My First Race

Near Merced, California is a man-made reservoir across from the new UC Merced campus called Yosemite Lake. While I was in high school, this was the location of an annual Cross Country Invitational that our school regularly attended. The event took place at the beginning of the season, before any of the dual meets had began, and this was the site of my very first race.

We got to the school in the morning, and drove around 30 minutes to get the the lake. In true form, I fell asleep on the bus. I was a sophomore, and would be running one of the earliest races. Some of these events had separate races for freshmen and sophomores, but most had JV Boys, JV Girls, Varsity Boys and Varsity Girls. The latter was probably the case for this event, as it was a smaller invitational.

As the bus pulled into the parking lot, we could hear someone on the bullhorn making last call for someone's race. Down came the windows, and we heard them make their call for my race. The bus pulled to a stop and I made my way to the starting line to warm up.

The typical modus operandi for any race is to jog the course once so that you are familiar with the lay of the land before you have to find twists and turns when it really counts. This was obviously not going to take place today. Instead, I had on my sweats and just did the best I could to get a little sweat running before my race began.

As we were called to the line, I felt a little sick to my stomach, usually a good indicator that I was going to do well. The gun went off, and I did the best I could to run a good race. I knew I wasn't going to win. Mostly I just tried to push as hard as I could through to the end.

My coach met me at the finish line, and told me I had finished ninth. This was obviously much better than either she or I had thought I would do. It was my first taste of a real race, and the start of a long road (literally and figuratively) that I am still running on today.

Mr. Hines asks for help

Mr. Hines has been teaching US History and coaching varsity baseball for ages at Turlock High School. He's most famous for his "wallpaper" of Sports Illustrated magazines in his classroom and for his (mis)treatment of the young women he has in his class. He openly proclaims that a woman's place is in the kitchen, making his dinner. He complains when his wife is out of town that he's not going to eat for a week.

His intentions are transparent. He wants the girls in his class to stand up and fight for themselves. His methods may be questionable, but the reactions are unmistakable. I remember as a freshman hearing how Deborah and Shannon Turk (class of '91) would work him over because of the comments he made.

My class ('93) had a handful of willing combatants as well, especially one specific girl (who should probably remain unnamed). She wasn't alone, but she's the one Mr. Hines will remember best.

Aside: I went back to see Mr. Hines a few years ago. I went during lunch break and visited until a few of his students were coming in from lunch. One of the girls came in, and comparisons were made. I told her that Mr. Hines told us we were the worst class ever to come through THS. He said that he says that to every class. I reminded him that we had the unnamed girl, and he recanted, confirmed that '93 was indeed the worst ever, and then flew into a tirade about the time he needed to teach her a lesson, resulting in her breaking out in tears, and fleeing the classroom. In her defense, the unnamed girl would probably tell the story differently than Mr. Hines.

I don't remember if it was before or after that incident, but it was obvious throughout the year that Mr. Hines was having trouble keeping the class in order. Mr. Hines is a pretty commanding figure, so this was probably new to him. At any rate, he asked me to stay after class for a few minutes one day, and I did.

In a nutshell, he told me that the classroom problems were my fault. He insisted that of anyone in the classroom (himself included), I was the one that my classmates respected and would listen to. If I publicly demanded peace and order, they would back down for me, where they wouldn't for him. I told him what I had been telling people for years: I enjoyed being in the class of '93. I found it entertaining to watch the struggle. Essentially, I told him that I knew we were tearing teachers apart, and I enjoyed the show. Disappointed, he let me go. I wasn't going to be any help to him.

I don't have too many regrets in my life, but I very much regret that exchange. A teacher who I respected extended a hand and a request for help, and I told him I wasn't willing to stand up and do what was right. At that point in my life, I had neither the courage nor the maturity to face down my peers and take the side of a teacher.

I especially regret that I have no recollection of even considering that my outlook was incorrect in any way. I was making my way through high school on the path of least resistance, and I wasn't about to rock the boat by reconsidering my approach to life.

I regret these choices, and hope to not make these mistakes again.