As you can see from the sports cliche that is my subject line, I am now retired. As of about 5:05 PM Thursday afternoon, I have officially left the ranks of the RHS Cross Country Team. After four years of dedicated service (two on the varsity team in some form, one year as a captain), I am no longer a member of a team that for three years had been one of the most enjoyable parts of my life.
But I am not sad or upset about this, or not as upset as I perhaps should be. In fact, by the way in which I have left my sport, you would not believed that I really cared about running in the first place, that I felt that I was leaving a close, devoted second family, closing an oh-so-wonderful chapter of my life that I will cherish forever. Rather, I am leaving it with feelings of bitterness, indignance, anger, and ostracism. Rather than loving this last year of running, I have instead lost any and all pride in calling myself a member of this team, all satisfaction in being a captain of a confederacy of divas and underachieving booze whores.
I am leaving without fanfare, without a tearful goodbye to or from my fellow teammates, some of which I have ran with for four years. I will not run with the varsity runners or attend the district, regional or state meets to cheer on my teammates. I will not bother to even speak with most of my teammates ever again, most notably my fellow boys team co-captains. I was not expecting much more acknowledgement of my departure from most of my runners anyway.
And guess what? I couldn't care less. Why? Because I was not part of the team this year. Hell, calling us a team is a stretch this season. In my twelve years of playing many different team sports, I have never seen a team's emotional and social discourse become hijacked by a small clique of players as thoroughly as this one. About five runners (one of whom didn't even work out with the team, save for jacking off her whipped co-captain boyfriend on weekends) took all of the emotional and social life of the team and poured it into their own social and emotional lives, leaving the rest of the team on the outside looking in. This season was all about them and their lives, impressing their own battles into our own personal and team struggles, and marginalizing the latter in the process. This inner circle, this vanguard, this "pinnacle of elitism", completely and totally compromised the unity of this team in its efforts to make themselves seem popular, unattainable and meaningful.
Their hedonistic forays into teenage dramas dragged us into the dregs of human behavior. For a team known for wacky behavior, this team set a new standard for classless and despicable acts of misbehavior that cannot be justified with a simple "Boys will be boys" cliche. Taking a dump in a forest is one thing. Pressuring a freshman to show girls his dick on school grounds? Taking pictures of another teammate's large cock? Forcing a bus driver to pull over on I-275 to tell our devoted vanguard to shut up? Screaming "Take it to the hole" during an awards ceremony (at a meet which our school hosted!)? No excuse. No fucking excuse.
Webster, you were a captain, you say. Why didn't you do something about it? Why didn't you call your teammates out on this? I wish I could. A few weeks ago, I found out that I did not have the power that my position implies. Coach Means had me pick the run that we would do for an easy 3-4 mile workout. I declared the route, which the team did not like. If I was as important as I was told I was by my own teammates when they made me a captain, they would have listened to me. Five minutes later, I ran the route I picked, while the entire team ran another route.
I was the most viciously-bullied kid in my elementary school. I have been verbally abused in any way that you can imagine and more. But I have never, ever felt more insulted or humiliated than I felt that day. That day was the straw that broke my back, the time that I knew I was not wanted or needed on this team anymore.
And so I have left, without a bang, without any tears, and without any requests for pity. I never thought I would say that I, in the end, don't owe anything to that party hotline that moonlights as a cross country team. I don't owe my vanguard a Goddamned thing for their contributions to fucking up this team. And thus I am putting this team out of my life. The good times, the wonderful times, the shitty times and everything in between, will be purged from my world.
Except for the one person to which I owe for all of those good times. Say what you want about Coach Means as an Economics teacher. I never had him, so your criticisms are meaningless to me. All I can say is that he is one of the finest men you will ever meet, one the most compassionate, caring, and dedicated men you may ever know. In this world, good decent men like Jason Means are far too hard to find. Slow as I was when I started, and slow as I am still, I caould always count on Coach Means to still treat me as part of the team, as the experienced senior that I was this season. If it wasn't for his unyielding support of every runner he has ever coached, he would not be the successful that he is today. For his kindness, his dedication to his team and his runners, and all around decency, I cannot thank Coach Means enough.
Old runners never die, they just fade away. I will still run in my spare time. In fact, I hope to have run with the bulls in Pamplona along with the Boston Marathon by my 30th birthday. I love working out, and I truly need the endorphins to take the edge off of rough days (normally when people start getting bitchy, they need to get laid. I just need to go for a run...). But for a few weeks, I am going to take some time off and enjoy some good old fashioned laziness, and perhaps even reminisce about the good times. I may even cry a little. Who knows? It may hit me at some point. But for now, all I can say is goodbye. The best I can do for myself is to at least try to let go, and get on with my life. The tears of loss can come later, at least until I give out homework.
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Homework
- Stat - Test when we get back from Hurricane vacation
- HL Math- Vector homework
- Bio - Piss in a cup (unless you're a pussy)
- HOA - Resendiz returns, Gallagher's normal mood returns
- English (Minor) - Journals, Awakening reading
- English (Feasley): Apparently all you kids do is bitch about your grades. But seriously, I feel really bad for y'all.
- TOK - Harvey will be in your foreign language classes next week
And be honest in your commentary on either extreme!
That's it. Stay safe from Wilma, and keep up the good work. Only seven months and twenty eight days until my birthday (aka our graduation. PWN!)!
1 comments:
I'm saddened that you had such a miserable time this last season because of a few people. I hope the rest of your life does not remind you of the experiance you had at XC this year.
P.S What hot potential?
Good Night and Good Luck
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