High School Gym Teacher Nazis

Faith, over at Frighteningly Uncommon Sense posted an (as yet unsubstantiated) allegation that her personal trainer was trying to kill her. That may or may not be.

But it brought back painful memories of my experiences in High School gym class. This started out as a comment on her blog, but then I decided, fuck that, this belongs on MY blog. 'Cause I'm selfish like that.

I was fat and out of shape as a kid. Unlike now, when I'm all buff, sculpted and trim.

GOD! But I do love lying on the internet!! This blogging thing rocks!

But I digress.

The PE teachers always wanted us to climb fucking ropes! They always had a letter from some grateful vet from 'Nam claiming that learning to climb a rope in HS gym class saved them from dying a horrible death or having bamboo shoots shoved under their fingernails.

I think they made that shit up.

If I can't even do a single pull up, what are the odds that I can haul my fat ass up that fucking rope?

Plus, I'm scared of heights, ya fucktard! With every inch upward that I progress, I get more and more frightened. If I ever did manage to reach the top, I'd be in a full scale panic attack.

Only 3 possible outcomes of me reaching the top of that fucking rope.

1. I freak out, lose my grip, fall to my death. End of story. This is actually the "best case scenario".

2. I manage to summon enough strength to maintain a death grip on the rope until someone calls the fire department (we didn't have 911 back then...you were expected to know who to call in an emergency...I'm just sayin') who dispatches a ladder truck dispatched to "rescue" me. My cowardly, whimpering picture is in the paper. It makes the local news. The national outlets pick up the story and broadcast it on NBC, CBS and ABC (the only 3 channels that existed). I'm a national laughing stock for a few days. Still...could be worse.

3. I don't completely lose my grip. Just enough to slide down the entire length of rope creating 3rd degree friction burns on my hands, inner thighs, calves, feet and one side of my face. I collapse in a writhing, screaming, smoldering heap reeking of charred flesh. I get beat up by bullies every day for the rest of my HS life just for breathing other people's air. I remain a virgin for the rest of my life because there is no way for me to explain my disfigurement without coming across as the biggest pussy the world has ever seen.

I think this explains my contempt for fitness freaks who prefer Gatorade over small batch bourbon and celery sticks over Cuban cigars. Ya bunch of spandex-clad, cycle-riding, traffic-clogging, sweat-drippin' skinny bastards!