Category: Fitness


‘I’m sending you on a physical literacy course…’

‘Great!’

I plaster a fixed smile across my face and barely take in the rest of the conversation. My brain is already swimming in flashbacks to high school and my stomach is doing somersaults. Physical literacy. Physical literacy. *gulp*

I wouldn’t say I have a phobia of being active. I’ll walk anywhere and I need no excuse to dance. At sports day I was the first over the high jump bar. I regularly hit the gym and I’m no stranger to the yoga mat. I’m just not very……. sporty. It’s not that I’m anti-sport, I just never really picked my team. I’m not very good with rules and positions so anything from tennis to rugby is just a total waste of time for me. But I honestly believe, and don’t laugh, that it could have been different.

Let me take you back to the nineties (Ooh. Wouldn’t that be nice?). I was in primary school and pretty active. I did all the normal child-stuff. After school I went to swimming and kickboxing lessons and during the holidays I was always found up a tree or in the middle of a field. My bike was never far away and we went on many adventures together. So far, so good.

Then, fast forward to the early naughties. High school. *ominous thunder*.

A striking memory of high school is that weekly feeling of dread as the PE lesson approached. I remember the vivid joy as I left the changing rooms knowing that that moment would be the longest lenght of time before I had to do PE again. Today, an hour goes by so fast, but as a 13 year old, that hour in the gym or the sports hall or the swimming pool seemed like weeks. I don’t know where it all went wrong but I’ve narrowed it down to two factors.

Firstly, I went to school with a particularly horrid bunch of people. If you were different in any way, you were ridiculed. I’m not saying I was bullied because it wasn’t just me. It was a bit like a rite of passage. Everyone suffered at some point. We all just got on with it in our school. Anyway, PE meant being teamed up with a bunch of cocky lads who happened to be sporty types and therefore could do no wrong. I didn’t get a chance to learn about the games because I was too busy focusing on making it through to the end of the session without being kicked, or whipped with a towel whilst I was getting changed, or being called a puff in front of everyone (including teacher). At the time I believed I hated PE, but I just hated PE at my school.

Secondly, my teachers didn’t help. Now, I don’t want to teacher-bash here, because I appreciate this is just my side of things. My teachers were always nice to me outside of lessons but, during PE, I just didn’t trust that they supported me. I didn’t feel like I could make mistakes (and therefore learn) because I would be ridiculed, if not by them but by my peers. My PE lessons were not a place were confidence could grow. I always remember one of them at parents’ evening saying ‘Sport isn’t for him, but I admire that [he] gets involved and makes an effort without any fuss’. Great. But I think I was labelled Un-sportworthy (new word) too soon. How did they know sport was not for me? I can’t imagine taking that attitude now or with any other subject. ‘Maths isn’t for him, but I appreciate he just gets on with it.’ It just wouldn’t happen.

Teachers should foster an interest in their subject and be facilitator in stoking a passion. From year 7 I didn’t feel like I could be one of the sporty types. It was already decided that I was a lost cause because my best friend was a girl and I sang show tunes at break time. For example, I remember in Year 11 a select group of boys were given the chance to use gym equipment during PE sessions. I was itching to have a go but, surprise, the boys chosen were always the boys from the football team. Our classes were divided firmly into the sporty and the un-sporty and us geeks didn’t stand a chance.

(By the way, don’t even get me started on the whole ‘boys can do football, girls can do aeorobics in the gym’ thing. It seems so old fashioned now but it was still happening for us ten years ago.)

I will always remember that feeling of dread – I’d give myself a pep-talk in the toilets before each lesson, reminding myself that I could get through it, and I always did, but it’s hard not to think about that horrible feeling whenever I think about PE. My negative experience in high school has had an effect on how I think about the whole subject, when really, I know there are elements that I enjoy. Physical literacy is all about reversing that and giving pupils positive experiences.

Anyway, the pre-course nerves soon dissipated and the course was one of the best I’ve been on. It was interesting and information and delivered by people who clearly have a passion for their subject. It was also A LOT of fun. I left with the message that Physical literacy is focused on creating an environment totally opposite to the one I experienced ten years ago. It’s all about getting children hooked on sport and being active, and encouraging a healthy lifestyle. It’s about providing a safe environment for children to develop their confidence and skills. As teachers, we were encouraged to provide diverse activities that encouraged all kinds of activity from sport to dance and we were provided with strategies for engaging the ‘un-sporty’ so that PE sessions are, importantly, fun for everyone. Although I wouldn’t say I was deeply traumatised by my experiences, it was a relief to see a shift in how PE lessons are delivered today. We shared many horror stories of our own experiences as pupils and were given hope that change was happening to challenge the attitude to PE. No longer is it battle of the best, but an inclusive subject where all can experience achievement and develop a passion to be active.

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‘Be good to yourself. No one bloody else will!’

Wise words from a relative. Slightly cynical, yes, but still, good advice.

The last couple of weeks have been a bit nuts. Work, deadlines, crisis after crisis and a night in an NHS bed (My trip advisor review will leave a lot to be desired!). By Friday, I was exhausted. I love my job and there is yet to be a day where I groan at the thought of going in, but I could feel the effects of the first half term already. Weepy, snotty, moany, yawny, ratty, achy and hungry (what I like to refer to as ‘The Teacher’s Dwarves’). They were all in full swing by the end of the week. Even a staff night out to bingo couldn’t shift my lethargy (I was in bed and sound asleep by 11).

So, after the traditional weekend planning sesh, I decided to take my relatives advice and treat myself. Me and Z got dressed up and went out for a Mexican (totes nom). I then called at the supermarket (because I am just so cool I do my shopping on a Saturday night) and stocked up on comfort food. Sunday was spent on the sofa, barely even existing.

Why am I telling you all this? How is this relevant? Well, I suppose I just wanted to stress that no matter how hectic times get, how full our diaries our, how in demand our time is, we HAVE to take time out. Treat yourself. Do something you enjoy. Even if I bring home a tonne of work to do, I make sure I stop in time to spend that last hour and half before bed time reading or watching  TV. I make myself a hot chocolate or a camomile tea and I unwind. Oh, and I always stop working for EastEnders. Nothing takes priority over that.

If you’re like me, you’ll enjoy being busy and hopping from job to job, but we have to remind ourselves that it’s OK to take time out. I’ve tried to follow three rules:

  • Always have something to look forward to on the calendar (mine is usually a theatre trip!)
  • Have a no-work-Wednesday – one night in the week where I don’t bring any school work home.
  • Any staffroom treats (e.g. cake, sweets, biscuits) are fair game and never to be refused.

So, whatever lifestyle you have, whatever career you’re following, make sure you treat yourself and be kind yourself because life is too short to not enjoy the little things.

 

 

‘Why?’

One question, asked flippantly, when I revealed, through gasps of discomfort, I’d spent my Friday morning forcing myself through a tough gym session. It’s not everyone’s idea of fun, and to be honest, it wasn’t mine either until earlier this year and on occasions I’m still not 100% sure it is now. Once I’d moved to live across the road from a 24 hour gym, I felt compelled to join. Enough was enough. In my eyes, I no longer had an excuse to not go.

I’ve always been quite slim and in reasonably good shape. (I have shy abs. They are there somewhere, I promise, they just rarely make an appearance) and after starting with gentle work outs, I quickly began pushing myself to do better and better each time, even if it meant spending a few days unable to sit down without groaning or picking up a glass without wincing ‘Oh Jesus Christ!’. The whole gym lifestyle does appeal to me. I’m competitive and constantly seeking self-improvement, I enjoy the healthier option on the menu and I love that feeling after any kind of hard work. My 24 hour gym allows me to fit in a quick work out after school or late at night (when no one is around to judge). So, generally, gyming suits me.

However, on Friday, I did things a little differently. After having my arm twisted by a friend to make a morning visit, I cringed my way through a gruelling workout. I had a feeling my friend was a gym professional but, having not seen him in a vest before, you can imagine my self-esteem plummeting like a dumb bell when a muscly Adonis emerged from the changing room.I knew I was in trouble.  Those who know me know I’m a stubborn sod. Not a quitter. (Sometimes, like this case, it’s a character flaw). I kept chipper and enthusiastic despite feeling like my insides were about to fall out of my mouth and my arms had been stretched to double their natural length. Post-workout I felt great – a bit wobbly in the arms but the usual adrenaline was there.

24 hours later, everything aches. Just raising my mug of tea to my lips is forcing me to make noises which are bordering on post-coital. I’m covered in so much Deep Heat, my fumes could lift a hot air balloon and I’m popping Ibuprofen like tic tacs. When I told my auntie that I’d been to the gym she asked ‘Why?’ and, for the first time, I asked myself the same question. Why am I putting my body through this? Why am I pushing myself to feel this pain?

I’ve come up with a mixture of reasons. OK, I’ll admit, I do sort of feel inadequate and even more so when I’m in the gym surrounded by the brothers of Hercules. I’ve always been happy in my own skin but I have said that I’d like to be just a little bit more toned and in shape. I don’t want to look like an over-stuffed, leathery old sofa, I just want to be able to out-run a murder, should I ever need to. It’s ten percent ‘looks’, ninety percent ‘feeling better’.

The pressure to look good is everywhere and I think it effects men just as much as women. I’d quite like to drown Mark Wright in a vat of Okyos yoghurt every time I see his tanned pecs on my television. I’m sure I’m not the only bloke to think ‘God, I wish I looked like that.’ So many TV shows and movies rely on their aesthetically beautiful stars stripping off. Alright, some of it is entertaining and I promise I’m not going all Daily Mail here, but viewed at the wrong moment it can leave me feeling a little inadequate. And that’s from a 26 year old, who has enough self-confidence to shrug it off and not be too bothered. What effect is this having on teenagers, who are already freaking out about changes and appearance? (I’ll leave that there….there’s another blog there!)

When I first started gyming I reminded myself that this was for me and that I would only do what I was comfortable with and what was possible to do within one week. I’d challenge myself, but realistically. I was never going to strut in and start pumping iron, gazing lustily into the mirror as I do, like many of the gym-goers I see.  It was also supposed to be something enjoyable and this pain is not fun. (Note: First person to say ‘No Pain, No Gain’ will be strangled. Once I regain control of my arms.)

So in answer to the question ‘Why bother with the gym?’, this aching blogger does it for a few reasons, but mostly for himself. I want to feel and look good (in that order). Yes, tighter abs and bigger arms would be lovely, but I needed to remind myself that this was only ever to strengthen my health and mind-set. Anyone else’s routine is irrelevant and pushing myself to agony is not going to help. I think, once you’ve found that level that suits you and you’re happy and comfortable, that’s when you’re winning at gyming.

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