Elementary Fears: Gym

If you think I'm self conscious and neurotic now, the elementary school-me puts today-me to shame. I had worries, fears, and feelings of humiliation that stifled some of my childhood and felt, at times, paralyzing.

(This Blog is dedicated to Kim Gulko, a brave woman who also survived the humiliating experience of North School Gym class)

Besides the bus, another such issue was gym class. I'd like to start off by saying that even though I've always been about 10-20 lbs overweight, I was actually an athlete. But of course, that did not stop me from literally having nightmares about gym class. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me horror stories about her chubby self having to climb the ropes in gym. I grew up fearing the day I'd walk into the gymnasium and see the ropes hanging from the ceiling, because Lord knows I'd never be able to haul my chubby butt up one of them. Fortunately, to this day I've never been forced to climb a rope.

I was not so lucky when it came to other tests. Like, headstand day. Walking into the gym and seeing two mats on the floor made my stomach hurt. Yet every year we would have a full minute to do headstands for as long as we could. For me, it was always more a somersault marathon. Head down, legs up...and over. Start again. Head down, legs up, ...and over. This repeated for a full minute, with every one of your classmates sitting on a bench staring at you from 4 feet away. Cruelty!

Oh, we're doing the mile run next week? Good, I was hoping not to sleep til then anyway. The boys would run while the girls watched, then we would switch and the boys would watch us. That added the perfect flavor of humilation. And to make matters worse, we didn't run on a track. We were taken out to the old softball field which we had to circle around SEVEN times in order complete a full mile. This meant my sweaty, stupid ass would have to run past all of the cute boys I had crushes on SEVEN different times. You better believe I ran it in good time, I would've rather died than looked like the fat, slow runner in front of the boys. In fact, I would practice. I practiced running the mile for gym class. My parents knew that just thinking about the mile run made me completely lose my appetite (this happens rarely), so one year my dad showed up to gym class to "support" and videotape me from up closer to the school. Not sure why the camcorder was thrown into the mix, but I'll never forget the sick feeling I had when I saw him and how much I loved him for showing up.

Hey, I have an idea. Let's have all the kids, female and male, line up in a large open room and weigh ourselves together. Idiots.

Obstacle course weeks. This was great, because instead of having 30 seconds to panic after walking into the gym, my anxiety would last a full two weeks. Again, all the kids in class would line up on the bench while one person had to endure the entire obstacle course. Jumping over ropes, in between cones, crawling under a table. ...Have you ever tried to crawl, quickly? Try it right now. It's the single most unflattering type of movement. Or how about somersaulting down the wedge, which was always placed directly in front of the bench so everyone had a front row seat. I felt bad for myself, but I felt worse for the girls chubbier than me, because everyone couldn't help looking at your butt when you rolled over, and if you were lucky enough, you're shirt would lift up during the turn. Then, right before the very end when you were so close to being done, it was there. The Horse, just waiting for you, daring you to lose control and slowly sliiiide of its side. Somehow, I never slid off the horse's side, and I did really good on timing. Which just goes to show, once again, that I am slightly damaged and have major issues with myself and body.

I used to love playing pickle...I can't think of the word for it that isn't gross. Run down? Whatever. But one day, my biggest crush called out to me, waited for me to watch, and ran with his hands moving up and down his chest, ...imitating my big busted run apparently. Perfect, just what I needed to witness as a tall, chesty, awkard 11 year old who dressed like a boy to hide her body. That moment marked the end of my pickle-playing days.

Ironically, at my high school graduation I received the Gym Award.