March 12, 2020:

First days back from summer break, the sadistic coaches would force PE classes to run an urban obstacle course, two-and-a-half-ish miles around the campus, down the sidewalk, through the gate, around the track, up the big stairs. Where the math nerds would finish walking and the varsity fucks would strut.

Unclear what the purpose was. Determine who'd exercised versus who'd been a couch rat? No idea. Only that it was cruel to nearly everyone.

Except me.

I loved to run, and I'd spent break playing basketball all day, or riding bikes 50 miles across town down and up big hills. Every year I'd lead the pack up the big stairs, often long before that year's King Varsity Fuck made it through the gate onto the track.

The coaches were invariably amazed. Seemingly no-one took notes for someone else's later use because they were each individually shocked. Whatever. It was a symptom of stereotype, and prejudice. The lanky skinny kid who hides behind his hair is a better athlete than the football shits. Unheard-of.

The more thoughtful of the coaches eventually approached me for the track and basketball teams. I suppose football itself was interdicted, either because I was too thin to take a clobbering or because they just hadn't cottoned-on to the reality that I could throw more accurately and pass-defend more successfully than any of their varsity fucks. I had those genes, inherited from the semi-pro softball-pitching father. Or perhaps word had gone around that I'd knocked Johnny Football Fuckwit on his ass in the lunch court because he was bullying one of the special ed kids. Doesn't matter. Fuck the jocks and fuck you. I don't want a fucking thing to do with your fucking school teams. Or your fucking school, if I can avoid it.

The less thoughtful of the coaches was arrested for bringing strippers into the motel rooms rented by the wrestling team during road trips. Boys being boys, or some kinda shit.