5 & 6

“The most improved athlete in Track and Field is Shannon Weiss.” Clapping, whistles and general yelling and heckling followed as Shannon went up to the podium to accept her trophy.

Dang. I wanted an award so badly. My Mom actually showed up to the awards banquet and I wanted to walk up to the stage and accept my award in front of her. Maybe then she’d see how great I was in the eyes of others. I rehearsed my acceptance speech in front of the mirror all week. Of course there were no speeches. We were only 9^th Graders. But I loved the idea of an acceptance speech where I tearfully thanked…um, well my coach I guess. I would talk about how I overcame all obstacles to run faster than everyone else. Or high jump higher than everyone else. What a hero. Thank you. Thank you.

I was a decent athlete. I was no Tony LaPorte, but who was? I was still good though. I won enough races or placed enough to earn my way to the City Meet. That was a pretty big deal. All the girls on my team were accompanied by proud parents and friends and family. I had to hitch a ride with a friend. Nobody in my family had time to come with me. I got a couple of “good lucks” from my Mom. That was it. Nobody told me to eat

breakfast or gave me an encouraging speeches. I was on my own. The idea made my stomach hurt. My Mom always took off work to show up to Ton’s wrestling matches. He got a special diet and was indulged as much as possible by a Mom who worked two jobs. She too much to do to watch a track meet that could take hours.

I ran three races that day. I could see my friends’ parents exchanging the feel sorry glances that I always got when I showed up to something alone. They tried to fill in the empty hole that neglect left in my chest. I didn’t do well because I forgot to eat.

“The fastest runner on the team goes to Shannon.” Big shocker there. She was a friggin Olympic runner. Well, in our junior high minds, she was that good. Dang. They were almost done with the awards. My Mom was looking distracted. Crap.  “Well, that’s it for the awards. I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you for the hard work you put in.” Yah yah. Same speech that was made from coaches across the country. Dang.

“Oh wait, I forgot an award!” Mrs. Thompson looked pleased with herself. I gave up. “I want to give this special award. I’ve never given this award, but these were special circumstances and it couldn’t be ignored. There is only one girl who could make me as mad as this one. She is more stubborn than me, and that’s saying a lot.”

“The Stubborn Mule Award goes to Angie LaPorte!” Laughter. I looked at my Mom and she had the face in between question and irritation. Crap. The coach talked and people laughed. I walked the long gauntlet to the podium to accept my award. It wasn’t a trophy. No, it was a stuffed animal. A donkey. This wasn’t part of my anticipated acceptance speech. I just laughed with everyone else and ran-walked back to my seat. I don’t even think my Mom asked for an explanation.

Five

I was at practice after school. That was normal during the school week. We practiced from 3 to 5 every day. I was in four events, so I went to all parts of the field to practice. I ran the 220, 440 and 880. I also did the high jump.

The high jump is exciting as long as you don’t really think about what you’re doing. Everyone knew the Fosbury Flop. It was a jumping technique where the jumper ran and jumped backward over the pole by arching the back. It was fun because you get to land on a giant cushion. It’s amazing how high a person can jump. I was jumping higher than I stand tall. My sister Gina can jump much higher, but she’s much taller than me. I managed to jump high enough to be competitive.

I was practicing with Mrs. Thompson. She kept making me do each height several times. I got frustrated. I was tired and the other girls were starting to head toward the locker room. I went for a jump and hit the pole, landing hard on my butt. The pole made a loud clang as it bounced off. I got psyched out. I couldn’t jump any more. I ran to the pole and stopped. Over and over. I was pissed. Mrs. Thompson was angry with me.

“Just jump!”

“I can’t! I want to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you jump.”

“I hate you!”

“I don’t care, so you might as well jump and get it over with. We’re not leaving here until you do.”

I ran in anger toward the pole, determined to jump and shut her up. I ran with full strength and skidded to a stop in front of the pole. I was mad at her, but even madder at myself. Tears started. I hated crying in front of people.

“Don’t cry, just jump.”

“Shut up! I really hate you!”

We were there until 7:00. It was starting to get dark. I was tired and hungry.

“I’m never coming back here. I quit!”

“Quitter.”

“Shut up! I hate you. I hate track. I HATE EVERYBODY!”

“So just jump and then you can quit.”

I ran at top speed, and flopped over the pole. I turned to her with my meanest Sicilian glare.

“I quit.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

I wish my parents did that to me. She never gave up on me. She must have been exhausted, but she stuck with me because she knew that if I didn’t jump I would never get over the pole again.

I was back the next day. I sort of slinked out of the locker room with the other girls and practiced my events without getting eye contact with Mrs. Thompson. I still hated her, but I didn’t want to quit. She never mentioned the incident. Not until giving me the Stubborn Mule Award. She got me.