I guess if I was lying on a leather couch with some guy with a tweed jacket with the patches on sleeve analysing my psyche, the conclusion might be that I’m an attention seeker. I enjoy making a spectacle of myself. Posting my weight on Facebook is a real “look at me” move. Operation 180 has really filled a void in my life. Since the rock and roll part of my life ended, the spotlight has dimmed. I think part of the reason I became a teacher was to be in front of people on a daily basis. I used to tell myself that I became a teacher because of 21 Jump Street. You know you could always stay young and cool while hanging out in high school forever. That reason has faded but the attention is still nice.
The other day in class, there was about 5 minutes left in my Grade 12 World History class. The lesson was over and we were just talking. I asked “Who do you think the fastest teacher at the school is?” Someone said that I wouldn’t finish in the top ten. Damn. Its probably true but snap. It hurt. I pipe up. “Bet I could beat some of you in a race.”
“Betcha you can’t.” Uh oh.
“Let’s race tomorrow at lunch.” What have I got myself into?
Cue the hype machine. I was walking down the hall after class and a student I didn’t know asks when the race was going down. Damn you text messaging and social media. The race was the buzz of the school.
Lunchtime. I felt like the kid in “Three O’Clock High”. Everyone was waiting for him to fight after school. I get changed and walk to the track. There are 100 plus kids out there. Teachers have congregated. Some walked out to the track because they thought that there was going to be a fight. Whenever you see a giant migration of kids, you know something is going down.I feel their silent support. “Show these kids who’s the boss.” There is a megaphone. The kids line the track. Shit.
I knew I was in trouble but I couldn’t back out. My running shoes felt weird for some reason. Then I remembered that my god forsaken dog had pulled the insole out the night before. Shit. No excuses. Let’s do this. I’m on the line and the countdown begins. We start.
Within the first ten metres I’m back a step. Shit. Maybe the kid will get tired. Nope. He starts to pull away. I push on. I am maxing out. He pulls ahead. Then the worse thing happens. The kid turns around and slows down. Damn. I can’t catch him. I know its over. I am 35. Shit. I will never beat a 17 year old again. I feel the collective disappointment of the crowd. Some kids actually believed I could win. I feel great for the kid I raced. He defended the natural order. Could I have run tits out for a 100 metres before Operation 180? Nope. Did I love the spectacle of it all? Yep. Was it worth it? For sure.
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