(If you write a Friday Fact, be sure to link up in the comments! If I love your fact, I may just write a little post about how awesome it was. )
Becky Fact 5: I hate running, working out, and athletic endeavors of nearly every kind. HATE.
My husband has fond memories of playing games and running around happily in gym class in school.
I guess that comes with being a tall, coordinated, and athletic boy.
Short, asthmatic, bookish girls who used to walk into walls, poles and doors (seriously) all the time have memories more of this sort:
Having to wear a school-issued swimsuit in front of my peers, and then spend the rest of the day with red, itchy skin and stringy wet hair from swimming in chlorine.
Having bruised arms from volleyball, bruised shins from field hockey and a bruised ego from being told I have the worst time on running the mile in gym-class history.
Pretending to have my period for years before I actually got my period, just to get out of things like swimming or running or... everything.
Being graded on how many reps I could do on weight-room days, and only being able to do like three reps on anything.
Lying in the grass in the outfield managing to have an asthma attack and an allergy attack at the same time.
Changing in the bathroom stall so the girls in the locker room wouldn't see my padded bra.
Oh, and wearing my padded bra under my sports bra, you know - to keep up appearances.
Having gym teachers tell me that I'm not working hard enough or pushing myself, only to have them check my heart rate monitor and realize that yes, I really am that pathetic. I really can't run faster.
Or I would explode.
By the way, Travis also didn't have to work out in the weight room twice a week, or wear a heart-rate monitor to be sure he was efficiently working out, go swimming, cross-country skiing, OR get graded on how accurately he could serve a tennis ball.
Gym class was seriously like my private hell.
I have actual nightmares about being in gym class.
Like, I wake up crying because I think I'm there again.
I thought about lots of different stories to share, and Travis wanted me to share the story of being a second-grader and scoring a goal in soccer on my own team. And then being shunned.
And having children tell me that they were glad that I was moving to another school and wouldn't be there to ruin their games anymore.
Seriously? You bratty little second graders ruined soccer for me. Maybe I would have had a chance at athleticism!
I thought about telling the story about when I locked my middle school gym teacher in her office (yep.) so we wouldn't have to go out and exercise, and then spent the rest of the day hiding in the showers so she wouldn't kill me.
Or when I used to pretend to run around the track, and then would duck down under the pole vaulting mat and hide for the rest of class.
But instead you get this:
Pretty much every gym teacher I've ever had has hated me. Especially women.
Women gym teachers have zero sympathy for how pathetic I am.
Because I knew that anyone sadistic enough to be a gym teacher was probably (definitely) in league with the devil himself I made it my goal to make them hate gym class as much as I did.
Every day, no matter what, as soon as we left the locker room I would tell my teacher that I had to pee and ask to run back to the bathroom.
Then I would dawdle as much as I could - making zero pretenses about it.
I knew I was trying to avoid class. They knew I was trying to avoid class.
One fine day in... maybe eighth grade (although possibly seventh) we went outside to practice archery.
Archery wasn't that bad, so I didn't mind too much.
It was better than running.
Maybe it was because I was used to going to the bathroom in the middle of class, but I actually had to pee. So I asked to head back to the locker room.
And my gym teacher, who was no doubt fed up with me spreading rumors that she was a lesbian, shoving a chair up against her door (so she couldn't leave her office) and disappearing every day in the middle of class told me that No, I couldn't go use the bathroom. I could stay right there in gym class and learn to shoot a bow and arrow.
You probably think you know where this is going.
But no, I didn't shoot her or anyone else.
I insisted that I did have to go to the bathroom, and when she refused to let me leave class - I stood in front of her and wet my pants.
You know, to make a point.
"Yeah," you're thinking. "You're all about peeing in front of other people. I remember your fact from a few weeks ago."
Well, guess what. That wasn't my thing. I didn't pee in public all the time.
What is my thing, apparently, is telling you guys all about everything in my life.
But we're friends, right?
* * *
Fact: it is Friday.
Fact: it is Friday.
I think you should do it too.
And here are your instructions (not really rules...):
1. Write a fact about yourself.
3. It can be long or short, detailed or not.
4. Don't write about your kids. (Unless you want to. Because, I mean... it's your blog. I can't stop you from writing about your kids.)
5. Link up to this blog, so we can all read some facts, and not feel bad that we dropped out of school to be stay-at-home moms. (Since if we're reading facts, then we are still learning.)
6. You're not a dropout like me? Or a stay at home mom? No biggie. You can still play.
Can't think of what to write? Start like this:
Fact: When I was a kid I was really good at...
Fact: My biggest pet peeve is...
Fact: I have a third nipple.
Fact: I would love it if you clicked below to vote for me: