About Chris Chelli – The Story Behind 130

Sports were a constant part of life growing up in Western Massachusetts. By the time I was 15, I’d played organized hockey, baseball, and soccer, and hit the ski slopes every winter. I had some success — a year on a hockey travel team, a Little League All-Star — but nothing life-defining.

That changed when I found the wrestling team… or maybe it found me. My freshman year was a bust. An injury cut my season short. Sophomore year showed promise — I placed at sectionals and qualified for states.

But it was during the championship round at sectionals, watching a teammate have his hand raised, that I made a quiet promise. I turned to my mom and said, “That’s going to be me next year.”

The next 12 months were fueled by discipline, drive, and hunger — literally and figuratively. Summer workouts. Wrestling camp. Early morning lifts. Measured meals. Daily sacrifices. I dropped to the 130-pound class, pushed harder than anyone, and kept my word: I won the sectional title. Then I blew expectations out of the water by medaling at the New England Championships.

130 pounds became more than just a weight class — it became a mindset.

Then came senior year. I moved up to 135 and believed my own hype. I nursed minor injuries. Slept in. Skipped workouts. I talked a lot about what I was going to do… but didn’t back it up. I was coasting on talent and reputation. My dad — always a straight shooter — summed it up perfectly:

“You’re a lot of flash, no bang.”

That still hits me in the gut.

I made the state finals undefeated — but I knew deep down I wasn’t prepared. I lost. Then I got knocked out the next weekend and didn’t even qualify for New Englands. The season looked good on paper, but I knew better.

Those two seasons live side-by-side in my memory. One represents preparation, humility, and follow-through. The other — ego, excuses, and wasted potential. That contrast never left me.

Twenty-eight years later, I was sitting in a doctor’s office, being told I had a rare, aggressive cancer — and no guarantee I’d be here a year from now.

It took me two days to get through the shock. Then something clicked. The 130 version of me showed back up. The guy who puts his head down and does the work. The one who trains while others sleep. The one who doesn’t accept “maybe.”

That’s what 130 Coaching is built on.

Not hype. Not shortcuts. Just the mindset that carried me through one of the hardest fights of my life — and still does today, two and a half years after that day with the doctor.

The 130 Philisophy

Who I Work With

• Leaders who feel like they’ve lost their edge

• High-achievers burned out by expectations

• People ready to stop starting over

• Anyone who knows there’s a better version of themselves just waiting to be reactivated

If that’s you — and you’re ready to put in the work — we’re going to get along just fine.