Page 23 - Fire Your Personal Trainer and Kick Your Own Damn Ass

Fire Your Personal Trainer 20
And Kick Your Own Damn Ass

I just sat there numbly and didn’t move. They were all a lot bigger than
me and resistance was futile. I wasn’t going to take them all on. I couldn’t
believe what had just happened.

They yelled at me to go back to my seat and I trudged back to the front
of the bus. I wasn’t hurt but I was really demoralized. The kid who hit me
was the President of the student council and lived in my neighborhood.
He was supposed to be one of the good kids!

It was a long ride home. I thought about the very first school dance I
ever went to in seventh grade, just two years earlier . . . I was sitting way
up on an empty bleacher by myself on the very highest bench, out of the
way of everything, just looking down on the gym floor, listening to the
music. I went to a big school, so the gym was huge and those bleachers
went pretty high up. I had gone to the dance alone, and the gym was still
pretty empty with kids milling around down on the floor, not sure what

they should do.

Four boys wandered over. They were standing at the foot of the bleachers
looking up at me, talking and pointing. They were too far down for me
to hear what they were talking about with the music blaring. I’d been in
this position before where I could see trouble coming and I remember
looking down and bracing myself, thinking, “here it comes.” Two of them
started up the steps and two of them stayed at the bottom. I can still see

them as they slowly walked up all those steps.

They reached the row of seats where I was sitting and walked toward me.
The first boy to reach me stepped slowly in front of me, and deliberately
stepped on my foot. Then he paused with his foot on top of mine, looked
me in the face, and said, “sorry.” He didn’t take his eyes off me.