Today was the last big assignment I had to do in Speech class! Now I've only got one smaller assignment to worry about, and then the whole class will be OVER!

Today's assignment was called "A Tribute." We had to write out a manuscript speech to read before the class, paying tribute to someone we know or have known in our lives, and showing why they are important to us. I could have chosen a number of people, but for some reason, my former coach popped into my head a number of times, so I decided to write about him.

This is the speech I gave in front of class today. For the purposes of displaying this online, let's pretend my last name is Ellison. I used real names in class today, but for obvious reasons, I've changed that here...

Hope you like it!

When I was a kid, I hated P.E. class. I managed to get along great with all my teachers except for the P.E. coaches. See, I was the slow kid, the out of shape kid, the kid who didn’t want to participate. Just so you know, I lived in Texas, where it is extraordinarily hot and humid nine months out of every year. I’m also fair-skinned and severely prone to heat exhaustion. Call me crazy, but I was kind of opposed to the idea of outdoor exercise. Needless to say, I was a rather inexperienced runner, and was wholly unenthusiastic about playing kickball in the Texas sun. Therefore, my P.E. coaches virtually ignored me. When they did pay attention to me, it was usually to yell at me to “hustle.” I hated P.E. class. What a waste of time.

By the time I was fourteen, I was in the best shape of my life, and I looked forward to every single P.E. class. I’d like to say it only took a year to change my mind, but I think it was more like a day. It was all because of a man who took a moment to say one very important thing to me: “Good job, Ellison! You improved!” I’d like to tell you a bit about this man, and what he taught me that year. His name is Coach W.

Coach W. told us on the first day of eighth grade that all we had to do every Six Weeks to get an A was to show improvement on the last day of class from the first day. That sounded all well and good to me, but frankly, I’d heard it before. I just wanted to get through the boring exercises and humiliating athletic competitions, collect my B grades, and forget about it, so I could move on to more important things, such as Band.

I’m not sure about other places, but in Texas schools, they always had us run The Mile. We ran it every two weeks, I believe. The first time I ran The Mile that year, I felt the same frustration coursing through me, the same contempt I’d always felt for physical education classes thus far. When Coach W. read off my time to me, “Thirteen, twenty-five,” he sounded like all the other coaches I’d ever had. I thought he probably was like them, too, thinking of me as one of the worst students in class. I mean, I knew it was true. I was second to last that day, after all. But I didn’t mind. I was used to being bad at P.E.

The second time we ran The Mile, I half-jogged, half-walked, as usual. It was hot, as usual, too, and I wanted to be any place but on that field. I was nothing short of relieved when the end was in sight. As I crossed the finish line, Coach W. said something that surprised me: “Thirteen, fifteen. Good job, Ellison! You improved!”

Improved? I was still the second to last kid across that finish line out of the whole class. I still took thirteen minutes to complete one mile. But I’d improved? And this was cause for the words I’d never heard from a P.E. Coach before? “Good job”?

The next time The Mile came up, I did something I’d never done before. I actually tried to improve. You see, not only was I amazed to have received any kind of praise from my coach whatsoever, I’d heard him tell quite a few of the other kids that they were doing a good job, too. Maybe, just maybe, if I ran a little faster this week, if I could manage to beat my previous time… Maybe he’d say “good job” to me again.

I ran it in thirteen minutes. This time, instead of saying, “Good job,” he said, “Way to go, Ellison! Atta girl!” in his booming, husky “coach” voice. I beamed from ear to ear. Who knew I had it in me? I certainly hadn’t suspected it.

I didn’t always beat my previous time. The times I didn’t, Coach W. would tell me my time and then say, “Only 5 seconds off. Keep it up. You can do it.” And I believed him.

By the end of that year, I was in the best shape of my life. I was jogging to all my classes just for the sheer enjoyment of it. I loved how it felt to go fast with such ease. I loved having toned muscles, lots of energy, and feeling great about myself. I loved being patted on the back by my coach. I loved being told, “Great job.” I loved running. And for the first time in my life, I loved P.E. class.

The very last time we had to run The Mile that year, I was gaining on the boy in front of me. Not wanting to be outdone by a girl, he started sprinting! We weren’t too far from the finish line, so I ran as hard as I could, too! My feet pounding into the ground, hopping over tree roots on our rugged “track,” I smiled as I got closer and closer to that boy. I could only hear one thing, which was my coach yelling, “Go, go, GO!” at both of us. I ran as hard as I could, and I came in one second before the boy behind me.

I could NOT believe my ears when Coach W. shouted, “Eight, thirty-one! Eight thirty-two!”

Eight thirty-one? I’d done it! I’d gotten my best time ever on The Mile. I paced around the trees, catching my breath, smiling, exhausted, elated beyond words. Later, Coach W. had the highest praise for me yet. With one hand on my shoulder, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way this year, and you’ve done a great job, Ellison.”

I thanked him, not knowing quite how to express my gratitude for what he’d done. He was the first person ever to show me that exercise could be enjoyable. He was the first coach ever to pay attention to me, even though I was no great athlete. He was the first coach who ever inspired me to earn an A every six weeks, which I did do, by the way. He believed in me long before I ever believed in myself. His encouragement touched me deeply, and gave me the strength to find out what I’m capable of accomplishing. He taught for a great many years, so I can only imagine he must have had a profound impact on other students’ lives as well.

Today, I’m not in best shape of my life, I’ll admit. I kind of got thrown for a loop last year, when I was diagnosed with a fairly severe foot condition which affects the tendons and nerves in my feet. I didn’t really exercise during my recovery (outside of physical therapy, that is), and there have been moments in my life where I’ve felt rather discouraged and thought it would just be too hard to get back into shape, especially since it feels like I’ve got such a long way to go. But, whenever I feel that way, I just think back on Coach W.’s words. I remember his enthusiasm, his encouragement, and I endeavor to be the kind of coach for myself that Coach W. was for me that year.

When someone’s words live on inside you like that, I think that’s the mark of a great teacher. There’s no greater gift to give someone than words or lessons that stay with them, and change their lives for the better. I think Coach W. not only taught me to believe in myself, and showed me the value of being in great physical shape, but he also taught me that a few simple words can mean so much. More often than not, it’s those little things in life, the tiny gestures people make, the simplest of words that people share with one another, that change the world for the better, one tiny piece at a time.

So, to all of you, if you’re thinking of something you’d like to do, but aren’t sure you can or if it’s even worth your time to pursue it, I pass these words along to you…

Go for it! You can do it! Keep up the good work, everyone!