No one hated PE more than I did. By senior year I had survived gymnastics, rope climbing and field hockey humiliations of epic proportion. I was chosen last when the teams were picked and was usually the first one on the bench. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that all I had to do was make it through 4 more semesters and I would never have to suit up and suffer again.
I would have made it too, if it hadn’t been for her. Petite and popular she was a solid mass of competitive muscle with an arrogant attitude. Time and time again I found myself the first to fall at her feet. Reaching my breaking point I decided that if it was the last thing I did I would find a way to beat her at something.
The opportunity came when my long stride advanced me to the finals of the hundred yard dash. Bursting off the line with 3 1/2 years of pent up humiliation fueling my feet; I put my head down and ran as though my life depended on it. The sound of my cheering classmates drowned out the coach shouting at me to pick up my head and breath. The next thing I remember she was bending over me asking if I thought I could make it to the nurse’s office. I had blacked out and literally fallen over the finish line. It wasn’t technically a victory because my feet never made it over the line but not even my opponent had the heart to say so. The cinders still embedded in my knees are a reminder of the price I paid for vengeance. I remain to this day a very non-competitive person. What happened to my archrival? She became a PE teacher.
No comments:
Post a Comment