Put down the remote, son Part Deux

My middle school gym coach had an unfortunate last name. Really unfortunate. She was a rather butch woman and the fact that students once found some "lady condoms" in her drawer kind of sealed the deal with the whole lesbian thing. Thus, she was forever coined "Coach Gayford" amongst the students. I never really partook is such name-calling, but I had to admit that it was kind of clever.

We never really gelled. I wasn't a whiner, per se...but I was incredibly unenthusiastic. The only time I remember truly perking up during gym class was when several girls and I stood in the corner of the gym and practiced model walks.

I rocked that shit.

But the woman tried. By the sands of time, this woman tried. For some reason, I just could never get geeked up about throwing a ball the shape of Hey Arnold's head. The other boys took it so seriously. They would get in these intense arguments about a twenty minute game of flag football and take it out on each other in the locker room.

"Guys, it's just a game," my chubby self would interject.

"Shut up, you're fat."

"Well, you get C's, so...."

ANYWAY, I bring up this gym teacher for a reason. Back in 8th grade, there was the Presidential Fitness Award-thingy. If we were unable to pass all of the tests, we would get a "B" in Phys Ed. Un. Ac. Cep. Ta. Ble. In my previous post, I mentioned the self-beating my ankle took because I refused to complete a full mile.

But when grades were brought into the equation (and I loved me some 'A''s), things got surrrious.

So, I went up to Gayford and meekly asked for some help. "G, I know you cheated on the mile run but today we're going to fix that. I'm going to busy the rest of class with Ultimate Frisbee and we'll run a mile together."

SCRREEEEEEECH. I thought I would cry and she'd just give me the 'A,' and now I have the actually run this freakin' thing?!

Alas, the shoelaces were tied and as the rest of the class enjoyed throwing a disc and getting in fights over it, I was making loops around them. Slow, labored loops.

But I was doing it. And Gayford wouldn't let me stop. Every time my pace slowed, she looked back and said, "Come on, G. Come on now." I trotted my feet, shook my head and followed her feet for what seemed like hours. I didn't stop though and when it was over, I collapsed on the ground and threw water on my face.

None of the other students took notice of me during this time (Ultimate Frisbee is ultimate, you know), and perhaps that was her mission. She knew how embarrassed I was by my pace (over 13:00) and did this for me. She brought me another cup of water, sat down next to me and said, "You just did that in 8:45."

I nearly choked. "8:45? Are you serious???"

"Proud of you, G," she said, patted my head and went back to the rest of the class, leaving me to regain my breath.

I never forgot this day. She probably has no idea that this memory stayed with me for twelve years but it has. This is so important to remember as a teacher-> you really have no idea how much you can do for a student. You may see it as something small, but it's huge to a kid that needs that extra push.

After that day, whenever someone poked fun at her, I would jump to her defense. She went out of her way to give me a tinge of confidence with that damn mile and that was pretty rad.

Two months ago, I ran the NYC Marathon. Spirit fingers.

Thanks, coach.