Being picked last for PE sucks. Actually, scratch that. PE sucks.
Compulsory physical education should be something to be enjoyed. A chance to get out of the stifling classroom; to enjoy some fresh air; to relish some healthy competitive spirit – to have fun.
But not for me.
Or I’d imagine, for lots of us. For me, Games and PE were humiliating. Just all of it. Having to get changed into horrible polyester in a room with other girls, comparing myself to other, uncomfortable, developing bodies. Being marked out as a liability, who’d lose the team this incredibly important game of netball. Yeah, I’ll pass the ball to somebody behind you. Leaving me standing, shivering, at the side of a hockey pitch. Or worse, made to be referee for the other, better players in my class.
Sure, this was partly my fault. I didn’t really want to get involved. Truly – what was the point? To get a low level anyway on my report card? I wasn’t coordinated. I couldn’t run fast, or jump high, or catch a ball. I wasn’t good. Why bother? I’ll chat to my fellow ‘not made for PE’ people and make daisy chains.
Looking back, this wasn’t really a me problem. The purpose of physical education should be (as Leena Norms pointed out in her video on this topic) for young people to move their bodies and stay fit. I’m not really sure why being good at sport was always the aim at school. Or why the media often only associates exercise with losing weight. I think I would have liked it more if it hadn’t been a bizarrely graded system, making me feel inadequate and unhappy.
I might have realised some of the benefits of sport, then, too.
During a year I spent as an au pair in France, a time when I often felt directionless and lonely, I ran a ‘Couch to 5k’ program. I wasn’t very good, but it didn’t matter – it gave me something to do to fill my empty mornings. I’d wheeze my way through one-minute runs, head spinning through my walking intervals. I didn’t win anything.
By May, I quit the program – running in the sticky park in a 40-degree summer felt like a death wish. But I realised something. It wasn’t about winning. Exercise endorphins weren’t just something made up by enthusiastic PE teachers in tracksuits to make me feel terrible about hating exercise. They were real. And probably saved my mental health that year.
In lockdown (1.0) I got out a yoga mat. I could touch my toes! And wave my bum in the air. And lie down and have a nap. Yoga with Adrienne deserves a medal for getting me through to May, when I was gifted the chance to chat to a friend on a bench.
Turned out – this is big, get ready – doing exercise isn’t about being good at it. Or winning anything. Or catching a ball. It’s literally about moving your body. I like sports where you can’t win at all, actually.
I’ve been doing Caving since a particularly boozy fresher’s weekend away, and I love it. Sure, it’s a bit dangerous, and I’m not even particularly good at it (I’ve got the bruises to prove that). But there’s no better rush than the one from conquering fears. And no better taste than the first pint after a trip.
I went to a wild swimming lake with a couple of friends that I met Caving. After squealing slightly at the 5-degree water (deep breaths), we swam about on the surface, chatting to each other, and to the other swimmers – their wooly hats bobbing up and down. It was nice. The cold water was a rush, shocking us into reality.
We discovered dance workouts in lockdown 2.0. Giggling through an ‘80s jazzercize (instructors in high leg lycra and all) or an ABBA dance-athon, I’d end up huffing and puffing, and somehow, for a girl picked last in PE, craving more.
I started running again too, working my way up to 5k, feeling fitter and able to run for longer each time. I’m a bit addicted to Strava. It’s weird, I hated comparisons in PE, but now I just feel proud of my friends running and cycling about. One of them puts her pole-dancing on there.
I’m not competitive, but I now feel silly for thinking that team-sports were the only way enjoy to exercise with company. You can’t really go Caving without another person. I’ve got to put my trust in whoever’s on the other end of the rope. Or the person shoving me through a gap. Or the friend handing me a sip of Guinness at the bottom of a pitch.
In this endless lockdown 3.0, I’m still reaching for my trainers. This is the longest I’ve ever consistently exercised. Turns out, sport is actually okay. At least when I’m doing it to have fun. I know I’ll never be an athlete. I used to think that was the point of it all. To get a higher score. To win. To lose weight. And I didn’t care about those things. ‘Nope. This is not for me,’ I thought, ‘I’m not competitive enough. Or good enough.’ Yeah, well, that doesn’t really matter. I still can’t catch a ball, but now I enjoy the aches in my muscles the next day. It reminds me: yes, my body did things. Well done, body.