Urist sat alone in the hallway beside his locker. His food was in his lap and he ate lifting the plate up to his mouth. For a small meal, it took Urist no more than three minutes to finish. He left very little. Urist's father had taught him to eat quickly and with no distraction. Food is fuel. He walked to a trash can, dumped his tray, squatted down, sprawled out, and did twenty five push-ups.

This was Urists lunch. This would be his lunch until the end of his days.