The Six-Minute Sprint

Ms. Thompson
On the morning of my
first day of high school, my
best friends, Hilary, Sarah, and
I eagerly awaited receiving our
schedule for our first semester
classes. It had taken about 10
minutes for us to wander the
school in hopes of finding our
homeroom classroom after the
receptionist provided us with
vague directions to our new
hallway. In Salisbury, middle
school consists of grades 6 to
8. The middle school is in the same building as the high school; however, middle and high school
students never intertwine. You could go your entire middle school career without ever stepping
foot inside the high school section of the building. And really, who would want to? High
schoolers are terrifying. Or at least, that’s what I had thought…but now, everything was
different. I was finally a high schooler.
After wandering the halls hopelessly, we finally stumbled upon our homeroom, and our
teacher, Mr. Côté, told all the grades nines to sit down, as he slowly distributed the highly
anticipated first semester schedule. The grade nines were going to be split into different classes,
and I desperately wanted to be in the same classes as my best friends. We had been inseparable
all through middle school after I moved from Ontario to Salisbury in Grade 7. We all instantly
clicked, almost like we were on the same wavelength. We had all the same interests, unlimited
inside jokes, questionable clothing choices, and we all really enjoyed our comfort zone. Also, we
knew we had to take on high school together.
I quickly snatched the schedule from Mr. Côté and began to scan over each of the classes.
I turned to my two best friends to compare.
“Ugh, I have music first period!” Hilary groaned, rolling her eyes.
“Me too!” Sarah happily chimed in.
Unfortunately, I was the odd one out, starting with Gym class. My heart sank. The thought of
starting the day without my support system terrified me. My face must have suggested the worst,
as Hilary and Sarah both immediately tried to encourage me to make the best of the situation,
“Gym class is more fun than music! Maybe you’ll be enjoying yourself so much that you
won’t even notice that we’re not there!”
I rolled my eyes. I was the least athletic person. I had tried out for volleyball and basketball each
year in middle school and never made the team. I would have taken music class all day rather
than go to gym class as an outsider. In retrospect, this was the only class that we didn’t all have
together, but apparently this was enough to completely devastate me.
In the changing room before gym class, I silently avoided eye contact with all the other
grade 9 girls. I knew the names of the other girls, but we just existed in the same school, happily
going about our day pretending each other didn’t exist. Most of the girls had been in the English
stream of classes while I was in French Immersion. I hadn’t had a conversation with any of them
previously, and I didn’t know how to start one now. Everything I thought to say sounded
desperate and forced. Hey, do you like Taylor Swift? Congratulations of getting on the volleyball
team last year! We’re in high school now! Crazy, huh? I could feel the awkwardness seeping
through my body. I told myself to be as quiet as possible in the hopes that they wouldn’t even
notice that I was around. I quickly changed and went out to the gym.
My classmates and I formed a circle on the gym floor. Mr. Fraiser, our gym teacher,
quickly explained how we would start our new gym class routine. He outlined how our
classroom outcome was to jog consecutively for 20 minutes. He explained how we would build
endurance over the weeks, and we would start each class with running. We would increase the
running time each class until we achieved our goal of 20 minutes. He insisted we start slow, and
he asked his assistant to put a ten-minute timer on the score clock. He urged us to interchange
from a minute of walking and a minute of light jogging for the first day. The last thing he
emphasized was for us to walk if we ever felt too tired. He didn’t want us to overexert ourselves.
The students all nodded and groaned. This wasn’t the ideal way to start a gym class, especially
on the first day of school.
I felt a surge of confidence. I ran a lot over the summer with my father in the hopes of
joining the cross-country team in late September. My father has run half-marathons and a
marathon, so he truly was the best coach. As the timer on the wall turned on showing ten minutes
in bright florescent light, I decided I was going to run the entire time. I didn’t know how to
approach my classmates by starting a conversation without being awkward, so maybe, I could
create a scenario where my classmates would start a conversation with me. Who wouldn’t want
to talk to the star athlete of the class. I prepared myself for the run.
After Mr. Fraiser blew his whistle, we all began to run laps around the gym. Most of the
class were lightly jogging, like the teacher had encouraged. There were a couple of boys that
began sprinting around the gym. I decided to sprint as well. After all, I had been preparing for
this. This was my moment to prove to everyone that I was super fit. I envisioned some of the
grade 9 students coming to chat with me after the ten minutes were finished and asking how I
had become such a competent runner. The daydream led me to running faster.
I continued to convince myself that everyone was impressed by my running ability. This
was the motivation I needed to continue sprinting. I was running very fast. Faster than I had ever
ran. I successfully sprinted for the first four or five minutes. My face was glistening and hot. I
could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I most likely sounded like an exasperated hippo. I wheezed
and tried to downplay my abnormally loud breathing, after all, class athletes do not tire easily.
Around the six-minute mark, my stomach turned on me. I could feel the orange juice and
the egg sandwich from my morning breakfast sloshing in my stomach, doing backflips with each
stride. As I turned a corner, I suddenly and urgently projectile vomited. A wide pool of orange
liquid and undecipherable chunks splat on the floor.
I felt like I was in a dream sequence. My mind went blank. My initial reaction was to
hide in the changing room. I abruptly escaped from the scene of the crime. A drive-by puking, if
you will. I stood alone in the changing room, shaking my head and looking at the floor. Did that
really just happen?
“Oh my god, did somebody PUKE?”
“EWWW!”
I heard the echo of students squealing grow louder as they stumbled upon the mysterious liquid
on the gym floor. The commotion grew as each student went to investigate the liquid. Oh no, it
really did happen. My mind was racing now as I tried to think of an appropriate plan of action.
As I was standing in the middle of the changing room, panicking, I heard the door open,
and footsteps come closer. I wanted desperately to vanish into thin air. Shame and
embarrassment filled my body from head to toe. Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?
There goes my high school reputation. Maybe I’ll be known as barf-girl or puke-face. I braced
myself for mockery and humiliation. When I looked at the two girls in front of me, Jill and
Alyson, their faces genuinely expressed concern,
“We wanted to come and check on you. Are you okay?” Alyson asked and put her hand
on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just feeling kind of stupid.” I admitted shyly. My face was on fire.
“Don’t even worry about it!” Jill chuckled, with a huge smile across her face, “I puked at
my track meet last year after the 800m, right before the finish line!”
That statement alone made me feel immensely accepted. Jill and Alyson convinced me to return
to class. Mr. Fraiser had already cleaned up the mess on the gym floor (to this day, I still feel
guilty for not cleaning it up myself), and I apologized for interrupting the class. Mr. Fraiser
decided to move on from running for the day, and instead gave us some free time to warm up
with different equipment. Jill and Alyson invited me to play volleyball, and I happily accepted.
The most embarrassing situation ended up being the best conversation starter for the rest
of the year,
“Hey! Did you have any orange juice this morning?”
I decided to fully embrace the moment and laugh at myself,
“Not today, I had apple.”
Word Count: 1512
Pages: 3
Relatable/Universal experience: feeling like an outsider, embarrassment,