Gym Class


The only things I enjoyed in school was socializing and English…that’s it.

Actually, I also enjoyed the perfectly under-cooked Otis Spunkmeyer Chocolate Chip Cookies you could get…for breakfast, too. Clearly, I went to school before Michelle Obama started fighting childhood obesity.

Math and I? We hated each other, if there was ever a reason I shouldn’t have graduated, math would be the guilty party. How I never failed a single math class is honestly beyond me. To put it in perspective, I took my placement tests for college and was placed in a math class that focused on whole numbers and decimals… I would work my way up to fractions. 


So, I went to beauty school to avoid it all together because fuck whole numbers.

There was only one class I dreaded more than math and that was gym. Uggghhhhh, I still hate it. I cringe when I look at my kid’s schedule and notice it’s gym day, and I don’t even have to participate.

As an adult – sure – I understand why it’s important for children to learn the value of movement, exercise, and team activities. I’m not saying that the class should be vetoed or anything, shit, I’m probably even in the minority of people who hated physical education.

I don’t care though, here goes my rant.

Gym class is one giant master plan to embarrass the living hell out of the unathletic and clumsy. Can we talk about the Presidential Standards For Physical Fitness Tests?

I never met any of the standards; I was below average for everything – push ups, sit ups, and don’t get me started on the damn pull up bar. I’m still carrying a grudge for being forced to hang from the pull-up bar even though I told them I can’t do any fucking pull-ups.

If someone put a gun to my head and forced me to choose a favorite portion of these tests, it’d be the sit and reach:  


Fly myself forward as fast as I can in hopes that the force will be strong enough to keep that slidey thing moving after I fling backward.

How about the mile run? Some kids really pushed themselves but not me, I never ran a single mile at any point during my school years. Queen of the 27-minute mile, right here. Sometimes it was a sore ankle or the dreaded period cramps, but most of the time it was just a straight snotty protest.

giphy (3).gif

Can’t make me…

Floor hockey, soccer, football…basically any sport or activity that include things being kicked, thrown, or smacked in my direction was (and still is) bad news. If someone made the questionable choice to give me said object my goal was always the same: get rid of it as quick as I can, no thought or effort involved.

If that means handing the football off to the opposing team because they happen to be closest – I’m just trying to survive!

Speaking of survival: Dodgeball. What I actually liked to call it is, “I-Hate-My-Life-Ball“.

giphy (1).gif

Am I the only one who gave eyes to the other weak girl on the opposing team? You get me out without injury and I’ll return the favor. Oh? My turn to enter the game again since someone caught a ball? I usually let other kids go in front of me until the teacher noticed and forced me back into the whirlwind of foam balls.

Hated it.

The rope climb? Why? Why is this important? This should only be mandatory for adults who would need to perform this for a job. Firefighter. Police Officer. Military. Body Builder. If a chubby seventh-grade girl can climb a hanging rope – she deserves extra credit. As if hanging from the pull-up bar wasn’t shameful enough…

giphy (2).gif

I tried really hard to think of some things about gym class that I didn’t hate and all I could come up with were those little 4-wheeled-scooters and the parachute; both of those were in elementary school before the fear of people’s opinions though – so they don’t count.

Rant over. 

Disclaimer: I know, I’m thirty-something and I’m still holding anger over this… maybe I should go back to therapy. 


Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s