If you ask me to name my favorite subjects in junior high and high school, it would be easy – I’d say English (the more reading, the better), French, art, and geometry (I loved figuring out those proofs). And if you asked me my least favorite, it would be even easier – gym. (Okay, trigonometry came next – what the heck is sine, anyway? – but gym was by far at the bottom of the list. The very bottom.)

Why? Because, quite simply, I was both a klutz and not exactly schooled in the art of playground. (I wasn’t the very last person chosen for teams but pretty close to it.) Add being painfully shy to the mix and you can understand why I’d rather have spent my time in the library than in the gymnasium.

Let’s start with those outfits, called “gym suits” in those days. Unlike now, where girls get to wear cute gym shorts and tees, we were relegated to wearing these absolutely ugly, one-piece garments made out of a stiff cotton (maybe) / polyester blend. This fashion faux pas looked like a short-sleeved, collared shirt tucked into a pair of baggy shorts, with unflattering elastic around the waist and snap fasteners. Our names were supposed to be written onto the front pocket in laundry marker. (In my case, my mother felt the need to embroider my name in contrasting thread. Not too embarrassing – thanks, Mom).

Worse than wearing the gym suit was participating in the activities. To wit:

First, gymnastics. While I did okay when the balance beam was represented by a taped line on the ground (I could walk along it without losing my balance), once it became a beam, I became a mess. So scared was I of falling off that, well, I fell off. Time after time. And we’re just talking about walking here. Other girls could walk, turn, leap onto it with the help of a spring board, and even learn to do a cartwheel dismount. Nope – not happening.

And don’t even get me started on the uneven parallel bars. All I needed to be told was to dangle from the high bar and then let go, drop down, and catch the low bar – and I froze. Let go? Are you kidding me? I may not have been studying physics, but I knew all about the laws of gravity and had no intention of testing their limits.

And you know how there are all kinds of vaults? Mine was the no-fault vault – that is, I would run as fast I could toward the apparatus and then, at the moment it was time to place my hands on it and push myself over, I’d stop still in my tracks, like one of those cartoon characters who skids to an abrupt halt, leaving a cloud of dust behind. That’s all, folks.

Next up, softball. Here was a conundrum for me, because I detested both batting and fielding. Batting, because I’d get so nervous that I would be too distracted to keep my eye on the ball and attempt to hit it. And fielding, because I would pray that the ball wouldn’t come to me for fear of it popping out of my glove, rolling between my legs (hello, Bill Buckner), or, even worse, my catching it and throwing it in the wrong direction. The only good news there was that catching it, apparently, was never a possibility.

Volleyball. You know how cool it looks when you watch a volleyball game, and all those beautiful, perfectly fit people are digging, spiking, tapping, jousting, and killing the ball, having the times of their lives? (Cue the soundtrack to Top Gun). Yeah, not so much for me. First of all, my serve was never quite strong enough to get the ball over the net easily. And secondly, I just never had that all-or-nothing, “dive for it” instinct in me (again with the praying that the ball not come to me). One sight of that ball bearing down on me and it was “take my breath away” time. Literally.

I did like a game called Newcomb, though, which only involved catching the ball and then tossing it back over the net (I opted for a two-hand underhand). When I recently mentioned Newcomb to B., telling him I’d really liked playing it back then, he thought I was joking. “That’s not even athletic!” he said, cracking up. One look at my disappointed face and he tried to fix it. “Well, it’s sort of athletic,” he amended. “I mean, you do have to catch the ball, I suppose.” Side out.

Did I like any of it? I liked the modern dance unit. I liked the jumping jacks. And I liked doing somersaults (aka forward rolls). But the rest? As we said in those days, “let’s not and say we did.” What I loved, though, was being able to change back into my clothes and head to English class. (Thankfully, my college had no phys ed requirement – coincidence?)

Final score: Scarlet Letter, 1; gym class, 0.

©2024 Claudia Grossman