Flashback Friday: Gym Class
I know I'm not the only person who hated gym class, but I also know there are a number of people who actually thought it was fun. I was originally going to call this flashback "Things that are supposed to be fun but actually aren't fun at all" but then I realized that that phrase applies to far too many things (dancing, parties, Monopoly, live music, New Year's Eve, college, horseback riding, and the list goes on). Anyways, someday I'll delve deeper into my hatred for basically everything in life, but today I'm going to limit it to gym class activities.
I always hated gym class. Even in the earliest years of school, I hated it. I think I have one fond memory in my entire history of "physical education" and it was climbing a rope in elementary school. That was sort of fun and it wasn't the kind of thing I could really do outside of the Ledgeview gymnasium.
My mind was constantly whizzing, trying to think of a valid excuse for which I would not have to participate. I remember being forced to "crab walk" laps around the gym in early elementary school, which, by the way, is an incredibly disturbing image. 30 small children scrambling around a gym floor, belly-side up? I'm not quite sure what I was supposed to gain physically or otherwise from such an exercise, but I did it. Anyways, someone once stepped on my hand, and while it didn't hurt that much, I hoped that it might be my ticket out of gym for the day. It was not. All I know is that this class was certainly the punishment for some terrible crime which I had not yet comitted.
Middle school, predictably, was the worst. We focused on various sports for a number of weeks at a time: 2 weeks of badminton, 3 weeks of soccer, and so on. I think it was sometime around the 2nd or 3rd day of the softball unit that I was forced to actually play. I always got to the very back of the line, usually ensuring that I never had to bat, but somehow the teacher got wise to that trick.
So there I am, holding a bat, and pretty sure that I'm supposed to hit something with it. I can't recall if I ever did. But all of a sudden, people, my "teammates" most likely, start yelling at me. I don't understand what they're saying, so I just stand there in a confused panic. Then someone tells me "just run!" So I placed the bat on the ground, and started to "just run." This was followed by even more yelling. Evidently, I had run in the wrong direction. How was I supposed to know?
I never made that mistake again. But that's only because I made sure to sit out for the remainder of the unit, nursing my possibly broken pinky toe.
But it wasn't just softball that I hated. It was really everything where fast movement, quick reactions, and teamwork were involved. I think volleyball was just as bad, if not worse. At least with softball, no one expects you to do anything for the majority of the game. In volleyball, everyone's playing all the time, and the ball is always bouncing around, threatening to hit you on the head and make you look stupid.
For the most part, when an object the size of my head comes flying at me, my inclination is to duck and avoid being hit by it, but I learned that this also elicits yelling from your teammates. Most of my energy in gym class was spent testing my undeveloped powers of kinesis, willing various balls not to land anywhere near me. Unfortunately, I never really mastered it.
During one memorable game, the volleyball came directly to me and I reacted in the appropriate fashion, whacking it over the net. I was glad to be rid of it, but my triumph was short-lived as it smacked some poor girl right in the face. Hard. I would have felt bad regardless, but I'm pretty sure the girl was somewhat mentally retarded. 7th graders are extremely cruel beasts. I remember someone going so far as to congratulate me on nailing the handicapped girl in the face, to which I could only reply that I didn't really mean to.
The only good thing I can say about gym, was that I was never forced to take group showers or anything. I can assure you that if I had, I would have a lot to say about that.
I always hated gym class. Even in the earliest years of school, I hated it. I think I have one fond memory in my entire history of "physical education" and it was climbing a rope in elementary school. That was sort of fun and it wasn't the kind of thing I could really do outside of the Ledgeview gymnasium.
My mind was constantly whizzing, trying to think of a valid excuse for which I would not have to participate. I remember being forced to "crab walk" laps around the gym in early elementary school, which, by the way, is an incredibly disturbing image. 30 small children scrambling around a gym floor, belly-side up? I'm not quite sure what I was supposed to gain physically or otherwise from such an exercise, but I did it. Anyways, someone once stepped on my hand, and while it didn't hurt that much, I hoped that it might be my ticket out of gym for the day. It was not. All I know is that this class was certainly the punishment for some terrible crime which I had not yet comitted.
Middle school, predictably, was the worst. We focused on various sports for a number of weeks at a time: 2 weeks of badminton, 3 weeks of soccer, and so on. I think it was sometime around the 2nd or 3rd day of the softball unit that I was forced to actually play. I always got to the very back of the line, usually ensuring that I never had to bat, but somehow the teacher got wise to that trick.
So there I am, holding a bat, and pretty sure that I'm supposed to hit something with it. I can't recall if I ever did. But all of a sudden, people, my "teammates" most likely, start yelling at me. I don't understand what they're saying, so I just stand there in a confused panic. Then someone tells me "just run!" So I placed the bat on the ground, and started to "just run." This was followed by even more yelling. Evidently, I had run in the wrong direction. How was I supposed to know?
I never made that mistake again. But that's only because I made sure to sit out for the remainder of the unit, nursing my possibly broken pinky toe.
But it wasn't just softball that I hated. It was really everything where fast movement, quick reactions, and teamwork were involved. I think volleyball was just as bad, if not worse. At least with softball, no one expects you to do anything for the majority of the game. In volleyball, everyone's playing all the time, and the ball is always bouncing around, threatening to hit you on the head and make you look stupid.
For the most part, when an object the size of my head comes flying at me, my inclination is to duck and avoid being hit by it, but I learned that this also elicits yelling from your teammates. Most of my energy in gym class was spent testing my undeveloped powers of kinesis, willing various balls not to land anywhere near me. Unfortunately, I never really mastered it.
During one memorable game, the volleyball came directly to me and I reacted in the appropriate fashion, whacking it over the net. I was glad to be rid of it, but my triumph was short-lived as it smacked some poor girl right in the face. Hard. I would have felt bad regardless, but I'm pretty sure the girl was somewhat mentally retarded. 7th graders are extremely cruel beasts. I remember someone going so far as to congratulate me on nailing the handicapped girl in the face, to which I could only reply that I didn't really mean to.
The only good thing I can say about gym, was that I was never forced to take group showers or anything. I can assure you that if I had, I would have a lot to say about that.
Labels: torture, volleyball
posted by lady at 4:38 PM
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