My first experience of structured exercise, as I am sure with many of you reading this, came by way of physical education lessons in the early years of junior school. For many pupils, in many schools, the Phys Ed class is a welcome break from the suffocating pursuits of grades and targets. Gone is the working in silence and heads down concentration and in its place a chance to run around and play. Sadly, this was not the case in my school.
The character of a sadistic PE teacher has been well painted in better work than this, so I will not expend unnecessary energy describing Mr Redcap here. Suffice to say he was the only member of the PE department and it became clear early in my school life that his approach to ‘teaching’ was centred around one lesson plan, that would be rolled out for every session. This is before the advent of teacher training, school inspections and a national curriculum for Physical Education, but on reflection it still seems strange that someone close to him never pointed out that playing a game called ‘Murder Ball’ was not the most appropriate activity when in charge of a class of six-year-olds. The name was one thing, the game itself was little better.
The object of Murder Ball depended on who you were: Mr Redcap or pupil. If you were the adult - supposedly experienced - member of teaching staff it was to kick a football with the express aim of hitting a child. If you were one of the children, it was to not get hit. Although balls in those days were heavier and fuller bodied than the ones you find on today's football pitches, Mr Redcap declined to use even those, preferring instead the vintage leather variety that carried a great deal more mass. Although he never admitted that this shaped his choice, it was obvious to us all that such balls could do a lot more damage than their lighter counterparts. The game would commence with Mr Redcap standing at one end of the sports hall, that doubled as assembly room and theatre, with the ball at his feet whilst the class, in an extreme state of anxiety, looked for somewhere to hide. The piano in the corner being the favoured location that children would run for as soon as they were let into the ‘classroom’.
Mr Redcap would then take a short but effective run up and kick the ball, launching it at high speed towards the throng of panicked children. Once released, it was hard to predict where the ball would end up due to the array of equipment stored within the hall. Many of my classmates have described it as like being stuck inside a pinball machine, when reflecting on these lessons either with each other or to their therapists. When struck by the ball, one remained struck and the real hope, having accepted that Mr Redcap would spare no one, was that the ball would hit you in one of your least delicate areas. Many children adopting a similar crouched position to that recommended for a nuclear strike and sacrificing a relatively padded behind by pointing it in the direction of the attack.
Once the ball, having ricocheted around the room and off a few class members, came to rest, the teacher (I use the term loosely) would slowly walk towards it as those still standing scrambled for new hiding positions, as far away from the point of aggression as possible. Those who had been hit in the previous strike would mostly remain supine, in a state of shock, agony or unconsciousness. As a young adult I once attended the showing of a World War II classic movie, that my father had been keen to watch. In one of the more celebrated shots of the film, the camera panned across the now deserted battlefield, as bodies of the dead lay strewn across it, a haunting soundtrack playing in the background gradually faded to silent as the mass of the fallen became obvious. It was a heart wrenching commentary on the loss of life and futility of war and one that took me straight back to my school days. The vision of the twisted motionless bodies of children in their PE kit scattered around the sports hall tormented me for some time after the movie had finished.
The game was completed once every child had been struck. Mr Redcap then checking his watch to see if we had time for a second round. If not and we had resisted the attack for long enough to prevent a second wave, he would take a seat in the corner of the room and read the paper, leaving us to gather our senses and struggle to our feet. Those able to walk unaided helped the wounded off the floor as we all limped our way to the next lesson.
Physical activity, I was learning, was painful and it was not something I became encouraged to do. I do not feel I am alone in this. Sit down with anyone and mention exercise and they will mostly think of enforced cross country at school or pounding the streets in a t shirt that rubs, shorts that chafe, and knees and ankles that creak and groan under the pressure of repeated weight bearing activity. Ponder for a minute, there must be a reason you never see joggers smiling.
Exercise does not feel good for you, a point perfectly made by the ‘no pain, no gain’ adage that does little to encourage people like me to get off my sofa and lace up a pair of trainers. The feelings of exercise, the racing pulse, the hot flushed face, sweaty body and aching muscles are exactly the kind of thing that would have us calling for a doctor if they came on overnight. The physical sensations of a hard-core circuits session and a heavy flu often manifesting in similar ways.
But then I don’t blame exercise for this, I blame the press it has been given. Not just by those that wish to decry it, but also by some of those trying to promote it. How many apps, adverts or online trainers have you seen that focus on working hard, reaching your targets, or improving your metrics? How easy it is to find videos of sweaty faced, panting, taut figures shouting at their audience to ‘push out one more’ or ‘raise the intensity’? This is fine if you like running marathons and power lifting your own body weight. By all means keep doing it. But if you don’t, then try not to think about exercise as a taxing chore. Try to think about it as something that might be enjoyable. After all, there are plenty of options out there.
Many a moody disco attending teenager, or reluctant wedding party husband, have enjoyed throwing a few shapes, once their inhibitions have dissipated or the drinks have taken effect. Similarly, how many miles can shoppers cover looking for that perfect outfit? Or how much effort can be expended throwing a Frisbee around a park on a sunny afternoon? Despite our preconceptions, exercise can be fun. You don’t need a tailored, targeted, training plan to be active, you just have to get up, get out and enjoy yourself. Go for a walk, if you don’t mind carrying poo in a plastic bag take a dog with you; do some gardening; ride a bike, or a skateboard, or a horse, or a camel, or whatever people ride where you live; go for a swim. It doesn’t matter what it is, just do something that that gets you moving but that makes you feel happy as well. And most of all, don’t sweat about it too much.
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