Physical education was a different animal in my time. Most of the phys. ed. teachers had been in the Korean War, and the kids in front of them didn’t measure up to the brothers they lost in the war. So they did their best to get us ready for the next global outbreak.
We needed help.
Phys. Ed was five days a week, a different discipline or regime each day. Monday was something called the Navy test – sit-ups, push-ups, and wind sprints to exhaustion. Tuesday was rope skills. How many times could you jump rope in one minute – then how many times could you jump rope in five minutes? This was the only skill I was good at, and I have no idea why. I could jump rope 180 times in a minute. I never tell people this, because it takes so much backstory, and even then, they don’t care.
Wednesday was gymnastic apparatus – pommel horse, parallel bars, and rings. The phys. ed. teacher told us he’d give us anyone an A if they could do an iron cross on the rings. He could do it. No one else could.
Thursday was track – one week flailing around in the 100-yard dash, then progressing all the way up to the two-mile run. And it had to be accomplished in fifteen minutes, or you’d be scheduled to do it again. At the end of the two-mile run, you’d have approximately three minutes to get back to your locker, open the lock, grab your towel, and run through the showers. Still, anyway you did it, you’d show up for your next class drenched in sweat, your heart pounding, the shirt clinging to your body, not at all ready for the algebra test in front of you.
Fridays were wrestling. Our high school was a big-time wrestling school in Cleveland, and the varsity squad was coached by a man who had gone to the state finals every year he was there. He graduated from the high school and eventually came back to teach – and coach. As a result, everyone wrestled. It was terrible. Remember, this is during the time when deodorant was something new. People stunk. My record, going into senior year, was 0-43, all by pin. At one point the phys. ed. teacher pulled me aside and said, goddamn it, if you don’t win at least one of your remaining matches this semester, I’m going to flunk you!
Well. So, in the last match of the year, I listened to a friend of mine shout out what to do, and I did what he said. PUT YOUR HEAD INTO HIS ARMPIT. And I did. HOOK HIS LEG. And I did. I wound up pinning the guy. Then immediately I went into the locker room and puked in the showers. But I passed. I don’t remember the following algebra class, but that’s probably all for the best.
OLD MAN SHAKES FIST AT CLOUDS
check in for more next week
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