Much like most of you, I had the occasion to attend "high school" at one point in my life...One of the (few) things I enjoyed about attending high school was participating on the track and field team...Now, being "larger" (read: fatter) than the other kids in school, it wasn't bloody likely that I'd be competing in any of the "running" or "jumping" or (God forbid) "vaulting" events...As such, the only events left in track and field competition are the throwing events, commonly called "weight" events. In high school (at least in Colorado high schools), the only two weight events to choose from are shot put and discus. While in school, I participated in both of these weight events but, if I had a "strong suit," so to speak, discus would have been "it." I really did like the whole spinning and the throwing and stuff and, frankly, it really was a whole lot of fun being a "weightman," as opposed to anything else, especially due to the fact that, at any track meet, the weight events were always among the first events to take place...This meant that, if you were lucky enough to be a weightman, you didn't have to suffer through any "waiting around," you were pretty much "up" as soon as the meet started...It also meant that, once your event (or events) were completed, you were done for the day...Ah, sweet freedom, there was no end to the possibilities! You could lounge around in the stands and get sunburned, you could eat and chat with your friends, you could "hang around" and make fun of the pale, emaciated distance runners from other schools, you could chug 3 liters of grape soda real fast and then puke it up all over the exterior of a rival school's bus...

You know, you could do "whatever"...Anyway...

During my senior year of high school, I decided that I should "make the most" of all of the track meets which I was going to be involved in...Due to this fact, I began approaching the meets as more of a "social gathering" than a sporting event, replete with food, drinks, shenanigans and (of course) "goings on"...I would always pack up a large cooler full of "goodies" the night before a meet and would, in turn, always share the bounty that lurked within said cooler with the other weightmen on the track team...After all, once our events were done, what else we gonna do? It was best to simply while away those remaining hours by "eating food" and "making fun of stuff." Of course, the contents of the cooler were pretty much restricted to "cold foods," or, at the very least, foods that didn't require their being "served warm"...As such, there were times that I craved treats which my giant red cooler simply couldn't deliver...Thankfully, most of the venues where our track meets were held boasted AT LEAST a basic concession stand. Some of these venues, such as Garry Berry Stadium here in my "hometown" of Colorado Springs, maintained a pretty decent concession stand, from which all manner of wonderful food-related items could be purchased...At the very least, they sold more than just crappy candy bars and warm cans of soda...It is here, at said concession stand (of doom), that our story takes a dark and stormy turn...I shall now relate to you a tale off sorrow (also: woe) which will include (but is not limited to) "stadium seating," "Pumas" and "warm, lovely nachos"...

Read on, if you dare...

Heh...Ok, it's not as dramatic as all of THAT, but our story today does involve "loss." Stay with me, you'll understand in a bit...I hope...Anyway...

So there I was, strolling along the concourse-type area at Garry Berry Stadium on a beautiful Spring afternoon...I had already competed in the discus and was looking forward to experiencing a wonderful day filled with "eating" and "making fun of people" when I suddenly began to experience a persistent, food-related craving which my trusty red cooler could simply not satiate..Nay, I suddenly felt the familiar pangs which I knew could only be quelled by a warm tray of nachos (also: more cowbell) which, by some wonderful coincidence, happens to be one of the offerings at the Garry Berry concession stand (the nachos, not the cowbell). Giving in to temptation, as I am apt to do, I immediately made my way to said "stand," ordered up, paid for and received my "nacho tray." Sweet, cheesy victory was MINE! I should probably mention that this particular nacho tray didn't come all "pre-loaded" with liquified cheese product, something which would have probably just made those crispy, golden chips "all soggy." No, this nacho tray came with said cheese "on the side" in a handy, plastic cup (now with lid!)...With my chippy, cheesy bounty in hand, I ventured away from concessions and over to the stands where I could sit and enjoy my treat...

Before I go any further, I need to describe the "shoes" which I had the habit of wearing when I threw the discus. These shoes just happened to be an old pair of Puma high-tops, white with red trim. The tread on the soles of this set of footwear was virtually non-existant, having been worn down through years of being utilized, Fred Flintstone style, as the "brakes" on my bicycle. This fact made these shoes ideal footwear for discus throwing, as said "lack of tread" allowed for very little "friction resistance" when I spun across the discus ring. With that being said, as great as they were for "spinning," they weren't much good for your basic "walking" or "climbing" related chores. This fact seemed mostly insignificant to me at the time, but it was about to cause a major problem for me, as you will soon find out...

The bleachers at Garry Berry Stadium are your basic, garden variety staggered aluminum bleachers, the kind that you're likely to find at many "stadia" across this great land...So anyway, with nachos in hand, I approached the top row of the aforementioned metal seats and chose my spot...I stepped onto the edge of the top bench, intending to then step down to the platform, plant my ass on that top bench and, subsequently, "eat my nachos." Gravity, however, apparently had other ideas...Well, "gravity" and those damn Pumas...SCREW YOU, PUMAS!..Regardless, It seems that, when I stepped onto the "edge" of that top bench, I ended up with more "air" than "edge" and "lost my footing." As you now know, with no stinkin' "tread" on my shoes with which to create some suddenly much-needed "friction,", I became nothing more than a "body in motion," the aforementioned (evil) "gravity" doing it's dirty, sciencey work, pulling my largesse like a meteor towards the bottom of the stadium...

"Aww, crap," I thought to myself. "I'm fixin' to die."

Somehow, in a very lucid moment of self-preservation, I managed to twist my girth so that, instead of toppling forward and having my face ricochet off of the metal bleachers on the way down, I (thankfully) was able to fall (you guessed it) asswards toward the stands. Predictably, a mere split-second after I accomplished this feat, I began my (now infamous) descent down the bleachers at Garry Berry, my ample backside impacting each of the aluminum stadium benches along the way, instantly accelerating toward the bottom of the stadium as a giant snowball (with nachos) would roll down a mountain (made of aluminum). I had one thought in my head through all of this...I knew that I HAD to protect those nachos...

Those stupid snowballs and their not having "opposable thumbs," THEY could NEVER buy nachos...Anyway...

you may be currently thinking that any number of things besides "food" should be occupying my brain at such a critical moment, but you'd be wrong...After all, I had just PAID for those nachos, I damn sure wasn't about to lose 'em...As such, I focused all available energy on said nachos, the colorful paper tray full of chips in my right hand, the wee little cup of glorious, melty "cheese" in my left...Despite the fact that I was, of course, in the process of bouncing towards the bottom of a stadium on my ass, I really was doing a fine job of keeping everything level...Of course, I didn't have any time to give thought as to how I was going to stop...

Soon enough, though, THAT mystery was solved for me...

There just so happened to be a decent-sized group of kids from Coronado high school sitting in the stands on that fateful day, they too, presumably, having competed in, and completed, their events...These "Coronado kids" also just so happened to be directly in my gravity-accelerated path...It wasn't long after I began my rapid descent that I plowed directly into this crowd, much like a big blue-and-nacho bowling ball would strike a set of poor, unsuspecting, Coronado bowling pins. At the moment of impact, all of my motion, downward or otherwise, was predictably, and abruptly, halted...My warm, golden, crispy corn tortilla chips though, which I had been doing such an admirable job of protecting, did NOT stop. Instead, they cascaded their crispy golden goodness over my head and down upon the unsuspecting track meet attendees whom I had so gracefully intruded upon only moments before...Sitting there, on top of (and tangled amongst) those stinkin' Coronado kids, I suddenly realized that I had, in fact, failed...I was left staring back up at that top bench where I had planned to be sitting, holding nothing more than an empty paper tray, save for a few greasy spots where those oh-so-tempting chips had been, and that stupid plastic cup filled with that stupid liquid cheese...Product...Stuff. At this point, I really wasn't embarrassed, like one might imagine I should be. No, I was just significantly disappointed (pissed off). As a result of said disappointment, I finished off the carnage by chucking the aforementioned cheese-cup as hard as I was able. Much like a small, orange hawk in flight, it sailed through the Spring air, the sun glinting off of it's regal little plastic lid, just before impacting and exploding against the side of one of those stupid, slick aluminum benches...And yes, hawks could do that if they were so inclined...

Take THAT, stupid bleachers...

I think that the oddest part about having finally plucked this little story from my memory and adding it to the ol' blog isn't having it "bring back painful memories," or anything, mostly because there really aren't any "painful memories" for me regarding this particular incident...Thinking back, I remember not being injured in the fall and I didn't have to endure any long-term harassment because of it either. To tell you the truth, I thought that the whole incident was probably pretty damned funny, just like everyone else...I really wish that someone had been videotaping me that day...Man,, I'd love to see it all go down, especially the part where I crashed into that pile of kids...Heck, rather than avoid any mention of my "fall," I remember that I went so far as to draw a cartoon which chronicled the incident as part of a project in one of the many art classes which I took. Unfortunately, I've been unable to find this cartoon (which is too bad, it'd make a nice addition to this entry)...I didn't REALLY learn any lessons that day, nor did I scrap those friggin' Pumas and go looking for different shoes to wear at track meets. Overall, I was left unscarred by the whole event, so much so that it's kind of an event that's a "non-event" in some respects...Probably why it took me so long to remember to type out the details...With that said, I do feel kind of a dull, longing pang regarding the incident:

I'm like, REALLY hungry for nachos now...

Labels: I eat food, indignities, lame stories, me roots