Slow as we are, though, even within the positional group there is differentiation. I.e. there are the slow, the slower, and the slowest linemen. I was definitely in the "slow" group (read: faster than the rest of the fatties). On the other end of the spectrum was a fellow named Derek. His real name is a lot more distinct (it's an ethnic name), but I think Derek will be my go-to cover-up name for the antagonists in my stories. I hate that guy (LOL jk...kind of...) Anyways, the closest animal I could relate Derek to is an ox. This guy was huge (especially at my high school full of Asians, where there weren't that many people taller than 6'). Anywhere from 6'-6'2", at least 230 pounds (and it wasn't all fat, either). I remember standing on the sidelines at one of our games against Independence where he picked up and body slammed this running back that looked like a child compared to him. It was pretty rad, to be honest.
Anyways, there's more to the ox comparison than just his awesome strength: the dude is slow. I'm not talking just ox slow. I'm talking tortoise slow. I'm talking snail slow. By the time I took my baby steps I probably could have beat him (at the age of 18) in a race. It didn't help his sluggish reputation that his reflexes were awful as well; Derek was slow as hell already without giving everyone else a head start. Needless to say, he was easily the slowest guy on the team.
Moving on, I happened to be the TA for Derek's physics class. As I strolled through the class one morning, I said something about his speed (or lack thereof) and how he was the slowest guy on the team. I'm not sure if he believed it or not, but y'know what this guy says?
"No I'm not."
I don't usually open my mouth about something unless I'm pretty confident, so before I could even give it any thought I shot back (albeit somewhat hesitantly):
"Uhhh... yes you are."
"No I'm not. There's someone else that's slower than me."
The weird part of this conversation is that, for a very short period of time, my mind actually ran through the possibilities. It was senior year, and I'd been on the team since I was a freshman (Derek had only joined the team recently). I knew everyone pretty well after 4 years, and could name the slowest guys in a heartbeat. No one came close to Derek, in terms of slowness. Not one single guy, I was certain of it (or at least, I thought I was certain). But if I were to believe Derek, he was making the claim that somewhere on our roster lay someone that moved so glacially that even Derek could outpace him?? ...
"Well, who is??"
I mean, if the guy had a feasible answer, maybe I'd end up feeling the fool after all. I didn't really know what to expect. How could he know the team better than me?
"You are."
His response was literally jaw-dropping. As in, I stared at him with an open mouth and this dumb look on my face (y'know, the one where you squint at someone in disbelief?). But my surprise was brief. I asked, "Are you kidding me?" while I guffawed at his dumbass response. Was he joking? Was he serious? Did he even believe himself? Now, anybody who knows me knows my laugh. It is rather hearty, to say the least. Amidst my booming laughter, he chips in:
"Nope. You're slower than me."
If he was a funny guy, I would've thought he was just deadpanning, playing it real well. But he wasn't being funny - he was being dead serious. That snapped me out of my laughter and into a pretty aggressive mode.
"Derek. Do you even know what you're talking about? I might be literally 2 times as fast as you."
"No you're not, man. I'm faster than you."
So, being teenage males of the prideful sort, we made a bet to race a hundred meters (the straight part of a track). Since I felt in my heart that he was the underdog by a long shot, I offered to let him set the stakes.
"Alright, loser has to shave their head."
If you didn't already know this about me, I have a strong affinity for my hair. I've never styled it in a particular way or even looked at it in the mirror much. It's pretty distinct, it grows in a funny way, but mostly I just like it. and I hate cutting it. At this point it was probably 4-6 inches long (which is short compared to now, but that was still longer than most men's hair and I was loathe to part with it).
His hair, on the other hand? Maybe an inch long. He already kept his hair so short that shaving it wouldn't even mean a damn thing. whereas I would be losing many months of growth. Lame, right?
Well, still thinking I had the advantage, I agreed. A feeling of trepidation began to creep into my psyche at the prospect of having to lose my hair, but whatever. We struck the bet and decided that the race would take place that very day after school let out.
At break or lunch, whichever, I found my good friend Jordan to tell him about the race. Also, I'm not changing his name because I don't need to. He's the guy who has been commenting stickers on everything on Facebook for the past week or so.
Anyways, I tell him about the race and he suggests we use the razor he's used to trim his pubes. Without any other options I kind of just went along with it without consulting Derek. I mean, I thought I was going to win the race anyways, why would it matter to me, right? And if I lost... well, that's karma for you. Or for me, rather. So throughout the rest of the day, word spread about the race (if I ever had a hype man, his name was Jordan Epperson).
By the time we got out of class, my sense of anticipation was running pretty high - I was ready to run all over Derek, but the prospect of losing my hair to some pube trimmers played in my mind as well. An errant trip or other minor mishap could easily spell my doom. Whatever, though. Nothing I could do about it at this point.
Quick aside: before making my way down to the track, I hit the locker room to change. Ran into the basketball coach/PE teacher in his office who says:
"Oh cool, are you guys doing that right now? I gotta see this."
After some walking "Hey, loser doesn't get kicked in the balls or anything, right? 'cause I can't be there for that." LOL (and I reassured him that no, no ball-kicking was happening that day).
Moving on, we get down to the track and there's maybe 20-30 people gathered around to witness the spectacle. I don't really remember much at this time, I think my adrenaline was getting going and my mind was zoning. We probably went over the ground rules, maybe warmed up a little bit, but before you know it, there we were: side-by-side at one end of the track, waiting for the customary "Ready, set, go!", with someone manning a camera at the finish line.
I already told you guys about his slow reflexes, so I was expecting to be ahead of Derek every step of the way. Whether it was because he wasn't as slow as I thought or because my nerves were shot, we got off to the same start. Not only that, but I distinctly remember being absolutely astonished as he matched me step for step. Alas, we were only to remain in sync for the first 3 steps.
Whereas I continued to pick up steam, he did not (or at least, not nearly as fast). After those 3 steps, I took off like a rocket (well...relatively, of course) and could tell that I was leaving him in the dust. I ran into the finish line with my arms up, relieved that the result was exactly what I thought it would be (even though I was surprised at the outset of the race). & with that, the razor came out and the shaving commenced. and that's how I won the most thrilling race of my life.
Moving on, I happened to be the TA for Derek's physics class. As I strolled through the class one morning, I said something about his speed (or lack thereof) and how he was the slowest guy on the team. I'm not sure if he believed it or not, but y'know what this guy says?
"No I'm not."
I don't usually open my mouth about something unless I'm pretty confident, so before I could even give it any thought I shot back (albeit somewhat hesitantly):
"Uhhh... yes you are."
"No I'm not. There's someone else that's slower than me."
The weird part of this conversation is that, for a very short period of time, my mind actually ran through the possibilities. It was senior year, and I'd been on the team since I was a freshman (Derek had only joined the team recently). I knew everyone pretty well after 4 years, and could name the slowest guys in a heartbeat. No one came close to Derek, in terms of slowness. Not one single guy, I was certain of it (or at least, I thought I was certain). But if I were to believe Derek, he was making the claim that somewhere on our roster lay someone that moved so glacially that even Derek could outpace him?? ...
"Well, who is??"
I mean, if the guy had a feasible answer, maybe I'd end up feeling the fool after all. I didn't really know what to expect. How could he know the team better than me?
"You are."
His response was literally jaw-dropping. As in, I stared at him with an open mouth and this dumb look on my face (y'know, the one where you squint at someone in disbelief?). But my surprise was brief. I asked, "Are you kidding me?" while I guffawed at his dumbass response. Was he joking? Was he serious? Did he even believe himself? Now, anybody who knows me knows my laugh. It is rather hearty, to say the least. Amidst my booming laughter, he chips in:
"Nope. You're slower than me."
If he was a funny guy, I would've thought he was just deadpanning, playing it real well. But he wasn't being funny - he was being dead serious. That snapped me out of my laughter and into a pretty aggressive mode.
"Derek. Do you even know what you're talking about? I might be literally 2 times as fast as you."
"No you're not, man. I'm faster than you."
So, being teenage males of the prideful sort, we made a bet to race a hundred meters (the straight part of a track). Since I felt in my heart that he was the underdog by a long shot, I offered to let him set the stakes.
"Alright, loser has to shave their head."
If you didn't already know this about me, I have a strong affinity for my hair. I've never styled it in a particular way or even looked at it in the mirror much. It's pretty distinct, it grows in a funny way, but mostly I just like it. and I hate cutting it. At this point it was probably 4-6 inches long (which is short compared to now, but that was still longer than most men's hair and I was loathe to part with it).
His hair, on the other hand? Maybe an inch long. He already kept his hair so short that shaving it wouldn't even mean a damn thing. whereas I would be losing many months of growth. Lame, right?
Well, still thinking I had the advantage, I agreed. A feeling of trepidation began to creep into my psyche at the prospect of having to lose my hair, but whatever. We struck the bet and decided that the race would take place that very day after school let out.
At break or lunch, whichever, I found my good friend Jordan to tell him about the race. Also, I'm not changing his name because I don't need to. He's the guy who has been commenting stickers on everything on Facebook for the past week or so.
Anyways, I tell him about the race and he suggests we use the razor he's used to trim his pubes. Without any other options I kind of just went along with it without consulting Derek. I mean, I thought I was going to win the race anyways, why would it matter to me, right? And if I lost... well, that's karma for you. Or for me, rather. So throughout the rest of the day, word spread about the race (if I ever had a hype man, his name was Jordan Epperson).
By the time we got out of class, my sense of anticipation was running pretty high - I was ready to run all over Derek, but the prospect of losing my hair to some pube trimmers played in my mind as well. An errant trip or other minor mishap could easily spell my doom. Whatever, though. Nothing I could do about it at this point.
Quick aside: before making my way down to the track, I hit the locker room to change. Ran into the basketball coach/PE teacher in his office who says:
"Oh cool, are you guys doing that right now? I gotta see this."
After some walking "Hey, loser doesn't get kicked in the balls or anything, right? 'cause I can't be there for that." LOL (and I reassured him that no, no ball-kicking was happening that day).
Moving on, we get down to the track and there's maybe 20-30 people gathered around to witness the spectacle. I don't really remember much at this time, I think my adrenaline was getting going and my mind was zoning. We probably went over the ground rules, maybe warmed up a little bit, but before you know it, there we were: side-by-side at one end of the track, waiting for the customary "Ready, set, go!", with someone manning a camera at the finish line.
I already told you guys about his slow reflexes, so I was expecting to be ahead of Derek every step of the way. Whether it was because he wasn't as slow as I thought or because my nerves were shot, we got off to the same start. Not only that, but I distinctly remember being absolutely astonished as he matched me step for step. Alas, we were only to remain in sync for the first 3 steps.
Whereas I continued to pick up steam, he did not (or at least, not nearly as fast). After those 3 steps, I took off like a rocket (well...relatively, of course) and could tell that I was leaving him in the dust. I ran into the finish line with my arms up, relieved that the result was exactly what I thought it would be (even though I was surprised at the outset of the race). & with that, the razor came out and the shaving commenced. and that's how I won the most thrilling race of my life.
