Archive for January 2010
Dancing On Ice is on at the moment and watching it has made me think about how totally shit at sports I always have been and always will be.
As a kid, I was always picked second to last (just before the fat kid) as I have basically no coordination and no desire to run unless it’s away from a rapist or toward a bus. Although the last one’s unlikely to be honest. There’ll probably be another one soon. And I can have a fag while I wait. Double health bonus.
I turn into a red-faced, awkward and totally inept pile of useless shite if ever faced with something active where an element of competition is involved. It makes me feel like an inferior human being and long for the safety of my keyboard, where I can once again feel superior. I might not be able to catch a ball (or anything else you may wish to throw at me: a Frisbee, a child, a small poo… use your imagination) but, fuck you, at least I can spell.
Because I’m not overweight, some people seem to think I therefore must be ‘sporty’. Couldn’t be further from the truth. From bowling to netball to skiing; it all makes me feel equally as nauseous and equally as repulsed. Not that I’ve ever tried skiing, but I can pretty much vouch for it turning out the same as all of my other encounters with any kind of sporting activity.
Sports I have tried and failed at, include:
- Rounders (urgh, that one brings back particularly horrible memories)
- Ice hockey
- Ping pong
The list is pretty much endless. Think of a sport and I can guarantee I cannot do it. The only exercises I can do are walking (just, but not in heels or if I’m drunk, which is the case more frequently than one might expect) and my exercise DVDs. The latter because no one can see me and I’m only competing against that cheeky little cockney yo-yo dieter, Natalie Cassidy. And she can’t see me either.
As an adult I’ve often thought that perhaps school PE lessons put me off sport and that maybe I’m not actually that bad at it at all, I just think I am.
And it is true that I did have a sadistic bitch from hell as a PE teacher. “Hi Miss Armstrong, how’s the ‘tache coming along?” You harridan from Hades.
Actually, the boys fancied her a bit I think. She was blonde and young and that probably made up for her facial hair and the fact that she was pure EVIL.
To elaborate – one day I forgot my swimming costume. And I would imagine I actually did; swimming was the one PE lesson that didn’t fill me with overwhelming fear and dread, involving, as it did, very few competitive elements.
So the bitch made me wear a costume for a ten year old. I was about 13 and going through puberty, so fairly uncomfortable about my body in a swimming costume as it was, never mind in one several sizes too small.
She also had a problem with girls not doing swimming because they were on their periods. So she insisted we use tampons and get on with it. “Oh, okay, Miss. I’ll just tell my hymen to fucking BREAK already, shall I? Then I can dive right on in there whilst you flap orders at me with your hairy top lip. Yay!”
Like I said, evil bitch.
I went to secondary school in Otley. There’s only one, as far as I’m aware, so, if anyone reading this knows the charming harpy of whom I speak, I would hate for you to direct her to my blog so that she can assess the affect her ‘teaching’ style had on some of her pupils…
Anyway, long-winded, bitter diatribe aside, turns out I was incorrect. I am still shit at sports, long after leaving the cesspit of torture that was my school life behind.
For example, I did six months of a teacher training course not so long ago (I quit when I realised there was a bit more to it than reading stories to children all day). As part of this we had ‘practical’ lessons in PE, one of which involved ball games in pairs. I was so crap I ended up playing with the tutor. And then against a wall.
Another example of my physical shitness presented itself on my recent trip to Australia, when I went kayaking around Sydney Harbour.
Except I didn’t. Everyone else went kayaking. I went round in circles. The trip leader offered me a rope to hold on to more than once. I declined, thus salvaging the one shred of dignity I had left and holding everyone else up by a good hour.
Thing is though, I don’t actually give a single, solitary shite anymore. I’ve come to accept what I am – crap at sports and happy with it.
So, on that note… I can’t think of a good way to finish this post.