A Presidential Error of Sorts

I'm not sure how many schools still do this but (I'm about to sound old. Like, real old) when I was in school we tested every year for the Presidential Fitness Challenge. In fact, at Hunter's Woods Elementary, I had a gym teacher who created a special team of elite athletes who got an extra hour of gym time if they not only passed the test, but were also hand picked to be a part of this elite team. Now, I use the word "elite" loosely.

Looking back it seemed like we were more a band of misfits gypsies allowed to run around the gym for an hour and throw red rubber balls at each other. In fact, now I'm beginning to question whether this was an "elite" team at all. Perhaps we were more like the ADD team that needed an extra hour to run around like crazed banshees for the sake of our teachers.

The reason I wanted to pass the fitness challenge was for the awesome patch. I pictured it being sewn onto a sweet satin jacket I would wear with pride causing other students to be envious of my athleticism and sheer awesomeness. Instead, it's in the same small wooden box I placed it in years ago along with an old piece of chocolate.

By the time I reached freshman year in high school the testing became a bit of a breeze except for two events that had always been my nemeses: sit-ups and flexed arm hang.

Flexed arm hang caused me to convulse like an epileptic for 15 of my 20 seconds hanging there. And the worse part of it all? Our teacher would make you face the class as you hung there, shaking, trying with all your might to not let your chin touch the metal bar. I've never hated a metal bar more. (Unless you count that one I hit with both my shin bones. That one I could murder.) Regardless, I made it through the arm hang torture and moved on to sit-ups.

Now the sit-ups themselves were fine. I could do them at home with my feet tucked neatly under the bottom of the couch or bed. But in class we had to have a "partner" hold our ankles because if we didn't all our humping up and down would have caused us to move like inch worms down to the other side of the gym. At the time we had to do something like 38 or 45 sit-ups in a minute.
My friend Erika (super athlete) volunteered to hold my ankles and count. Little did she know she was about to get more than she bargained for.

As I moved into position, Erika grabbed my ankles and when the teacher yelled, "Begin!" I started sitting up and down and up and down as fast and furiously as I could. Erika started calling out numbers and I could tell I was well on my way to a new personal best. This was exciting. I decided to push myself more. Unfortunately for Erika, I pushed a little too hard and a fart escaped. Yes, a fart. As my head came up and then down, I tried my best to apologize while still working toward that personal best. "I'm (up)....sorry (down)...really (up)...sorry (sorry)." She was a trooper. Instead of letting go of my ankles and informing the class, "Cassidy just farted in my face!" She told me not to worry about as she continued to count my sit-ups. Now I can honestly say, there aren't many people, who in the face of a fart, would stay and help you reach your personal best and for that Erika, I salute you.