by Trey Garcia
I have no clue how the conversation started, but at work I brought up the fact that some of the best times of my life were Field Days back in elementary. Here we were, chubby snot-nosed elementary students shuttled to a high school stadium to compete in feats of strength and agility. Basically, we were modern day gladiators – and we all felt indestructible – and hungry, as kids we were always hungry. Alas cafeteria food, you used to be so good – I hear the kids eat Taco Bell now for lunch – as for me, nothing beats rubberized chicken fried steak on Fridays.
Now, the skinny kids, they got to run in the prestigious track events – the dashes, the relays, blah blah blah. Let them sweat, I’d say. When you are seven years old, you don’t have to compete for the attention of girls – mainly because you don’t like girls and won’t for a few more years. Hell, I’m thirty five and I still don’t like girls!
Now, you usually were placed in two events by the sadist teachers who wanted to make sure that everyone participated. As a previously mentioned chubby kid, I was placed in the sack race in which they paraded us fatties as bunny rabbits and had us hop to destiny – and I was placed in the ultimate team-building activity – the Tire Roll Relay.
The scene was set as such – our class was tied with another class on points, and the tire roll relay was to be the determiner in points for Ultimate Glory. The premise of the tire roll was simple – intramural teams of 4 were set at either side of a strip of track, one person would roll it down a straight away to someone waiting on the other end, who would roll it back. That person would roll it back down the straight away to another teammate, the anchor, who would roll it back and each team would experience either the thrill of victory, or the agony of being made fun of the next morning by the sadist hall monitors.
Elementary schools were filled with sadists in those days; now there are only hipsters in training – I’m not sure which is worse.
Now, I was not the anchor for the team, nor did I start the race, I was probably second. The action was fast and furious, and each person had different strategies to roll the tire. Some would roll it hand over hand, some sideways, and some would go for the big roll and run alongside it, guiding it with their fingers. Me, I was more of a sideways slap and roll type of athlete.
It was a hot muggy day, Summer break was just around the corner and we were all ready to spend the Summers locked outdoors by our grandparents until lunchtime – before we were promptly locked outdoors again until our parents came to pick us up. Alas poor Discipline – where did you disappear to?
On this hot day, for a brief moment, in the frenzy of clumsy fat kids pushing a roll back and forth to each other like a bunch of lab rats in a maze – with the only goal in mind being the juice boxes sitting in the cooler on the bus – we were champions.
Now, my coworkers did not believe this tale until I dug through some old photo albums where I knew my father had put my past awards and school photos and there it was – a certificate signifying one of my greatest achievements ever – 1st Place – Tire Roll Relay – May 22nd, 1984.
Now here I am, nearly 30 years have passed, and I’ve gone from a chubby snot-nosed clumsy kid to a chubby clumsy middle aged emotional wreck that has a handkerchief to control the snots. I wonder, sometimes, what if that was it – what if at the age of seven I reached the pinnacle of success.
I wonder what I’d do if I were to go back in time. Would I have held Sophia’s hand in the lunch line as we waited for chicken fried steak on Friday? Would I still choose cherry over grape when it comes to deciding which juice box to drink?
Could I lose my dignity any moreso than I did when I came in last place in the damned sadist sack race?
At any rate, I’m fairly certain that I’d still find a way to win the Tire Roll Relay – sometimes, things are meant to be – and the Tire Roll Relay has and always will be, my bitch.