The Medicine Ball

I started kindergarten at the ripe old age of four. I was considered one of the fortunate. A young girl who's birthday happens to be November 2nd, three days before the "You have to be five by this date" deadline. The deadline in 1978 was November 5th...this changed the following year...if you were not five by September 1st you had to wait until the following year to attend kindergarten. This was unfortunate for my sister who is 14 months younger than I and had to sit out a year...however based upon my experiences I can say the school made an excellent choice. Four is perhaps just too young...

I love that I remember so much about kindergarten. One particularly favored memory of mine was getting to be a helper. Each day the teacher would choose two helpers...you never knew if it would be you...everyone would walk in each morning and immediately look to the chalkboard, eyes gleaming, hoping to see their own name...

There were two jobs to be done each day and the two class helpers fulfilled these duties. The helpers would walk together to the cafeteria where they would collect milk and cookies for a class wide snack break. When my turn would come and the teacher called up her helpers I would literally jump chairs to lay claim on the class wagon...I had to have that frigging wagon. I loved the looks of jealousy I would receive as I proudly pulled the wagon down the hall, climbed the step ladder to retrieve 22 milks and then pulled that beautiful red wagon back to the classroom, presenting fresh cold milk to my friends. I was determined. I was selfish. The wagon would be MINE...each and every time.

Clearly I hadn't learned a damned thing about sharing. As it turns out I wasn't exactly privy to irony either...I also had no idea that sometimes teachers would play make believe...Teachers were smart and only spoke facts and truth, right? Wrong. My gym teacher was a perfect example.

Why this teacher would mount 22 kindergarten students onto a rope one at a time and then insist that if they didn't climb it quickly the alligators would get them is beyond me. I looked at the ground and saw no alligators. I remember thinking "maybe they didn't come to school today."

One day the twisted gym teacher decided to treat us to a wonderful game of "medicine ball." Thinking back to the size of that massive medicine ball it seemed to be 10 feet tall, towering over me.  Thinking back today I was likely around 3 1/2 feet tall and could be wrong in my projected measurements.

The teacher stood in the middle of our little huddle and informed us that we were to roll the ball across the floor in an attempt to hit one of our fellow classmates. If the ball hit you, you were dead and you had to go sit against the wall where you would remain until the game was over.

I remember looking around at my friends...none of them seemed at all disgusted by this horrible example of a "game." I wanted to run and run far far away...but when fight or flight hit, I heroically chose fight...

I ran around that gym floor like a four year old a mission. When I observed my best friend being hit by the ball I froze with sadness...the gym teacher told her she was out...go to the wall...I teared up. She had been such a wonderful friend...and there she was...leaning against the wall near death. Damn you, medicine ball!! As I continued to run I would periodically look to the wall at my poor friends fearing the moment I would see them all close their eyes as they entered eternal slumber...

I have never been very good at sports...But this game was live or die...and it came down to me and John. John was strong and tall. I knew I had my work cut out for me. At this point everyone had touched the ball but me. Touching it by getting hit or touching it by being the person rolling it towards a fellow classmate could surely make no difference, right? A touch is a touch...but I could no longer avoid body contact with the medicine ball so it was at this point that I formulated a master plan. I would kick that damned ball. And that is exactly what I did.

I hit John square in the leg. Yes, I had killed a man...but you have to understand it was either him or me. I survived...and for some reason, so did my friends.

So yes, you are so privileged as to be reading the blog of Mandi Mayes, 1978 Medicine Ball Champion...not because I have any special skills...but because I spent that hour of my existence in gym running for my life.