Recess Again

Do you remember recess?  Or PE?  (We called it gym class in Junior High.)

For me, recess started out as...fun!  I got to be outside and I got to try new things - often mastering them.  A few of those things were quasi-dangerous. I'm sure today's second graders wouldn't be allowed to do a penny drop over packed dirt and gravel. We had no concept of spotting.  We either picked up those who crashed or we ran to get the teacher - depending on how much blood there was.  The metal merry-go-rounds provided stomach-flipping thrills the faster we pushed them. Those ladders leading to the slide?  How many rungs could we climb and then jump off?  Who needed a slide?  Swings were made to be bailed out of - not just swung.

I learned to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time.  There were a couple ways to draw a hopscotch grid.  You couldn't double-dutch by yourself.  Freeze tag was more fun the more people who played.

Things started changing for me in the fifth grade.  I was terrified of one particular girl in my class.  She started with threats of finding me after school and escalated to literally beating me up on the playground one day.  I dreaded being outside of the safety of my classroom.  (The same girl was taken away by the police when she brought a handgun to school and threatened a teacher.  Yes, we had these problems in the sixties, too.)  Anyway, I found reasons to be in the library during recess.  I mean, who doesn't love a little girl who chooses to write extra reports?  Or reads just about every book she gets her hands on?

After sixth grade, we moved to the West side of town and I started attending a new school.  I didn't go to the same elementary schools as the other kids and I was a fish out of water, for sure.  I didn't own a pair of blue jeans.  I had kinky brown hair.  I wore glasses.  I obviously didn't fit in.  I was eventually befriended by a group of girls who probably saved my life.  I'm not sure if any of them know that.  I'm still in touch with most of them and I cherish the decades we've known each other.  The thing is, as a teen I didn't recognize their value nearly enough.  My glass was half full and I was waiting for some beautiful West side cheerleader to spill what little I thought I had in that glass.

We had to wear uniforms to gym class.  The institutional green shirts and shorts mortified me.  How could they look so cute on the popular girls and so awful on me?  Why wouldn't my mom buy me tube socks without the black stripe at the top?  Would I ever get a pair of gym shoes that didn't make my feet look like two bricks at the bottom of my legs?

Also, the showers.  I had to be naked around people I didn't know and I was never cooled off enough to stop sweating.  I often left the locker room feeling like I was emitting a cloud of steam.  My glasses would fog, my dark brown hair would curl even further, and my clumsy attempt at mascara would smudge.  I was surrounded by pretty, glowing, blonde cheerleaders.  I was Judy Blume middle school dramatic in a quiet, introspective, sweaty, and suffering way.

The activities in gym class were tough for me.  I hadn't taken private gymnastics lessons so I was essentially a remedial student for that portion of the year.  It wasn't unusual for some girls in my class  to do back handsprings and flips.  I fell off the balance beam more times than I can count.  Just walking.  No tricks. I saw the trampoline as a death trap.  When we moved on to basketball,  I didn't make baskets.  I counted on my friend, Kelly, to tell me to run to the other end of the court when it was time.  I had no concept of the rules of the game.

Summers were a relief.  My brothers, my sister, and I were on the neighborhood pool's swim team.  We walked to morning practices together, swam all day, and then practiced again at night.  Our coaches kept a close eye on us and guided us to some decent times - and a lot of fun.

But school? I don't remember any REAL coaching or training going on at my schools.  We were left to our own devices to either succeed gloriously or fail miserably.  It's no wonder I hated PE and gravitated toward classwork and teachers that challenged and coached my brain (Thanks, Mr. Z!).  The thrill of physical accomplishment stayed back in grade school.  I lasted one season on my high school swim team and felt real pleasure at turning in my team suit.  As soon as gym class wasn't mandatory, I filled those elective hours with classes which caused me less discomfort and embarrassment.

I was on my way to becoming a loner athlete and didn't even know it.  As an adult I found that running allowed me to get the physical activity I craved and I could run alone.  The thing is...again, no coaching/training/teaching.  I got through thousands of miles and what I have to show for it is a few dozen medals, a calcified left achilles, and poor upper body strength.

Since starting CrossFit, I've discovered what attentive coaching and encouragement looks like.  I'm gradually getting stronger.  My fifty six year old body's creaks and aches aren't as pronounced but I have the confidence to grunt and groan louder than ever before.

Sometimes we have to make some noise to make some moves.

Today I ran 6 X 200s.  (The prescribed workout was 6 X 400s.)  I'm able to scale down as a beginner and sometimes I really need that.  I'm not intimidated by the accomplishments of others in the class because I'm not comparing my accomplishments to theirs.  They're concentrating so hard on their  workouts that they're not judging me.  I'm not intimidated by them, I'm inspired by them.  Even more than that, I'm enjoying being part of a bunch of people running around outside with a beautiful sunrise to light our way.

I wear my glasses for most workouts. (Safety first!)  My hair gets curlier as the workout progresses.  I wear the shorts and shirt that is the most comfortable and I haven't thought about how my socks look.  Not once.  I wear a bandana as a headband and I sweat.  A lot.

It seems I'm experiencing recess all over again.  I get to be outside and I'm trying new activities.  I expect to master some of those skills.  I'm re-learning how to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time. Rather than doing quasi-dangerous things, I'm doing challenging things and I have someone coaching me to make sure I do them as safely as possible.  If I want to lift heavy, I know I'll have someone to spot for me.  Succeeding gloriously now means finishing a workout.  The only way I can conceive of failing miserably would be not to participate but using a superlative combined with the word "fail" seems middle school dramatic so we won't go there.