Written by: Ellen Lee
It was rough. Coming back to the track that I thought I had wished my final “goodbye” to was more painful than I’d expected.
Locker-less and friend-less, I resorted to changing in the back of my car in to an ensemble that barely resembled a physical education (P.E.) uniform. After a series of text messages and Facebook messages to an array of friends, I was able to put together something close.
In a P.E. shirt a size too large (with a name that definitely isn’t mine sharpied on it) and a pair of Terman Tiger basketball shorts (I went to JLS), I waited on the track to see a crowd of faces I had never seen before. Confused stares from my classmates (for the period), only underscored my feelings of discomfort and awkwardness. But with the help of senior Rohit Advani, I ran my warm-up laps with company.
After the treacherous lap and a half around the track, I joined Mr. Horpel’s class for the lacrosse unit. When Mr. Horpel selected two team captains for the “All Star” game and told them both to switch off picking teammates, I knew I was doomed. Not only was I a senior in a sophomore P.E. class, but I was about to live my number one nightmare of being picked last for a team. But for some reason that I’ll never know, the angels above gave me a blessing, and I was picked to be a part of the red team, close too last, but not last.
This game of lacrosse challenged the level of intensity I had experienced during my freshman year flag football unit, which for me was very intense. It wasn’t particularly physically strenuous but rather questionably violent. After a string of unfortunate events—“sword fights,” body slams, kicking and pushing—I realized that there weren’t many rules on the field. And soon, this aggressively competitive side of me that I hadn’t know existed overcame me.
I found myself no better than the rest: kicking, pushing, hitting sticks and body slamming (sorry, Grace Gandolfo) whenever I or anyone else was in a five feet radius of the ball. Knocking the ball out of my opponent’s possession became just as important as making goals. And while I made a whopping total of zero goals, the rest of my team members each made at least one, leading the red team to victory—a victory that I am convinced I contributed tremendously to.
Going back to P.E. made me realize how much I miss the class. I forgot how nice it was to have a break from back-to-back academic classes and to play on the field. Although I am sure that approximately 100 percent of my class would disagree with me, a four-year P.E. requirement, for a second, sounds quite enjoyable. However, the idea of running the mile in today’s 30 degrees weather sets me straight and helps me remember that two years is plenty.
