Every pdoc and therapist I have ever had has told me I need to exercise; that the research proves that it’s effective at combating depression. I was never happy with this advice. Exercise requires a great deal of motivation, something depression consumes at will. Add to that, I have never been much of an athlete - I’ve always been part of the “rest,” as in when teams were being selected at recess, “You can have the rest.” -so you can understand my reluctance.
The only sport I was any good at was crab soccer in elementary school. I was a beast on the floor. I scurried faster than any crab and had a lethal shot. Alas, after grade 6, my career came to an end.
In grade nine, girls and boys were separated in gym class for the first time, and within the gender splits, there were athletic groupings. During the first three classes, we went through a series of fitness and skills tests; things like how many push-ups or sit-ups can you do in a certain amount of time; how fast can you run 100m; how many baskets can you can shoot, and other such activities to judge our basic athletic ability.
The whole purpose was to separate the wheat from the chaff. Those who were weak and less coordinated were put into their own class separate from the “regular” classes. I was quickly sorted into the “Heebie-Jeebies” - that was what the other kids called us. I’m not sure if this separation was done for our benefit or to prevent us from holding back the other classes.
And so, my only year of high school gym was spent doing more sit-ups, weight training and stair laps than the “normal” kids. Luckily my older brother alerted me to the key to high marks in fitness units. He told me to not try hard during the first benchmarks at the beginning of the year and then try my very best in June. Your mark was based on your level of improvement, and so I managed to get an A. Even my parents were impressed. That was the end of my scholastic PE.
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