Saturday, June 30, 2012

Feeling Like an Olympian

We've been watching the Olympic trials this week and watching the gymnastics brings me right back to 7th and 8th grade gym classes. Gym classes back then were a little different than they are today.

First of all, we were pretty sure that our married gym teacher was having an affair with the other gym teacher. They would tell us to walk out to the tennis courts and they would "meet us there". They would come out about a half hour later and they were always walking together awful close. While they were doing the deed in the locker room, we would walk out to the tennis courts with a boom box. Yes, I just said that. A boom box. One of us would carry it out on our shoulder, Say Anything Style, blasting songs like "It Takes Two". We would spend our class alternating between playing tennis and dancing on the court. Those were the days.

Also, in gym class I would only change my bottom half. You had to wear shorts. That was a rule. They never said anything about wearing a t-shirt. I didn't want to mess up my hair so I would leave on my popped collar Izod, and sometimes even a sweater if it was a little chilly out. On the bottom half, shortie gym shorts. So stoopid. After class I would dose up on my Love's Baby Soft perfume to mask any sweat I might have dripped. 

So, during one winter gym session, we were doing gymastics, taking turns on the horse, balance beam, and uneven bars. For some reason, we had to set up in the hallway in the school because the gym was being used for something else. And they didn't want us marking up the floor with our sneakers so I ran in socks, on shiny linoelum, running like a bat out of hell towards the horse. I was going to propel myself onto the horse by jumping on the wooden springboard but my feet just kept going....straight under the springboard. My white socks immediately turned pink because I had torn off the first few layers of skin on the tops of my feet when they got wedged under the springboard. I got yelled at by the gym teacher...for doing what he told us to with no sneakers on in the hallways. Hey, dude, maybe if you weren't so busy with the other gym teacher in the locker room this might not have happened.

Just a quick aside, thinking of this made me think about the time in art class that we were using awls to chisel wood plaques and of course my awl slipped and instead of engraving the wood, I engraved my hand. The blood immediately starting spurting and I put my head down on my desk to prevent myself from passing out. The kids were yelling for our teacher...who for some reason was locked in the supply closet. What was it with these teachers?? I ended up with 3 stitches and a permanent scar.

You know, it just hit me that maybe Jack got his clumsy/freak accident gene from me! Literally, that just hit me. I guess the good news is that once I graduated from high school, I didn't have any other crazy accidents so maybe there is hope for him still!

Anyways, back to gym class...for our final grade in gym, we had to prepare a gymnastics floor routine filled with cartwheels, back handsprings, and dancing while flailing your arms and sticking out your chest and butt. I, of course, syncronized my routine to AC DC's Back in Black and I thought it was something else. I would practice for hours each week in my yard after school. I'm pretty sure any of my neighbors could have done the routine by the time I was finished practicing. And there I was...during my final routine  in class with my popped collar, monogramed pink sweater, and nylon short shorts. In the words of Paris Hilton I looked hot. And I rocked that routine. I don't even remember what I got for a grade, but I remember how fun that was.

Every time I watch gymnastics I think of the good old days!

1 comment:

  1. Nice post, thanks for sharing this wonderful and useful information.