Over The Top

 How many do we have to do? This is the question I am asked a few dozen times over the course of the Physical Fitness Testing Window. As if there were some magical number at which these fifth graders would transcend their mortal beings and drift up to the heavens after doing more than ten push-ups. Or curl-ups, or any of the required exercises mandated by the state to discover just how fit our kids are. 

I would suggest a different means of calibration: Simply keep track of every time a student asks, "Is this good enough?" That should give us some notion of how fit they are to take the test, let alone how they will respond once they have been introduced to physical exertion. 

Please understand this all comes with the appreciation I have for their predicament. For years I would wake up in a sweat knowing that I would eventually have to climb the rope. When I was in elementary school, they built a brand new gym when I was in fourth grade. PE classes were no longer sharing space with the cafeteria. The one thing that they brought from the old equipment were those thick ropes hanging from the ceiling. They followed me as if to remind me that as much as I tried I still could not shimmy up to the rafters like so very many of my peers. I understood that there was no in-between. No points for halfway. Each year those ropes stood as a barrier to me and self-esteem. It never occurred to me to put on airs or cop an attitude about it. I was going to master this gravity related feat or perish in the attempt. 

As miserable as I was, and as miserable as I made myself, this story does  have a happy ending. Way back when I was in grade school, they went all the way up to sixth grade. This allowed me that one last chance to push, or rather pull, myself to the top. It was quite the sweaty ordeal, and when I slid back down to earth there was no brass band or congratulations from my friends. I had done the minimum, just in time to move on to the even more arduous and periodically cruel world of junior high Phys Ed. The one where your last name appears in the box on your uniform T-shirt. 

All of this plays out in my head in seconds each time a fifth grader asks me how many push-ups they have to do. They don't have to do any. That's the secret. It's all about what they want to do. 

But do you think I would tell them that?