We All Remember P.E. Classes at School
We all remember P.E. classes at school. The musty, century-old smell of sweat in the changing rooms was just the prelude to particularly demotivating lessons. Stunted matches, missed passes, endless laps around the track: we never jumped far enough, and we never finished early enough. Graded by a tired teacher, who, by the way, hadn’t run himself, we had to drag around a tracksuit all day.
After those mandatory sessions came voluntary tortures. Endless crunches for a bikini, winded push-ups for a spaghetti strap top, and endless time on the stepper to fit our thighs into too-tight jeans. How could exercise be enjoyable when it was filled with so many demands?
And yet, moving is a luxury many envy. We don’t know who, in twenty years, will still be able to climb stairs. Every movement we make could be our last. And this body that we criticize, but which always supports us despite skipped meals and the horrible comments in fitting rooms, this body is capable of so much more than just staying stiff behind a desk, a steering wheel, or a stove. It is worth far more than gym visits to pedal unwillingly on a stationary bike that goes nowhere.
Every joint and muscle has its own limits. And unless you're completely paralyzed, you can always move something, even just a toe, in an unexpected way. No need to slip into lycra or lift weights: you can just dance in the kitchen, stretch in the bathroom, or go for a walk while calling a friend you haven’t seen in a while.
But most of all, we can see exercise in a different light, not just as a tool for change. We can marvel at our abilities, whether they’re great or limited, and wonder what it feels like to move this way or that way. We can even play, like we used to when we jumped rope for fun, without worrying about looking silly, without imagining the body we could have despite the one we’ve got. Have fun just for the sake of fun, to break out of the routine, to exist outside of our minds. Let the blood circulate, and return to ourselves.
And maybe, then, we’ll even sweat for pleasure.