Gym Class - Original Writing

The guys were stronger than me, and they weren't used to a girl practicing with them. However one thing they did that I really appreciated was that they never treated me as an outsider. We practiced every day of the week after school for 3 hours straight and even on school breaks. I did every workout the guys did without complaint.

“What?” Tom started, “I’m sitting here totally nude and you’re saying that I still need to embarrass myself more? I can’t even own socks here, and you’re saying I need to give up my trainers?”

I've always been the odd man out on any sports team who looked forward to conditioning at the end of practice and would hold my plank an extra few seconds until I really felt the pain. I loved pushing myself beyond my expected limits and the satisfaction of leaving the gym knowing I gave my full effort. Although the thought of taking a weight lifting class was extremely intimidating, I acknowledged my deep love for training and bettering myself.

The week starts off with its annual homecoming week mass. As students and faculty gather, the gym feels as if it is bursting at the seams with excitement to finally start the festivities. Seniors involved in powderpuff were so excited to begin the week, that they arrived at school before the sun rose. Shoes were soaked with dew, and shirts were dripping with sweat as the battle for the championship continued. Braids, bows, and bruises can best describe the competitive flag-football league. As the sun slowly filled the sky with its warm rays, students filtered into school wearing their best rodeo-attire. Cowboy boots clunked down the stairs, country music blasted outside of classrooms, and plaid shirts were sported by almost everyone. During lunch mods, students were entertained with sign painting. An overwhelming number of people gathered around a table with art supplies, almost as if they were thirsty animals at a watering hole. Orange, green, purple, and blue paint cascaded over the

I ran upstairs as fast as I could, panting and wheezing the entire way. Once I reached our locker room, I did not hesitate. I jumped into the shower. The freezing water made me recoil as it touched my skin. I rushed through my daily shower routine. When finished, I tied my damp, tangled hair up in the warm, soft towel. The second I walked into the locker room, I got a multitude of sweet,

The sweat was dripping down John’s face as he pushed the weights off his chest. Everyone ran towards their bags after a student said there was a gun in school. Twitter was the first source that everyone checked just to make sure. Boom! The door slammed open as Coach Ben yelled “Hurry up and get out”. John’s heart started beating faster and faster. No one knew what was going on. As students were running to the gym everyone was panicking and pushing each other. John could feel the burn on his elbow but he didn’t know what it was. When everyone got to the gym John’s elbow was covered in blood. Everyone was told to get down and stay quiet. Later on coach told everyone a student brought a gun to school and was planning on committing suicide.

She first tried on a plain black skirt with ruffles at the bottom that fell to the middle of her thigh. “I wonder if wearing skirts are popular at this school?” she mumbled under her breath. She quickly changed into shorts that seemed to be so old that she couldn’t even remember when she’d bought them. “What if showing my legs are a bit much for the first day,” she mumbled again. “I’ll just play it safe by slipping on

The entire class shared Jake’s view. No one felt the need to squander his or her social capital in defense of the weirdly dressed new kid. Side chatters and new conversations spawned on. The first three sentence about me in my new school involved “Hello”, yoga ball and panda. Embarrassed, I locked eye with the usual spot between my shoes as the crimson red slowly retreated from my face.

The girls locker room was separated from the boys locker room with a thin partition which all could be heard, including heavy breathing and the rustling of stockings. In the corner, common to both locker rooms, there was a smell of severe sweat that floated many collateral odors ranging from sour smells – rubber – to the bitter smell of Polish spirits "Black Cat". The strongest scent came from Julia Feygenzon. From her deep soft rolls of skin, unable to button her old school uniform, exuded questionable moisture. We sat at the same desk, and with every movement of her dark hands with short fingers, scratching the overgrown dark fuzz of her wet armpit, with a chestnut mechanical pencil, while her gold curls stuck to her armpit from the opening of her blouse, whenever she leaned forward, struck my nostrils with a wild forceful sweetish odor that, I thought, was the soul of Feygenzon, expressing herself wholly - a girl from a poor family, silent, early matured, who was already nine years old wearing a huge, gray bra, badly studied and looked by boys laughing with dark eyes and thick eyelashes.

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

I dribbled the ball down the narrow hallway looked at Anthony defending the small net. He had a frustrated look on his face and I slowly walked towards him. I bolted to Anthony’s left and tried to get past him but crshhh the wall behind me collapsed as my body went flying through it. “owwww” I moaned as I felt my head throbbing with pain. I slowly stood up and murmured, “What was that for dude? We were just playing a friendly match of hockey.” I turned around and saw the gaping hole in the wall that my head went flying into.”My mom is going to kill me,” I said out of breath. As I looked at the damage

"Good afternoon, Chris." She smiled, and put these bags on the desk, "your legs are getting better, right?"

A school day went like this, we’d go to breakfast and wait in the line scoping out the cafeteria to see who we’d be in class with and who we’d get in trouble with. Then there comes first period with Mrs. collins, she teaches social studies and her class was pretty boring. I’d take notes each day and secretly laugh at my friends as they’d try to doze off, constantly looking at the clock knowing that in an hour I’d be in my “fun” class where I could relax. So it's time for next period and this was science class taught by the coach of all boy sports so we didn’t do much. We opened a book on our desk to whatever page he had written on the board, and the rule was: whenever someone comes to the door act like you’re working. Now, don’t get me wrong occasionally we would do assignments and take a quiz or two, but we had it pretty easy, except for the days after the games and the boys did bad. A victory meant we would watch a movie and a defeat meant we’d have to read the chapter, answer the questions at the end, and turn our work

"Physical education and health are the most essential classes because they are the only ones capable of lengthening one's life through establishing habits of healthy living." Upon overhearing my high school gym and health teacher state this, I began to consider how the statement relates to my identity as an athlete. Also, I smiled and thought to myself, "I can't wait to tell my mom what he just said! Now I can support my love for gym class and dreadful attitude toward other courses." Throughout my life, the term "athletic" consistently has been used to describe me. From the age of seven to thirteen, my brothers and I attended a summer camp, called Crossroads. Incorporated within the eight-hour day was snack time, choice time, lunch time, a biblical lesson, song singing, small groups, and a sports session. Before the day officially began, during choice time, and the sports session, I delighted in playing sports and competing alongside peers and counselors. At the end of our last ever day of camp, the counselors held an impromptu graduation where they handed out some awards and displayed their gratitude for witnessing our growth and contributions over the years.

The air is filled with a sweet aroma as another female student walks by. The perfume is strong and people choke and turn their heads when she walks past them. The sound of noisy flip flops coming down the hallway alerts the boy and he rises to greet his friend. When standing, he is about six feet tall and seems to be well muscled. His friend was of much the same description, only the friend is slightly less muscled and his eyes are the color of the sky on a clear day. Girls leaning against the walls and sitting in the chairs in the hallway, stare at the two young men exiting the building in which they wait. The young men pay no attention and