Story Weekend: Gym Class
What did they call it where you grew up? Gym Class, Phys Ed, P.E.? How I loathed it. I was one of those Always-Last-to-be-Chosen-for-Any-Team kids. Whatever gym class was called where you lived, I bet you have some stories to tell about it. I I hope you’ll share one of them here.
If you’re new to Story Weekend, here’s how it works: I pick a theme and you share something from your life that relates to that theme, however you interpret it. Thanks to all of you who’ve contributed. As always, there are a few “rules”:
▪ The story must be true
▪ Try to keep it under 100 words. Embrace the challenge! That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge. Happy writing!
Ah now. Let it be known that I do not have an athletic bone in my body and gym class meant that my mom had to Javex my white terrycloth shorts every week so that I might be judged accordingly. I ‘faked’ sick notes to get out of gym, had my period every week. I mean really just say the word period to a 30 year old male gym teacher and watch the blush rise like a pint of Guinness settling on a bar. I was the least cool girl in the school. Somehow I survived not being able to jump the vault horse, dribble a volleyball, or climb a rope ladder to the stars because I had a closet full of mini skirts and I knew how to use them:} . My eyes were always on the prize which meant boys who did Not attend our gym classes. Life is all about keeping your priorities straight and not letting your garter straps show. Yes, I am older than spit.
In grade 1, the phys ed teacher, most likely tired of whining children, gave a spiel at the beginning of class the day we were going to be learning how to play volleyball. In his spiel he said “…and don’t come crying to me if you hurt your baby finger.” And that’s exactly what I did – I hurt my baby finger…I didn’t cry, I didn’t tell a soul. But when I went home that night my parents noticed something was wrong and I burst into tears and told them I hurt my baby finger. Dad looked at my very swollen and blue finger and whipped me into the doctor (at that time, in a small town, the doctor would see anyone, any time) – and it was broken !!!! I had to go into the hospital for x-rays and splinting. I’m now 39, never broken another bone since and am a fitness instructor and hockey team cross-trainer for young teams, hahaha
I have one more….hope that’s okay….I went back to college in fitness and health when I was in my early 30s. I hated team sports, but loved fitness and movement. But still, I had to play sports as part of the curriculum. I was never good at them because I didn’t like ‘taking things away from someone else’ – felt like stealing – and people were never polite when they played….although I didn’t know that was my deep seated issue until one day that year when we played european handball – the ball blew past my face and I thought it seemed right I should catch it – so I snagged it out of the air like a boss….and when I realized a girl from the opposing team was lunging for it, I promptly handed it to her and said ‘sorry.’ Everybody stopped playing and just stood and stared. hahaha (with the stigma Canadians have for saying ‘sorry’ it won’t likely surprise you to find out I’m Canadian, lol)
It was called recess and activity period when I was in school. On rainy days we were allowed to use the gym (which was a building completely separated from the school). They finally put a canopy over the walkway from the school to the gym/cafeteria. Everyone had to participate in sports and since I only wore long pants in the winter time, running bases and playing dodge ball in a dress was a bit intimidating. I still have a huge scar on my left knee from rounding third base, tripping on a shoelace and falling on a shard of glass. That was 8th grade. I did play basketball (half-court for girls) in high school and was introduced to locker rooms, but no showers. Guess that makes me older than dirt.
PE was never really for me. The only sport I was ever any good at was netball – at primary school. Truth was, there was no way that I would ever beat anyone with my physical prowess, so while the girl marking me bounced around just in front of me, arms out, blocking me, I just sauntered off somewhere else on the court and left her to it. This tactic worked for about 3 years! It’s probably a bad reflection on me that my only sporting achievement relies on 9-11 year old girls lacking the common sense to look over their shoulder once in a while, but considering the next 5 years of PE class humiliation that I suffered, I’ll take what I can get.
I am in the UK and we called it PE in my days although I thhk it is now something else. I was not really into PE although I did a lot of horse riding and walking. The teacher’s favourite was to make us run ‘Cross Country’ which involved running around the Platteu (which was a big raised grass flat topped hill which housed the air raid shelters from the war) 5 times we used to hide on the first lap and rejoin on the last lap. Never have found out if the teacher knew what we were doing or not 🙂
Oh how I dreaded Phys Ed. I was also the last one picked for a team. I always felt uncoordinated, couldn’t walk that balance beam or jump those hurdles. My worst memory was in Jr high. We were having to make human pyramids (why, oh why?)! I was paired with one of the pretty and athletic girls. I couldn’t hold my position and fell resulting in the other girl getting hurt because my knee hit her face. She cried and the PE teacher along with the rest of the class came running! Thank goodness that she was ok after an ice pack was applied. No one came to tell me that it was ok, just an accident. I wanted to disappear right there in the gym.
Ok, glad I got that story out after all these years!
It was torture to read these experiences. Brought back too many memories.