Gym class horror stories

Missed the edit window.

I thought I should put in my own story.

I was picked on in gym in Jr. High, even though I was pretty athletic and could do just as good as the jocks did but since I wasn’t in the “Cool Kids” click the “Cool Kids” picked on me. It was never physical they just made fun of me even though I was better at sports than some of them were.

Well we got into Freshman year in High school and wouldn’t you know it one of the “Cool Kids” was in my class. He never said anything to me until half-way through the year when we were playing volley-ball. Well I was on one side of the net and he was on the other. The ball comes to me and I missed it and he made some remark about me that I do not remember today.

So I got the volley-ball and walked to his side of the net. He had his back to me talkign to one of the other kids. I got about five feet away from him and threw the ball at the back of his head as hard as I could and it knocked him on his face. He immediately jumped and got in my face and told me he was going to kick my ass. I waited a few seconds preparing for him to hit me but we just stared at each other. So after the few seconds I said, “Do something pussy.” and I pushed him as hard as I could and he stumbled back a few feet and then fell on his ass and all the other kids started laughing at him. I was fully prepared for him to jump up and then kick my ass but I didn’t care because at least I had stood my ground but he didn’t he just got up and walked away.

From that day on none of the “Cool Kids” ever gave me crap for anything.

It’s the one place where otherwise mediocre students can excel…by picking on, humiliating, and beating the crap out of other students with full approval of the teacher. What I want to know is, what it is about gym class that attracts such obtuse, ignorant jerkwads to want to teach it? Even more than most teachers (within the ranks of which are at least a few people who seriously enjoy teaching and put enthusiastic effort into it) gym coaches seem to be the refuge of the mediocre and resentful; and the way the class is structured–throwing the hyper-jock types and the total nerdlings and everybody inbetween–into the same pot and grading them (insofar as any “grading” is done) by the same standard is totally useless. It took me years to figure out that I could actually enjoy and be good, if not exceptional, at some athletic activities.

And don’t even get me started about “health” class (also typically taught by coaches). In ours, the [del]coach[/del] teacher kept warning us about “vernal” diseases and studiously avoided taking about any gender- or sex-related health issues. Also, nutrition, first aid, preventative medicine, public health issues, et cetera. In fact, I can’t recall learning much of anything in Health class other than Heather [name deleted] was, in fact, a natural blonde, and only because she decided to take the opportuntity of the teacher being out of the room to demonstrate that, like Janis Joplin and Lindsay Lohan, she wore no underwear.

Stranger

You sparked a memory of a kid in my elementary school that did FOUR HUNDRED situps for that same deal. I remember that he missed school the next day because he could not get out of bed! :smiley:

I wasn’t particularly good at sports, and I had little interest in them, but I didn’t have any particular problems in gym class in middle or elementary school (except for the standard nervousness of having to change in front of the other guys, which ultimately wasn’t a problem). In high school, though, I put off taking gym class until my senior year, when I finally had to take it as a graduation requirement. But in this school (I had moved between my sophomore and junior years) students were required to take gym when they were freshmen. So here I was a senior in a class of freshmen. The teacher thus decided that instead of actually having me participate in class, I would become her secretary. So for the whole year, I would sit in her office and do paperwork for her – grade tests, make spreadsheet, write letters to parents, etc. Not only that, but every morning the gym teacher would bring me freshly baked pastries and donuts as a reward for my work – I can honestly say that I gained more weight in gym class than I lost.

The downside to all this was that the teacher would occassionally make me help her out when discipline problems came up. I’d always have to escort bad kids through the school to the principal’s office (I remember one particularly unsocialized girl who spent the entire gym class standing on the basketball court, spitting on the ground, till a huge puddle had formed at her feet). Because of this, and, I guess, because I was older and a good student, a rumor started among some of the freshman that I was actually a narc…!

I was incredibly skinny during middle and high school. At one point, my high school was left without a gym teacher, so the assistant football coach took over the classes for awhile. 30 years later, I still have nightmares about that. Picture a human sized bull dog wearing shorts, a baseball cap and a whistle around his non-existant neck. He made us do the same workout he used for the football players. He also seemed to have “issues” with females in general. I don’t know if it was my gender or my weakness, or both that set him off. Maybe something in his neandrathal brain told him he was helping me by making me tougher.

Once during a race around the track involving the whole class, I was far behind everyone else except a couple of overweight kids. Coach Gattis was running next to me, physicaly pushing me forward and screaming at me. When I fell, he yanked me up by my arm and pulled me toward the finish line where he slung me. If some of the other kids hadn’t caught me, I would’ve hit the wall. Then there was the time he dislocated my jaw by hitting me with a softball. He was always acting like he was going to throw something at me, or hit me, to make me flinch, ( it would get a big laugh from the other kids). I think the ball slipped, and he did have an “oh shit” look on his face afterward. But no appology. He wasn’t punished, but I was whisked out of gym class and put into study hall for the remainder of the semester. And the school hired a young female gym teacher. She actually helped me find something I was good at, tennis!

A couple of years after I moved to a different city, Coach Gattis got arrested for shoplifting a steak and a pack of shoestrings, at the local Piggly Wiggly. :smiley:

Despite a general dislike for gym class, (I wasn’t very athletic, though I enjoyed some games… dodge ball was always fun, even though I never lasted long as well as volleyball) it wasn’t a horror. Usually.

One memory that comes to mind is from junior high. It was a warm day, we were out playing soccer baseball on the field (baseball, only played with a soccer ball). Well I’m actually halfway decent at it (meaning I can kick the ball and make it to base :stuck_out_tongue: ) and I got to first base. As I’m standing there waiting for the next person to get up to kick the ball I hear the guy guarding first say my name and I look over to see him chatting with two friends.

He’s called back to the game by the teacher when the next student is up and I think nothing of it (because people always whispered about me then, I was always taller and bigger than even the guys until we got to high school, then I was just taller and bigger than all the girls and some of the guys). So the ball gets kicked and I started running… and two seconds later I’m on the ground, spitting dust.

I get up, and I basically get in this guy’s face (he tripped me, he stepped in close when the ball was kicked and stuck out his foot) and I just scream two words, my fists clenched. “FUCK YOU” and walked away. Sat down on the sidelines and start bawling. Teacher comes over, asks me if I’m okay and then walks off after I tell him that the boys were talking about me before I got tripped, and I see them laughing at me in the background. Nothing ever came of it, for me or them. I left that school not long after.

I was a PE teacher for some time, mostly at the elementary level. Interesting thread. I bring you good news and bad news, and some comments.

First, let me say I share many of your criticisms of PE. Most people I meet have some sort of horror story, and I usually agree that the situation shouldn’t have happened.

Having said that…

The Bad News

As a field, PE is extremely slow to integrate new ideas.

The “throw out the ball” model of PE has been bemoaned and railed against for decades by forward thinkers in PE. There’s no excuse for it, yet it persists for several reasons.

One is that PE is too beholden to after-school athletics - a situation which results in many teachers being more interested in their coaching activities than being a good teacher.

Another is that PE teachers typically come from a sports background. Elite athletes are often poor coaches and teachers because they can’t relate to beginners (example: Ted Williams). Obviously, that isn’t always the case, and I’ve known some fine teachers from this background. But I’d like to see more new influences in the field. Some of the best PE teachers I knew came from “fringe” activities (rock climbing, dance, circus skills) rather than traditional team sports.

Another problem is that many school districts simply don’t care if the PE program is any good. They figure they have to have it because of state rules, but don’t oversee it very well. Consequently, the PE department lets itself slide.

The Good News

While things are changing slowly, they are changing for the better.

First, there is a realization that PE does not necessarily equal “sports”. A good program may involve sport skills, but includes more instruction and drills rather than just “throwing out the ball”. The latter model assumes knowledge on the part of the students, and alienates those who do not have it. As was pointed out earlier in the thread, EVERYONE goes to PE, not just kids who are physically skilled.

Good PE teachers are no longer preaching to the choir by tilting things in favor of the jocks. This is accomplished partly through moving away from team sports and into lifetime activities (rock climbing, moutain biking, rollerblading), and other non-traditional activities like Dance Dance Revolution, juggling, archery, snowshoeing, etc…

When I taught juggling in middle and high school I saw something really great: The jocks and non-jocks were suddenly on a level playing field. They all had no experience, and therefore just as much to learn. Disciplinary problems vanished. I even had kids who usually hated PE asking to come back for extra periods!

The testing is improving. The President’s Challenge, while still in use in some places, is in decline. Newer methods, such as the FitnessGram, are much better designed. Some kids even told me it was fun.

Nobody is playing Dodge Ball or Bombardment the way we played when I was a kid. To the jocks, it was great. To everyone else it was a living hell, and there has never been a defensible reason to use this game in a PE program. You want to teach throwing? I have dozens of other games that teach the skill of throwing without hurting people. Or it can be modified to make it non-barbaric.

Please note that I was one of the kids who enjoyed Dodgeball. But I was aware that many kids hated it. I have never had my classes play it.

As for the stories about “being picked last”, I believe that’s not happening very much anymore. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. These days teachers are trained not to let the kids pick teams for exactly the reasons mentioned in this thread.

And finally, there is better supervision in most schools these days than when I was a kid. Any teacher who does not actively supervise locker room areas and prevent bullying is asking for a lawsuit.

Comments

Some people in this thread have pointed out that there is no “tracking” system in PE. Skillful athletes are in there with kids who never play sports. I take their point, but have to ask how one would do it differently.

How do you rank kids according to physical skill? By strength? Endurance? Ability in team, racket or contact sports? There’s so much variety in physical activities, I can’t imagine a system where kids would always grouped with others of similar skill levels.

You can do it by electives. But should a kid on the basketball team be permitted to satisfy a PE requirement with several years of… basketball?

I say no. That’s a waste. Everyone has a physical body, and even elite athletes have things to learn about the physical world. A good program should be able to involve all these kids - jock and non-jock by using a variety of activities. And let’s not forget about nutrition, basic anatomy and physiology, etc. (Again, a GOOD program.)

To close a really long post, I’ll say that PE programs can offer a lot of benefits. But they’re hard to do well. Nobody really expects math or science class to be loads of fun for everyone. Interesting, hopefully. But in the end the kids are there to learn, not have a ball.

Good PE teachers feel somewhat the same. The kids (some of them, anyway) might enjoy it more if we just let them play. But that alienates many, and concedes the commonly held opinion that PE doesn’t have anything to teach.

Well, it does have something to offer. But it takes committed teachers who are there to TEACH, not just coach the football team.

As I often said to my colleagues: People might begin to take PE seriously if we teachers did the same.

I always loved PE except for when we did gymnastics. I’m tall, lanky and not flexible at all. I couldn’t do a somersault, couldn’t do cartwheels, anything. Lucikly we only did gymnastics in elementary school and I found ways to avoid most of it. I was a tomboy and played sports for fun all the time so I was gym class proficient, especially in high school when I found out most girls can’t throw a football, much less catch one. I remember some kids being totally avoidant of the whole PE thing when I was in school though, but I also never encountered any real negative situations. Some of the stuff in this thread is truly horrible though.

I got teased because of my clumsiness during PE and I was always the last to be picked for teams, but I tolerated those things fairly well for some reason.

But my biggest horror stories happened in elementary school, before I was the subject of peer ridicule . I had this mean lady as a PE teacher. Her last name was Beech, but it should have been Bitch. And she absolutely hated me. Once I was walking down the hallway and she happened to be behind me. Out of the blue she jacks me against the wall. Why? Because I wouldn’t walk in a straight line and she wanted to pass. At the time that it happened, I felt so guilty and ashamed, not knowing she had no business touching me like that or getting that riled up. She looked like Michael J. Fox with a wig (same physique, voice, and everything), but I think she had roid-rage that day.

Anyway, one during the 2nd grade, we were playing with hoola hoops on the playground. How this promotes physical fitness, I don’t know, but that’s what we were doing. Before we started, she instructed us NOT to bend the hoola hoops, because they would crack if we did. I remember making a note to myself to obey her commandment, because I didn’t want Ms. Bitch to yell at me yet again. :frowning:

So we’re all hoola-hooping (except for me, because I didn’t know how to swivel my hips right. And I still don’t know, go figure). Because I can’t do it and our teacher is perched on the top of the sliding board like a Michael J. Fox-faced hawk, rather than helping us, I get bored. Yes, a seven-year-old kid frustrated by her own clumisness got bored. I started goofing off with my hoola hoop and then found myself on the ground. Not thinking, I stood my hoola hoop up vertically and used it to help me get to my feet. Then the world seems like its coming to an end.

I blink and find Ms. Bitch standing over me, grabbing my arm. She calls over the entire class while I stand there perfectly clueless but extremely afraid.

“CLASS, WHAT DID I TELL YOU GUYS NOT TO DO?!” she yells. She’s still got hold of my arm.

One of the few bullies I had in elementary school happened to be standing there. Of course, she was the one who chimed in with the answer.

But being humilated like this wasn’t the horrible part.

The horrible part was when this bully shouted, "monstro, you’re so stupid!** right there, in front of the whole class and in front of my worst teacher, the one who hated me. And did Ms. Bitch say anything? No. She probably thought I deserved it.

A friend saved me, though. As I started crying, she took my hand and pulled me away from the eyes.

The only part of PE that I actually liked was when we got to use the exercise machines (treadmill, bikes, etc) or weight lifting (these were also about the only activites I actually could’ve used a shower after :wink: ). I actually felt a sense of accomplishment (eg “I rode the equivalent of X miles today.”). Of course the teachers only seemed to let us do that when they couldn’t think of other activities. The female PE teacher once told me that she’d love to be able to have us do more of that kind of stuff (since even the kids who hated PE enjoyed it), but the administration “didn’t like it” since they weren’t “teaching” us anything. My senior year they did introduce a weightlifting elective, but you had be on a sports team to take, and it was in addition to (not an alternative to) regular PE. What you said about after-school athletics rings true. Every PE teacher at my school was also a coach (as were all the social studies teachers for some reason :confused: ). At time they seemed more concerned with “scouting for talent” than teaching us.

I never minded gym class. I was simply average. I got A’s in gym in elementary school, and B’s all through high school.

Except for grade 10. The first day of school, the teacher takes attendance. He gets to my name and asks, “are you related to Frogking?” Why, yes I am, he’s my Dad. He gives me a funny look and says, "OH."When I got home from school, I mentioned to Dad that Mr.S asked if I was related to him. Dad says, “I hope you said no.”

It would have been nice if Dad had warned me that my Grandfather had gotten into an argument with my gym teacher that almost ended up in the parking lot after basketball practice when he was my dads teacher. I walked out of that class with a C.

I remember my first personal softball “victory” in elementary school. I was out there playing right field, and one of the cool kids hit a short fly ball that pretty much just dropped right into my glove. The only verbal response to this act was the batter saying, “I can’t believe he caught that!” I didn’t even get a “nice catch” from teammates. (As an adult playing church softball, I always refused to play right field, just on principle, because that’s where the “sucky” players always got put back in school. Remember Lucy from Peanuts? While playing church softball, though, I discovered that I was a pretty fair second baseman.)

I got so sick of some team sports in P.E. class, because, as others have mentioned, it was so often assumed that we should just know the rules of the game. I can’t count how many times I got yelled at to “tag up!” during softball games. But I had no !@#$% idea what “tag up” meant, and nobody would explain it to me.

My ignorance problem with team sports was twofold:

  1. No television at home (it broke when I was 10 and wasn’t repaired or replaced) and a dad who, despite being a football player/track & field star in high school (“star” being relative: he held the state high school shot put record for several years, and his football team won the state Class B championship one year), he was not a sports fan as an adult. So I didn’t grow up watching sports on TV. I have vague memories of “Wide World of Sports” from when I was a very young kid, but that’s about it.

  2. I didn’t get to play Little League baseball as a kid, despite my frequent pleas to do so. Why? My dad didn’t want to deal with asshole parents in the stands.

So that led to my favorite nightmare in junior high school gym class: basketball. I had never watched a single basketball game on TV before junior high, and watched very little during or after JH. All I knew was that you had to dribble the ball and shoot it through the hoop. On the rare occasions that I watched a game on TV, I was always bewildered by all the foul shots. I would see a guy dribbling the ball, I would hear the ref blow his whistle, and then everybody would line up so somebody could shoot free throws. I had no clue why. Oh, I could identify traveling and double-dribbling (most of the time), but that was it.

7th grade gym class basketball. I was short and scrawny. I didn’t know what I was doing. And so, during one game, I ended up with a 9th grader on the other team repeatedly knocking me down and threatening to kick my ass if I didn’t stop “fouling” him. But, like the “tag up” example above, he wouldn’t tell me what I was doing that he considered “fouling” him. I came to the conclusion that my “fouls” consisted of pretty much anything I did to prevent him from scoring a basket. Nevertheless, to this day (almost 30 years later) I despise basketball.

It was in junior high gym class, however, that I discovered that my talent lay in long-distance running.

There was one good thing I remember about h.s. gym: dancing to early 80s songs inside the gym. It was actually fun.

The rest is no good:

–I once asked the teacher if we could work out inside the gym since it was incredibly hot that day. Her reply: “It’s NEVER too hot to play!” Dumbass beeyotch.

–Being made to run around the field on a day that was not only hot but also noted as a smog alert day. I ended up at home for a week with bronchitis. Fuckers.

–The other girls who griped about me or anyone else who wasn’t performing to their high athletic standards. Scuuuuuuuse me.

–The girl who continued throwing a softball to me so hard that it damn near bruised my hand even though I was wearing a glove and I asked her to take it easy. Creep.

–Never having enough time to clean up afterwards. Never being granted a few extra minutes to shower. We had to try to clean up a bit with a washcloth, a shirt, and a bit of deodorant, then get our sweaty smelly selves off to the next class. I hate reeking.

Let me say that, in my opinion, of all the experiences I have had in my life, Physical Education has probably had the most negative effect of all on me. And I am not kidding.

I should start by saying that I went to public school from 1968 to 1981, in Ontario, Canada. I hope teaching methods have changed, as Mach Tuck mentioned. And I hope beyond hope that Mach Tuck and others like him or her will listen to us and continue making changes. Because if there’s one thing that drives me to anger and tears and black rage and a desire to sue the culpable people until their eyes bleed, it’s what Phys Ed did to me.

I was a nerd. I could read and do other weird things before I went to kindergarten. I was clumsy and uncoordinated. I had little knowledge of social skills, and great difficulty perceiving social cues (though there are hints that there may have been a physical component in that). I was, and still am, extremely nearsighted.

And to top it off, I was a year younger, and therefore smaller and weaker, than everyone else in class, having done grade 1 and grade 2 in one year. (It only occurred to me much later how much of an effect this might have had on my life.)

Phys Ed did not introduce me to bullying; I was bullied from kindergarten. It merely allowed the bullies to come into their top form. And those bullies included the instructors; if they didn’t do the actual bullying themselves, they certainly enabled it.

I was picked last. I was thrown onto a basketball court with no knowledge of the game. I was forced to swing a baseball bat when I could barely see what was happening, and my instinctive reation to anything flying at my face was to flinch and duck. I was trampled on a muddy field as part of a game called rugger.

I learned shame and humiliation intstead of how to listen to and control and use my growing body. I was shown to the world as a weak, ineffective coward and loser, and this ruined my chances in the social game. I learned that I was powerless, and that no-one would listen to me, and that no-one would want anything to do with me. I learned that I had no chance in the dating world.

And when I found something I did like–gymnastics–I never took it up becuase I thought it would make me seem girlish and make me even less liked, and I was desparate for some sort of social approval.

Gym class did not create my low opinion of myself, but it served to lock it in, and even today, 28 years later, I fight against those demons in my mind every day. Worse, it caused me to abandon exercise totally as soon as I could, and as a result I am significantly less fit, I suspect, than if I had never been exposed to it.

Why oh why weren’t team sports optional, and individual training also available?

I now go to a gym by choice, and have a trainer, and we do individual things. Weight training. Running. Treadmills and bikes. I go to the gym to reclaim it for myself in my mind, as well as to become more fit.

Maybe eventually I will have repaired the damage.

Fifth grade. I was the nerd girl with the bad perm and turquoise glasses. We had gym one day per week, and we weren’t yet at the age where you have to change clothes for gym. For some reason, on this one particular day, I had forgotten about gym and worn a denim skirt to school. With a red T-shirt tucked into it. I think it may have been Valentine’s Day or close to it. It also happened to be the day when our whole class was going up, one by one, to the chin-up bar, for the Presidential Fitness thing.

I was (like so many in this thread before me) really short. And kind of chunky. Not fat, just chunky. To the point where I knew I couldn’t do even a single chin-up. And yet I climbed up there, took my feet off the chair, and struggled against my own body weight for a few fleeting seconds. Then my arms went slack, and my T-shirt bunched up around my shoulders. The whole shirt hiked up a little, which in turn hiked up my skirt a little. My legs dangled limply a couple of feet above the gym floor, completely stretched out and weighed down by my dorky thick-soled canvas shoes. The whole class sat, their mouths hanging open like fish in a bowl, on the gym floor before me.

And, as my not-so-particularly-nice friend told me later, they could all see my pink underwear. :eek:

I have muscular dystrophy, but we didn’t know it for a long time. It was mild enough back then to be nearly invisible, but it affected my performance in gym class. I was always the slowest, clumsiest person in every class. Couldn’t do a sit up, couldn’t hit a ball, couldn’t make a basket, couldn’t do anything. But no one knew why. They just knew I was fat and slow. It was sheer hell.

Thank God I finally got a diagnosis, and in the eighth grade the Muscular Dystrophy Association wrote a note excusing me from gym for the rest of my life.

I remember having to do swimming for a month when I was a freshman in HS. I had gym FIRST period. That was just horrible to me, having to get all wet and then trying to get showered, dressed, and coiffed in 15 min. To me, that was a cruel thing to inflict on already insecure young girls. It was a lot of fun going through the entire day looking like a drowned rat and smelling of chlorine.

Argh. If this was in the pit I’d curse, because just the memory of that makes me angry.

Wow, some of you people have gym teachers that should be fired. Our teachers were all quite nice and firmly discouraged the taunting of weaker athletes.

Gym class was awesome for me mostly because it was full of victories as not much was expected because I wasn’t on the school teams of the big four sports - hockey, basketball, volleyball, and Football. I did excel at track & field and soccer however which meant it was a pleasant surprise to everyone that I could actually play the big four sports. The unbelievable part is that they were surprised when I blew people away at the 40. I was a sprinter for crying out loud of course I’m good at it - sheesh.

Anyhow, on to the embarrassing. In grade twelve I was pantsed right in front of a girl I had a huge crush on. What makes it especially embarrassing is that I never wear underwear. Oh, and just to clear things up, the guy who pantsed me was one of those “intellectual types” who was terrible at sports. The jocks in my school were actually nice in general.

Of which the first symptom, I assume, is “spring fever”? :smiley:

I was (still am) a nerd and I liked gym. I was pretty good at most of the stuff. I was a track guy, mostly a runner, though I did do the high jump. I had to give it up when the “Fosbury Flop” came out, though, because I couldn’t get the hang of it.

I used to get called out of study hall to demonstrate archery. I loved tennis and had a wicked serve. I could run for days, so it seemed. I loved karate. The jocks tried to pick on me, but I fended them off pretty well.

I did NOT like team sports much. Most of the reason was the competitive nature of my teamates. I think I sustained more injuries from the people I played with in baseball, basketball and football than anything from the opposing team. It was ludicrous.

I do have a great story…

So were standing in line by height, getting ready to be divvied up into opposing basketball teams. I shot up to 6-feet pretty early on, so I was one of the taller ones. Anyway, the coach is walking up and down the line talking about some nonsense or other (he was the crew-cut guy who thought he was a drill sergeant) and had a basketball under his arm.

Student next to me says something under his breath. Stoopid me turns my head and says “Huh?” Coach calls my name “Hey, Test!” I snap my around to look at the teacher… to see a basktball approaching my face at high velocity. CRACK! is the sound I hear as it hits my face and the world explodes. Stunned, I’m sitting on the floor, my head swimming, my face screaming in pain, I realize blood is POURING from my nose. The coach is swearing and apologizing at the same time. A towel appears and withn minutes is soaked through. Pretty much my view at this point from gym class to the hospital is of a succession of towels. My face feels like a massive, throbbing wound. My nose is rather broken, it seems.

We get to the hospital, I get in pretty quick. The doctor removes towel from face and says “oh boy.” Now I’m sorta scared. They have to reset my nose. He gives me a shot. Then he does the reset quickly with the aid of two rods. I hear a couple of crackle pops. I sorta passed out during this part, so it’s kind of hazy. I bleed more.

Eventually my mom arrives, I hear her SCREAMING at the coach in the waiting room (this is sorta dim, too. They gave me that nice shot). I vaguely remember going home and getting into bed.

I stayed home the next couple of days. Went back to school, tried to act like nothing happened, though with a big wad of bandage on my face it was kinda hard. I found some of my male classmates were in awe of me. Apparently, my nose was very, very mashed (I did not see it). The coach was extremely nice to me for the rest of my HS years. That was weird. Noone ever picked on me again, either.

My nose is a tad crooked to this day.