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The Bitch is Rising
Confessions of a former goody two shoes
I thought I was passed the age of tantrum throwing.
I thought I carried a reasonable amount of maturity and decorum.
For years I was pretty good at fitting the mold my coaches wished to place me in. I never complained about a single workout or race. I didn’t always hit the magic time they wanted me to, but I could always say I tried my damnedest. Whenever coach asked me to run a certain pace, I would do it.
Though, many times, I would take racing risks that were not part of coach’s plan at all. But for the most part, I never questioned a thing (at least not out loud). I was so obedient that teammates would come to me with difficult questions they wanted to ask the coach. They for some reason thought coach was fond of me or something.
“She likes you,” they would plead. “You can ask her anything.”
Fast forward six years, I still carry the same obedient manner as usual.
Then yesterday came and shit hit the fan.
To begin with, my current coach used to be a teammate of mine. I used to race alongside this girl before she became the assistant coach for track and field. As strange as it felt to view her as an authority figure, I would listen to her.
