With dead, hollow eyes, students limp from class to class, beefy limbs quivering to hold a pencil upright, leaning on their fellow sufferers as crutches as they swap war stories between hushed lips. The rest of the student body gazes at them in a mixture of sympathy and sorrow, chorusing such touching platitudes such as “ugh, god, I feel that” and “god, that sucks.” That’s right, it’s that time of trimester again: the dreaded Pacer test.

Ever since its first implementation, the Pacer Test has proven its mettle as a tool of Social Darwinism, weeding off the weak and unathletic in crumpled heaps of disgrace at one edge of the gym as the others advance, thinning out the herd until only those that survive natural selection are left. Its methodology is deathly efficient. A pleasant voice with all of the personality of a GPS navigation guide chirps out lap numbers, shortening the length between laps as the students progress, presumably since the fitter students are able to gain energy despite expending much of it running by latching onto their fellow runners and leaching off their life source until they are rejuvenated.

Sharing the reasoning for conducting the Pacer at Homestead, Mr. John Krueger, physical education teacher, explained, “We as a physical education staff conduct the Pacer to monitor [students’] cardiovascular endurance from when they’re in elementary school, from when they’re in middle school and throughout high school.” He also expressed his admiration for a select few of the masochistic athletes who partake in this test. “I think that the bravest [students] are those who realize after going through the test that they can go farther than they can, and they try to push themselves instead of going out with their friends.”

Truly, this physical education expert revealed the only method at which to succeed at the Pacer. In order to succeed at the Pacer, students must plan accordingly. Instead of wasting their time “developing their academic skills,” or “cultivating social networks” or “having a life,” students must practice without pause for this test.

Every night, from the moment their backpack drops like a forgotten dumbbell to the floor, they must spend every moment sprinting from one side of a building to another, again and again until the student is finally ready to succeed at this once-in-a-trimester, critically acclaimed test that surely guarantees riches and scholastic glory for the student for the rest of their lives, an indelible legacy in the halls of Homestead.

Students shared their enthusiasm for the Pacer. Jessica Kruger, junior and recent victim of the Pacer, praised the test, saying, “I love [the Pacer] so much because it really shows how in shape you are for one test throughout an entire year that lasts ten minutes long, max.” Clearly, the test’s brilliant brevity is something that leaves many students simply astounded.

Departing seniors explained their thoughts on the Pacer, something that will soon be a precious artifact of memory from their time at Homestead. Teighlor McGee, senior, painted a glowing review, gushing, “I hate [the Pacer], it is hell. The Devil created the Pacer.” In the same vein, Mikah Semon, senior, reassured incoming frightened freshmen with some words of wisdom. “If you’re doing ‘bidness,’ the Pacer shouldn’t be no problem.”

Showcasing the Pacer’s ubiquitous difficulty for all those that are involved, regardless of physical fortitude, Spencer Perlewitz, senior, explained, “I’ve done track before, but I didn’t know I was this out of shape.” Truly, a fantastic feat; only the most incredible of tests may challenge every student to this extent.

Once the Pacer is complete, the cheerful voice petering out its final numbered laps, a battlefield remains; students strewn about in various poses of disarray, wheezing as they stumble to their resting grounds and wailing in despair. The test is complete, and only the fittest of the fit remain. So sure, you only got a C on that last math test, but if you managed to run 85 laps on the Pacer, then you truly get an “A” in the grade book of life.