no fireworks–just a promise made quietly in the hours spent on the mat: greatness doesn’t care about zip codes.

In a county where wrestling means more than medals, Nic Bedelyon’s camp is less a transaction and more a homecoming. The next champion might already be lacing up his shoes, ready to learn from a coach who speaks their language and knows what it’s like to want something bigger.

The lesson, as always, is simple: show up, put in the work, and believe you’re not alone. Bedelyon never forgot, and he’s betting these kids won’t either.