Learning From the Test
My sister looks directly into my eyes and leans in for effect. This is her Did you know… stance, and I mirror her position, ready to receive a juicy tidbit of news. “The Presidential Fitness Award Test is being reinstated in the schools,” she announces, concern for the kids without athletic ability written all over her face.
But, maybe there is more to the Presidential Fitness Award Test than just athleticism.
Dispelling the claim that time travel doesn’t exist, I am immediately transported to the gym of Brookwater Elementary School, dangling from a two inch round wooden dowel that is secured in the painted cement block wall. The gym teacher, Mrs. Lee, holds me securely in place as my entire fifth-grade class sits in a semi-circle on the hard wooden floor, heads tilted up to see if I can succeed this time. Some are hopeful, some are bored, and some are happy that they will rank higher if I fail (let’s be honest).
Mrs. Lee, gives me three tries to hold my body in a flexed arm hang and is uncharacteristically compassionate, she knows I have it in me. I wish I did. Maybe then I wouldn’t give up so easily, but it seems quicker to let go. Besides, the smell of adolescent perspiration is getting to me and stinging my eyes. Is that why I’m tearing up?
As soon as she lets go of her grip, my chin hits the bar. I feel my teeth vibrate as my lower jaw slams shut, catching my tongue between my teeth. There is a universal sigh of relief. This ordeal is over. With the faint taste of blood in my mouth, I return to my spot among my classmates, catching a quick reflection of my slumped shoulders outlined in the polished varnish floor.
Waiting to return to my nemesis, this time to do pull-ups, I psyche myself up and decide that I won’t give up this time. I grab hold of the bar, trying with all my might to pull my chin up and over, while my legs twist left and right. Mrs. Lee tells me to change my grip and I am encouraged. I try again with the new grip, but no go. No matter how much I try, I can’t do even one.
For the field tests we go outside where we play at recess, and the familiar smell of matted grass and packed dirt is welcoming. I am the shortest of my class and nobody expects much as I line up for the standing broad jump. No one is more surprised than I, as I pounce high and long and score well. The same happens for the 50 yard dash, my little legs carry me quickly over the finish line. I hear a classmate say they are surprised at how well I did. Suddenly, I feel stronger.
Playing lots of baseball with my siblings and the kids in the neighborhood comes in handy for the softball toss. I wind up and let it rip, glad that I don’t throw like a girl, but I am disappointed. The ball is larger and the weight is different than I am used to, and it doesn’t go as far as I expect. I mutter under my breath that I could throw further with a different ball. Sour grapes.
My favorite event is the shuttle run - it is more a game than a test, and there is a lot of cheering from my classmates. My score is average but my enthusiasm is off the charts.
In retrospect, these physical tests of strength, speed and agility are a microcosm of life lessons:
Many times I have wondered what I could accomplish if I hadn’t given up.
For the times I’ve been unsuccessful, even though I try hard, I have discovered it’s more about effort.
It is exciting when I realize abilities that I never knew I possessed.
When outside forces play a factor and I fall short, I find it’s about the process.
Most importantly, having below average ability is just fine, but above average enthusiasm makes all the difference.
The Presidential Fitness Award Test is a paradox, a truth standing on its head. It was after I took the test that I learned things, and received skills to exercise throughout life. It was more than just athleticism, after all.