SPORTS DAY: GOOD EFFORT

From my apartment window, I could hear the familiar cheering of a school sports day. It reminded me how lucky I was that I wasn’t 14 anymore and being forced into such activities.

PE or physical education was never my favourite subject. It wasn’t as bad as maths, but it wasn’t great. I wouldn’t have minded if I was being physically educated in yoga or pilates, or shuffleboard, but for some reason, schools insist that the only way to learn sport is by being in a team. In my case, that meant a team full of teenage girls who were better at throwing, catching, and running than I was.

It wasn’t that I was completely useless, but I wouldn’t win or score anything. My best friends, however, were pretty good at the subject. Whenever there was a team (netball, hockey, tennis, rounders…), they would be on it. And they would have these badges sewn onto their sports skirts to signify how good they were.

By the end of our school life, Amy was tracing around with more badges than a TGI waitress. My skirt, however, came out blank, and the only reward I had was a measly red paper certificate saying ‘Good Effort’…. (I would argue that this was worse than no reward).

The most dire sport we had to do was swimming. I understand the life-saving benefits of knowing how to swim, but once that is conquered then I’m not sure what else we need to be learning. Like the butterfly stroke. What a load of tosh that is. If a shark was coming at me, the last thing I’m going to do is crack out the butterfly.

My school’s pool was in the far corner of the field, surrounded by a wooden picket fence. We would be forced to cross the grounds in matching navy costumes, with our heads pulled up and back in tough rubber hats. The lesson would consist of my classmates and I floating in a teeth-chattering line, as our teacher stood on the outside and moved her limbs like a Bee-Gee. It was a terribly uncomfortable hour that happened every week over the summer term. You bet I would do my best to skip it. It just so happened that my cycle would be abnormally regular during those months.

And then there was sports day…

This was the day our PE lesson had an audience. Along with field sports, we would be forced to compete against each other in swimming for our parent’s entertainment.

One year I was put into the swimming relay. I had kicked off the race well with an aggressive front crawl to Helena, who swam back with a… butterfly… (eye roll). She tagged Amy, who came charging to the shallow end with another crawl. Who then tagged Kate, who came back… and we went there and back, and then… my turn again. I pushed off the wall and crawled, and crawled, and crawled. I could sense I was ahead and got excited at the thought of winning something on this goddamn day.

It was only when I got near the end that I heard a hysterical whistle from above the water. I stopped suddenly, thinking it was an emergency, but it was my PE teacher yelling at me that the race had ended. I distinctly remember Helena shaking her head from the shallow end, and hearing the mums and dads laughing at the silly girl in the pool.

I slowly made my way to the edge and climbed out, and that’s when the PE teacher squeezed me on the shoulder and said rather mockingly, “Good effort, Mary!”