Lessons from Gym Class

No pain, no gain, our old gym teacher was fond of saying.

She was a tightly muscled and bronzed woman with a mane of dark hair that she tied into a taut pony tail during gym sessions. She moved like a wild animal on the hunt, stealthy and quiet with a kind of deadliness in her eyes. She missed nothing, no misstep went unnoticed, no hesitation was left unchallenged, no fear of falling was bypassed. Her girls were there to learn, to perform, to be their best. We were terrified of her.

She wore silk gym shorts and a halter top and bound her breasts flat so that no ounce of skin would even think of moving freely. As she made for the old leather horse and onehandedly bound over it, so quick that it was almost silent, her spotless Nikes blurred and she landed perfectly on the other side, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly on the floor. She was the most graceful and agile woman we had ever seen, a small figure flying through the air with supreme confidence and breathless speed. She walked the balance beam with light, precise steps - climbed the ropes hand over hand in a matter of seconds - did acrobatics on the trampoline like dancing in the air - and soared on the rings, upside down and rigid, by her knees, backwards and then swinging by her ankles. We watched in awe, a huddle of 7th grade girls in baggy bloomers and loose fitting sweatshirts, awkward, intimidated, self conscious and despairing.

No pain, no gain, she repeated over and over as she lined us up by height, appraising and evaluating each of us, slapping away figeting hands, straightening slumped shoulders, encouraging pride and good posture with a firm but gentle touch, three days a week, one nightmarish hour at a time. Under her supervision we suffered through field hockey, softball, basketball, and the dreaded gymnastics classes - ever so slowly discovering that we were capable of far more than we thought - learning strength, coordination, balance, timing and endurance. She taught us how to work together, instilling team spirit and cooperation without our even knowing it. We learned how to win with grace and how to lose without blame or giving up.

If you fall, get up, she drilled us. If you fail, learn from it.

We were fragile, freshman girls on unfamiliar territory - shy, apprehensive, a little lost in this overcrowded and often anonymous high school - and yet this demanding, intense, small woman saw potential in each of us and gave her all to draw it out. By the end of the first year, we had actually begun to believe she might be right. By the end of the second year, gym had become more of a break than a torture. By the end of the third year, we went willingly and at the beginning of the final year when she presented each of us with a set of silk shorts and halter top - in school colors with "AHS" stitched boldly across the back and down the sides and paid for from her own slim earnings - we were athletes and we were worthy.

We finished second in the senior gymnastics competition that year, in the end, the Winchester team outfought us and took home the trophy but in our teacher's eyes, we had given it our all and she was well pleased. So were we.