“Let’s go Sam! Speed it up!” my eighth-grade basketball coach barked at me impatiently. Honestly, I deserved it; I was slow. I had natural athletic ability—I come from a family of athletes—but it only goes so far when you’re carrying around a spare tire on your body.
At thirteen, I was pretty fluffy/soft around the edges and had been since my sixth summer. As the family baby, I had stayed behind while my siblings left for camp, quickly replacing “playing up” with them and their friends with food: candy, ice cream, and treats. My rapacious appetite became a running joke and I laughed along, though it wasn’t always so funny.
Entering high school, I was excited to be a 3 sport athlete: football, basketball, and lacrosse—especially basketball. …show more content…
“Why are you playing basketball? You stink at basketball,” Mr. Ayer said. “Well, when you get cut, come wrestle for us. Trust me on this. You won’t regret it.” Now another student might have been insulted, but I took it in a stride. Chubby kids get used to those sorts of indignities. Afterward, I didn’t think much of his offer; no one wants to admit they’re bad at a sport they’ve been playing their whole life. But Mr. Ayer was determined. He would badger my sister in his math class, joking that her homework was to convince me to wrestle. At our last few games, he did the same to my parents.
Unconvinced, I laced up and tried out for the basketball team, where as predicted, I got cut. That night, I told my family the news. Their disappointment for me was palpable, though they weren’t surprised. I really was slow. With the extra weight, I just couldn’t keep up with the other kids on the court. Being fat had had its costs over the years, but I had gotten used to being taken for granted and people just assuming I was always happy. Now it was really starting to impact me. The next day, I marched directly to Mr. Ayer’s office and told him I wanted to try wrestling. He smiled his huge, goofy, know-it-all smile and said, “You made the right
At thirteen, I was pretty fluffy/soft around the edges and had been since my sixth summer. As the family baby, I had stayed behind while my siblings left for camp, quickly replacing “playing up” with them and their friends with food: candy, ice cream, and treats. My rapacious appetite became a running joke and I laughed along, though it wasn’t always so funny.
Entering high school, I was excited to be a 3 sport athlete: football, basketball, and lacrosse—especially basketball. …show more content…
“Why are you playing basketball? You stink at basketball,” Mr. Ayer said. “Well, when you get cut, come wrestle for us. Trust me on this. You won’t regret it.” Now another student might have been insulted, but I took it in a stride. Chubby kids get used to those sorts of indignities. Afterward, I didn’t think much of his offer; no one wants to admit they’re bad at a sport they’ve been playing their whole life. But Mr. Ayer was determined. He would badger my sister in his math class, joking that her homework was to convince me to wrestle. At our last few games, he did the same to my parents.
Unconvinced, I laced up and tried out for the basketball team, where as predicted, I got cut. That night, I told my family the news. Their disappointment for me was palpable, though they weren’t surprised. I really was slow. With the extra weight, I just couldn’t keep up with the other kids on the court. Being fat had had its costs over the years, but I had gotten used to being taken for granted and people just assuming I was always happy. Now it was really starting to impact me. The next day, I marched directly to Mr. Ayer’s office and told him I wanted to try wrestling. He smiled his huge, goofy, know-it-all smile and said, “You made the right