Gym Class Superpower

 Last week's post was about what I couldn't do in gym class, which was, unfortunately, a lot.

I couldn't do chin-ups, climb the rope, or run very fast (although the boys always watched when I did), and I was absolutely abysmal at baseball. No one told me I had to put the glove on my non-throwing hand. Have you ever tried throwing a baseball with the glove on? I dare you to try — it's not easy, and the ball doesn't go far.

So, I was always picked last for most team events, basically the 'default' player who wasn't chosen, but fell to the opposite team that chose last. Then we were introduced to Tug-of-War. 

The biggest, tallest, and strongest kids were usually placed at the end, called the Anchor, and that kid was the one who usually helped the team stay behind the Red Line of Death. My team groaned when I was defaulted to them, and though I wasn't fat by any means at the time, my weight was more than the average for a 12-year-old, well-developed, curvy, and I had thick muscles on my legs and thighs. Leg strength was what was needed for this sport, so they made me Anchor, hoping they wouldn't lose within the first few seconds.

I was determined to show them a thing or two. 

One trick that always worked well for me was quickly running to the bathroom before class started and wiping down the bottom of my sneakers with a damp paper towel. This gave me more grip on the polished gym floor when running or performing other activities that required speed or fast turns. 

Done.

I got in my place, took the thick rope in my hands, and wrapped it behind my back, making sure my grip was firm.

The whistle blew, and I whipped around, facing away from the team, and leaned forward hard, using everything I had with the rope wrapped fully around my waist. I'd made my first few hard-earned steps when the whistle blew.

"Stop! Back to place!" yelled the gym teacher. "No one is allowed to turn around. Face forward to the center only!"

Crud. That was a rule?

I wasn't sure if I was the only one who inadvertently broke the rules, but I was glad he didn't single me out. But he didn't say anything about the rope, other than a slight shaking of his head when he saw me wrap it fully around my waist again. 

I formed a different strategy. 

The whistle blew. 

I got a firm grip on the rope, leaned back, and bent my knees, letting all my weight rest on my legs and hips, not depending on my arm strength. My sneakers held fast as I pulled back as hard as I could, keeping my arms straight but loose.

I could feel the rope tension fighting me at first, then a slight slacking before pulling taut again. Every time it went slack, I did the opposite of my classmates and pulled harder, instead of trying to get a better grip.

The red rag tied in the center of the rope shifted to our side of the Red Line of Death inch by inch. 

The whistle blew. We won!

Cheers from my team as they let go of the rope right before I was done pulling, I squeaked in surprise and fell right on my butt. I was a little embarrassed when they laughed at me, but it didn't matter as much because we all realized I had a gym class superpower. 

I was still the weird kid in the class, but whenever we were scheduled for Tug-of-War, I was the first one picked. And it felt good. I knew the reason they chose me, but I didn't care — because I had a skill they needed, and it was nice not being last for once.

Not everyone is built to fit into everyone else's expectations. I knew I would never be a ballerina, play golf, or be a sports star. But if someone needed a push to get their car out of a snowbank, or needed something heavy moved a short distance, I was your gal. 'Strength like bull,' I'd say, in a Russian accent to my friends when they needed help, but after that expenditure of energy, I'd need to rest before I could do it again.

Play to your strengths. Know your weaknesses and don't cater to others' idea of what you're capable (or not capable) of. Be you, and be blessed!