So I’m on the Peleton this morning taking a 30 minute 80’s ride with Emma Lovewell (my fav) when she offers to “distract us from the climb” by describing a recent Peleton workplace teambuilding activity. Apparently, a bunch of fitness instructors got together for a day of bonding that recreated elementary school gym class. “We played dodgeball. It was SO MUCH FUN!” she exclaimed. This is when I realized that I have one less thing in common with Emma Lovewell. She has visible abs, endless cardio stamina, and hand-eye coordination. I have none of the above. In addition, I have ZERO fond memories of gym class.
I still recall the many games we played, and I hated them all. Kickball (ugh). Softball (worse). Basketball (I was tall but that only raised expectations, which were dashed as soon as I tried to shoot. Or even dribble.). Climbing the rope (mortifying). Scooting around on those little wheeled carts while kicking at a giant inflatable ball (why?). That thing called the “flexed arm hang,” a female alternative to pull-ups which only confirmed that if ever my life depended on my own strength for more than a few seconds, I was surely a goner.
Running was tolerable, in moderation. The only thing I sort of liked was when we got out the big parachute and the whole class stood around the perimeter lifting the edge up high, then quickly down over our heads as we ducked inside and admired the tent we’d made. But we only did that when rain kept us inside.
The many opportunities for humiliation began even before the games themselves, when the ritual of picking teams immediately established the “haves” and “have-nots” of pre-pubescent athletic prowess. Only once in my life was I picked first for a team, and I still remember it.
Our gym teacher decided we’d play a 5th grade basketball tournament where teams of 2 would compete against each other. These teams were to be BOY/GIRL and each boy got to select a girl to be his partner. It’s hard to unpack all that’s wrong with this through a 21st century lens…why the obsession with gender roles? Why did boys get to pick their partners and girls just got passively selected? Why couldn’t the girls say no if they didn’t like their partner? Absolutely nothing about this was even remotely “woke.” As it happened, the tallest (and in my 5th grade opinion, the cutest) boy had first pick. And he picked me. I know he did so because I was the tallest girl, but he soon discovered I was also the least able to put that damn ball through the hoop. Let’s just say he learned not to judge a book by its cover.
I’m sure those super athletic Peleton instructors looked great playing games in the branded apparel that shows off their lithe muscles and perfect skin. I wonder if they are all like Emma – confident and accurate as they throw dodge balls at other people, untroubled by the prospect of being bonked in the head themselves. Good for them. As for me, I’ll stick to the stationary bike in my basement. I’ll try to keep up with Emma (Live, Learn, Lovewell!), but I’m also happy to go at my own pace on Team Laura.
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