Thanks to Facebook I have come across the ghosts of my past. Those little fuckers that caused me so much pain. Seeing their adult faces does not ease the pain. In fact it had me reliving some painful moments. Here is an example.
I was and continue to be a big guy. You know the kid who had to where husky sized jeans. Even though I was the husky kid I was really good at sports. Way above average in the little town I grew up in.
When I was a freshman in high school, I noticed a lot of the popular jocks had t-shirts on that said "200 pound club" or "250 pound club." I asked my football coach what that was about. He told me that you had to bench press that amount of weight three times in his presence to earn the shirt. I thought this might be a great way to accomplish something I could be proud of and have a shirt to prove it.
At the time I was lucky if I could bench press 100 pounds three times. So, I had some work to do. Being on the football team and the track team gave me ample opportunities to hit the weight room. Also, during the summer the weight room would be open three nights a week as long as there was a teacher to supervise.
I hit the weights hard. I was there at every opportunity. I was there so much that the teachers would ask me if I was going to be there so they new if they had to or not. I lifted before school and after practice. During the summer I was there 3 nights a week, every week.
I made it past the 200 and 250 pound club my sophomore year, but I didn't test out because I wanted to achieve what no one else at my school had done - 300 pounds. I figured that would something I can strut around school about. No one could take that from me.
My junior year I fractured my elbow during a football game. That set me back the entire year. It took six months before I could lift without pain. It took another three months to get back to where I left off.
A few months into my Senior year I was ready to see if I could qualify for the 300 pound club. I met my defensive coach (we called him Chief) and another teacher (I can't remember her name) as a witness after school. After the warm up, I lifted 300 pounds three times with relative ease. My coach pushed me into trying a higher weight. In the end I lifted 350 pounds three times. Chief was great. He told me how he appreciated my hard work and that no one in the history of the weight club at our school had earned the 350 shirt.
Of course I was beaming. I was walking on cloud nine. It took a week to get my shirt. When I did I could not wait to wear it to school. The next morning I wore with pride my hard earned trophy. I could not have been any more proud to wear a t-shirt in my life. Unfortunately the first people I come across at school were my tormentors.
After seeing the shirt, they made jokes that the shirt stood for how much I weighed. They proceeded to tease me at high volumes. By lunch time I had withstood a barrage of fat jokes. It was too much for me (remember I have no self esteem.) I drove home at lunch and changed shirts. I threw my newly acquired prize in the trash. Something that took me three years of hard work to earn was rendered a complete failure in ONE morning.
When I went back to school, I hid in the only safe place - the weight room. I missed all my afternoon classes because I could not stand to be around anyone. I just lay on the wrestling mats and stared at the ceiling until I felt it was safe to go home.
I continued to lift and participate in the sports I had left, but I never really got over the 350 pound club and how easy it was to take away.