Yes, I'm back in Track. I really, really hate it now. Mr. McMullin is the main reason for my newfound hate. I've run two "warmups" in two days that've killed me beyond all comprehension. The first day, we ran five miles with drills breaking it into three and two miles segments. And today he decided to have us start out with a ten minute run... that turned into a fifteen minute run, so he killed my stamina as I did just over two miles. Then we started drills, which were sprints. Those were fine. But after each set of sprints, we had to run another lap. We had seven sets. For non-tracky people, that's a mile and three quarters... But an enitre lap after sprinting your brains out sucks. But, no, that's not it. When I finished my run, he had the nerve to come up to me and ask me to join cross-country. I swear, if I hadn't been about to collapse and had legs that felt like anything better than Jello that I would have punched him.

Also, I think I'm in pretty good shape considering the circumstances. At least I can force myself to go through with the workouts he's been giving... But I know I'm going to be sore as hell tomorrow. I seriously woke up a few minutes ago and I could not keep my legs from shaking as I walked to the kitchen. Hating track has never been so easy.

My new math teacher is pretty damn retarded. She went around to check homework and the first thing she asked when she saw mine was, "Whose is this?" When I explained that my handwriting can look rather girly, she asked, "Well, this looks like an answer sheet that I'd make. Where'd you get it?" I was getting sort of angry, so I tried to explain that I highlight things so it's easier to check so what's she do? She takes my paper out of my binder and says she's going to ask my other teachers if I make a habit out of cheating and lying about it. Being incredibly pissed, I walked over to her, took my paper, and stared. She got a really sour look on her face, went to her desk, and started writing something.

Lastly, and the subject which is most on my mind, I had an extremely depressing dream about Emerald last night. It was one of those dreams where you wake up and cry about it. Which I did. For quite a long time, in fact. From four, when I woke up depressed by what I'd "seen", until about five thirty. Of course, there were times of heavier crying than some, but it was pretty constant, if not entirely. I was going to tell her, but I had a feeling she wouldn't want to hear it... plus I wanted to say something that was inspired by said dream, but I didn't want her to get upset. I should've sat with her, though... I've been yelling at myself for that all day...

Categories: rant [t], school [t]

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