Comment: Gym Class Memo

Okay, I know I promised not to talk about the half-marathon, but while I was running, so many things were going through my head. Don't you want to hear all about it? Are ya sure?

I loved being part of a big group doing something athletic.

Because that NEVER happened growing up or once I hit adulthood and got into cruise control. My setting was NON-JOCK pretty much since birth. I've been known to bruise with no memory of an event, and to smack my head pretty damn hard on occasion. (A charitable person once told me I was a small person trapped in a large body, and thus couldn't control my over-sized limbs. I really do have long arms. I saw this picture of my mom, grandmother and I, and I had my arm around them, and I mean it was AROUND THEM. I looked like Partial-Elasti-Girl.)

What I'm saying is, I'm not known for my athletic prowess.

Gym class was torment for geeks like me. We played a particularly sadistic form of dodgeball called "Chasse Aux Canards" (Duck Hunt) and "Chasse Aux Ecureuils" (Squirrel Hunt, even worse). It was, natch, hell.

But I was just thinking, if my fascist and annoying phys ed teachers could see me now, they wouldn't nearly fail me. No Ds for me, no bronze patch in the Canadian Test for Physical Fitness. (The bronze patch just looked BROWN. Sad.) I have a fucking medal, bitch! (and bastard, let's include them ALL)

So suck it, gym teachers of my past! I'm not a complete klutz.

There, I feel much better now. Thanks.