My Boston Marathon 2014, part 1: Kids say the darndest things

I was telling this year’s sixth graders about what we runners have to do in the week or so leading up to the marathon. How we: eat right; drink tons of water; get plenty of sleep; avoid sick people; wash our hands raw. 

I told them about taper madness, that crazy roller coaster ride your emotions take because you’re not going to the gym, you’re overeating, feeling phantom aches and pains everywhere,  starting to doubt your own abilities. 

One kid raises his hand.  I expect to have to answer something about what is Gu or what does hydrate mean. Instead, I get this: “What are we going to do without you if something happens?” They haven't forgotten about last year either.

Another one chimes in with this: “You’re our world Miss.” Now there’s an entire chorus, shy, loud, rough, polite voices. My entire class is yelling that they love me, I better be okay or else, they’ll pray for me, they can’t live without me. None of them are joking. They’re all earnest.   

  

The loudest ones are the ones whose home lives give me nightmares, and the ones who I catch gum-chewing or talking when they shouldn’t, the tough ones who swear at me under their breaths, and who regularly tell me they hate me then slam books on desks, or stick pieces of Block Five in their mouths when they think I’m not looking.   

My hands are on my hips. I savor the scene for a few seconds. I let their voices sink into my bones. There isn’t a heck of a lot out there that’s more fulfilling for us teachers than watching wise guy kids get mushy. 

I yell stop and make that safe motion like I’m a baseball ump. 

They stop. They’re all watching me carefully, which is the exact opposite of what normal kid instinct tells them they  should be doing minutes before vacation begins. 

I don’t remember exactly what I said. I probably laughed at them a bit, told them they all belonged on screen because they were so dramatic. Told them I’d bore them after vacation with all the details and if they loved me so much they wouldn’t chew gum ever again. They groan, laugh, eye roll. I do too.  

They ask if I’ll be thinking of them while I run. 

I tell them of course, and how could I not? They’ll be on my singlet. They’re my kids.  

   

That’s how my Boston Marathon race weekend begins. 

 My sixth graders had my back on Marathon Monday. So did lots of other good folks.