A victorious young pugilist celebrates with his beloved coach. This is entirely innocent but, at the same time, I sense a little frisson of something here. I was recently reading another blogger's recollection about his high school wrestling days and remembered I had this series put aside to post.
I was the stereotypical skinny kid in elementary school, but I always was a fast runner. In middle and high school, I joined the track team and excelled at long-distance running. That gave me acceptance amongst the jock crowd. I already knew I was "different" but nonetheless enjoyed hanging with the strapping football and wrestling stars.
One of my high school crushes was one of the track coaches, a studly god who was also a maths teacher. The more I excelled at calculus and track, the more he encouraged me. Married to the German teacher and with young children, I doubt he had any idea why I basked in his shadow. I still remember vividly how sometimes after track practice he would shower with us. It was all entirely chaste and he was absolutely above reproach; however, my fecund imagination savored every moment.