Today, as so often happens on autumn afternoons, when the air grows crisp and the earth shows signs of settling down for its long winter slumber, I spent time thinking about my high school gym teacher. Mr. Eggleston was the kind of man one finds impossible to imagine as anything other than a physical education teacher and high school football coach. He had a thick, muscular body; a puffy gut; and I rarely saw him wear anything except tight shorts, sneakers, and short-sleeved T-shirts with a whistle around his neck. He sported a haircut that screamed HIT THAT SUCKER! YOU GOTTA HIT THAT SUCKER WHEN HE COMES OVER THE MIDDLE!

Mr. Eggleston loved young boys. He loved teaching them proper bench press technique and how to penetrate the line and stuff the run. He loved molding and improving young boys through hard work and sweat and torn anterior cruciate ligaments. His natural habitat was the Mason City High School weight room, where he could supervise dozens of young boys pressing, curling, and squatting hundreds of pounds while hard rock music blasted from the stereo. He cared only about effort and improvement. A guy lifting 90 pounds for the first time would get an enthusiastic clap on the back, while a stronger guy lifting 290 pounds -- but dogging it -- would get an earful of abuse.

One day, after gym class, Mr. Eggleston took an interest in a junior named Chris Wistrick. Chris was a gangly redhead, one of those kids who was not quite a geek but not quite a jock either.

"Do you work out, Wistrick?" Mr. Eggleston's asked. He peered up at Chris through wire-rim glasses with thick lenses.

"Uh, no," Chris shrugged and shifted uncomfortably, the way you do when you are seventeen and a man twice your age and size is surveying your body with eyes agleam.

Mr. Eggleston was appalled. Wistrick didn't work out? Why not? Had he ever tried lifting weights? Did he like the results? Well, possibly he hadn't been training properly. Was he out for any sports? Tennis? Anything else, like football or wrestling? Hm.

"We gotta get you up in the weight room," Mr. Eggleston decided. His eyes crawled over Chris's chest and legs and arms. "I hate to see a great body like that go to waste."

+posted by Lawrence @ 10/09/2003 06:10:00 PM