Sports, Whatever Rev 1

My life is a train wreck. You’re welcome to watch.

I hate gym class or rather I hate the uniforms, the smell of the lockers, what the sweat does to my hair, and most of all taking off my clothes and taking a shower. They give us tiny little white towels that only cover the front of you, and if you have no boobs like me, you attempt to create them with air using artful draping techniques. I am not graceful and the shorts always look way too short on my long legs.

Then there is the actual sport or activity. Let’s start with pushups. When you have long arms and no boobs you have to have serious upper body strength to push back up- after the first down movement. And you usually hurt your back because your elbows are reaching for the ceiling as you try to keep your back straight and not lift your butt first.

Next we have running- on the dirt track- around the football field where the boys are practicing for the game tonight. I think running is a stupid activity and I do everything I can to get out of it including hiding behind the stadium electrical box on the first circuit and reappearing on the last pass at the back of the herd. My gym teacher, or rather all the female gym teachers, don’t wear makeup; have short haircuts (not hair dos) and walk like men. They make me nervous especially when they yell at me for incomplete sit ups, or ducking out of the way at the mound when a softball heads in my direction.

I’d rather be at the library sitting on a bench near the lily pond, reading a romance novel. Looking charming and feminine, just waiting for my prince to kneel before me, take my hand, and kiss it.

Next week is a football game and a dance after. I work Fridays nights and Saturday afternoons at an ice cream place, so I don’t have to stress about standing on the side waiting for some skinny geeky guy with acne to sweat all over me during a slow dance.

On Fridays we have square dancing instead of PE and Im not crazy about that either since its all girls in the class, and some of the athletic ones like to push you or trip you, or try to pull your shoulder out of the socket like a runaway teacup at Disneyland.

to be continued.
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