“Tina, and shot put please,” I squeaked, my face going red even as I said it.
“Good. So we have… six runners, four jumpers, and two throwing sport athletes,” she noted, going through her list. “I’ll be putting you into groups and organizing separate training regimes for those of you in different sports. If I had my way, we’d have three separate coaches, but apparently the lacrosse and field hockey teams here are considered more important than us. Anyway, today, we start by training together. I want you to start by running two laps of the field to warm up,” the coach finished, motioning to the football field behind us. The lacrosse team were out practicing, the twenty-odd fit men all decked out in their gear and tossing the little rubber ball around like it was nothing.
I had never been much of a runner, but I hadn’t expected to be left behind just as much as I was when everyone else suddenly took off.
This was such a bad idea. I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have come here, I thought to myself, repeating the refrain over and over in my head as I jogged along, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. When everyone else began to lap me, the embarrassment got even worse. I wanted to cry. After I’d finished my first lap, I was panting, breathing heavily. I was obviously way out of shape.
“That’s fine, you seem warmed up,” Mrs. Chang told me as I went past her, and I shot her a grateful look as the others were all finishing up their second lap.
“Thanks,” I panted, resting my hands on my knees, trying to get my breath back. I wasn’t sure if my legs hurt more, or my ego.
Five minutes later we were split up into groups. The runners were sent on a run around the school ground, which Mrs. Chang said was exactly 1.2 miles long. The rest of us were taken to the field next to the football field where the lacrosse practice was happening, which was set up with a sand pit and a circle for discus and shot put.
“I don’t have a high jump area set up today, so the four of you are going to be doing long jump today,” Mrs. Chang told them. Go warm up, I’m going to get the shot put balls from inside.”
Myself and the other guy who wanted to do shot put – who reminded me suspiciously of The Mountain from Game of Thrones – looked at each other while the three guys and one girl started practicing their long jumps, leaping into the sand pit effortlessly, like their muscles were made of elastics.
Luckily, it only took Mrs. Chang about two minutes to go back and get the shot put balls. She dropped one at each of our feet.
“Tina, I want to see you throw first.”
“Ok,” I replied, hoping I sounded way more confident than I felt. The other guy who wanted to do this could probably throw me further than I could throw the 8 pound ball. I picked up the smaller of the two that had been dropped in front of me and made my way to the round circle. I took my two steps and threw the ball as far as I could. It sailed maybe ten feet.
“Well, if nothing else, there’s room for improvement,” Mrs. Chang told me, then motioned at the other guy to have a try.
With a grunt he picked up his shot put, went over to the circle and almost effortlessly threw the ball at least thirty feet.
“Wow,” I whispered to myself as I heard the ball land on the grass with a soft thud, knowing the earth would have been indented with the shape of the ball.
“Good. I want the two of you to practice on your own. Just get used to the feeling of the ball in your hand for now, then I’ll come back and work on your technique.”
With that Mrs. Chang left myself and the other guy by ourselves, and went back to the jumpers to work with them.
Ten minutes later I hadn’t noticed that the lacrosse players had finished with their practice. I’d learned that the other guy’s name was Pete, and his father had competed in the Olympics in weightlifting. That fact didn’t exactly surprise me. He was taking a breather, sitting off to the side, watching me throw.
Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me.
“Just pretend it’s a vegetable!” someone hollered, and I heard laughter.
I turned around to see that same guy from my science class, surrounded by a couple friends. He still had his Lacrosse gear on, holding his helmet and stick in one hand. A slight gleam of sweat stuck to his forehead that somehow made him seem even sexier, a thought that I forced to the back of my head. What an asshole.
“Excuse me?” I asked, not sure I’d heard him right.
“I said pretend it’s a vegetable. You look like you do your best to avoid them, so you’ll be able to throw it further.”
I turned around and ignored the raucous laughter behind me, but my eyes welled with tears anyway. I picked up the shot put and threw it, determined not to let him see me cry, but as I launched the ball away from me as hard as I could I felt drops of water flying from my face, landing on the dry grass below.