Battle of the Physical Fitness...I'm a spaz (544 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Freakmagnet (View user info) at 2004-07-30 00:26:51 EDT
This kid, I'll call him Brad for the sake of changing names in stories (everyone else does).
Brad is a popular kid, but has absolutely no right to be. He doesn't wear the absolute coolest clothes, he isn't super athletic, and he doesn't have a terminal tan and dashing good looks. No sparkling personality or profound humor. People just like him, he has a girlfriend and gets invited to all the upperclassmen parties. In short he makes me ill and I despise him. Oh yeah, Brad also thinks he is better than me.
No, he has never said this. Nor has he hinted at it, or implied it. I just know he does.
I can see it in his eyes. Those "why-do-you-even-try-loser-cause-I'm-way-better-than-you eyes". (My counselor says that someone's eyes can't say that much, but I know he is lying, I can see
it in his lying eyes.)
This epic tale begins in Physical Education. A sorry excuse for a class but none the less an
easy A. It was the worst time of the year...physical fitness test time. The time when the
coach separated the men, from the boys, the scrawny emo pussies, from the jocks, the fat girls from the cheerleaders. It was crunch time, time to show the world that I am better than Brad.
First up: The Mile. Five grueling laps around the soccer field, I laced up my Nikes (silently praying that the Malaysian kid had been on the ball with this pair), and stood on the starting line. Coach blew the whistle, and I was off, I felt like I was in a shoe commercial. I
whispered to myself, I am black, I am Kenyan, I am all that is high school athleticism. Seven minutes, and two side stitches later, I emerged victorious. Mwahahaha, eat that Brad. Brad pretended not to care, he acted all non-chalant, and just walked back to the gym. But I
knew it was eating him up inside. I was winning the silent war that was being waged in our heads. Or at least in my head.
Next challenge: Sit-Ups. The be all, end all, abdominal sculpting routine. Unfortunately
I have never been very good at sit-ups I'm not flabby in that region, just undefined. Sit-ups
are the reason I could never be a male model (Well, one of the reasons, my I.Q. being higher than the level of mental retardation is another.) Sit-ups were the enemy, they were the snake to my proverbial mongoose, the herpes to my proverbial penis. Sit-ups were bad news. I lied down on the mat and put on my game face. A crooked sneer with furrowed eyebrows. The face undoubtedly made me look like a lobotomy patient with constipation, but I felt like a game winner with that face on.
I distantly heard the coach tell us to begin and I was off. One minute, as many abdominal contractions as we could muster. (Abdominal contractions is a kick ass phrase). Good Luck.
My muscles burned, sweat poured down my glistening body like a Gatorade commercial. OH. My muscles ached, they burned, they were going to explode, please God let this end!! And just
like that it was over. I gasped at my counting buddy, "How many?"
"Fifty-four."
"Yes, I'm on fire!"
Then I heard Brad, "Fifty-eight". I hung my head in defeat. I had lost the battle,
but not the war. There is still hope. I erased my game face and glanced at Brad. He caught
my gaze, looked at me, and grinned. He grinned, that little shit! He grinned! How dare he!? Oh, it is on now bitch, it's on like Donkey Kong. Prepare for humiliation at the hands of Tommy
the Great! Tommy the Conqueror! Tommy the Ruler of all that is Physical Fitness! MWAHAHAHA!
In the distance lightning flashed. The final showdown was about to begin.
The greatest and final challenge was the pull-ups. (In order to be considered a legit exercise, it must be hyphenated.) The pull-ups are the toughest exercise of them all. They are dangerous also, one of the fat kids was doing pull-ups, and he had gotten to 4 when all of a sudden his tendons snapped right out of his arms. They whipped back and snapped him in the eye. He fell
to the ground, blinded by his own tendons, and laying in a puddle of blood. The ripped flesh that hung from his arms was a testament to the horror that is pull-ups.
"Brad." the teacher called his name and Brad stepped up to the bar. He stared it down and I could see the fear in his eyes. I consumed his fear; I absorbed his fear and converted it to raw unyielding power. I could feel the power coursing through my veins. This was the most
difficult thing I had ever had to do. I was ready.
Brad cranked out 13 pull-ups. He had given it his all, but it wasn't enough, I was sure of it. My name was called and I stepped up to the bar. I knew my challenge. I could conquer this challenge. I hopped up to the bar and began. I worked the first 6 out no problem. I had broken
a sweat by the ninth, and by the tenth I was burning.
I screamed into the caverns of my sub-conscious, "Four more baby, squeeze em' out! You
can do it! You're the man!" 12. ARAGGHHHH! 13. My muscles were burning, aching, screaming for
the sweet release of paralysis. I willed them on. A nail gun fired pain into my biceps as I cranked out number 14. I fell to the floor in a heap gasping for air. I finally found the
power to stand. I stood, looked Brad in the eye, and pointed, "Eat that jackass." MWAHAHAHA. Brad dropped to his knees and started crying like a little girl. Several cheerleaders
walked by and congratulated me, then invited me to their house for a massive orgy.
"You're the man."
Actually Brad looked at me like I was nuts. Several girls walked by and muttered under their breath, "Freak", "What a loser", and the ever popular, "Fucking weirdo."
Who cares, I win.
User Reviews
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2004-11-30 22:53:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
To counteract Fetish...
Can't think of anything more assanine and childish than -2 bombing...
Submitted by Natalia_Everitt (user info) at 2004-11-30 22:49:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-11-30 22:30:15 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Freakmagnet (user info) at 2004-11-30 22:26:56 (#)
Ranking: 2
That fetish guy is a fag.
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2004-07-30 10:59:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Cryopaul (user info) at 2004-07-30 09:01:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by Avals (user info) at 2004-07-30 02:25:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
P.E.? Separating the men from the boys!? Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!
We had a 2km test once... I ran with the slowest guy in my class. I'm talking about snails-pass-me-on-the-way-home, a-paraplegic-runs-faster-than-this kind of slow. I wonder why my marks weren't all that great that year... On the plus side, I got bored towards the end and passed him by a lap, but the teacher didn't notice so the fucker got to do one lap less.
Submitted by me at 2004-07-30 01:47:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"one of the fat kids was doing pull-ups, and he had gotten to 4 when all of a sudden his tendons snapped right out of his arms. They whipped back and snapped him in the eye. He fell
to the ground, blinded by his own tendons, and laying in a puddle of blood. The ripped flesh that hung from his arms was a testament to the horror that is pull-ups."
I laughed my ass off.
Submitted by AlkalineSolo (user info) at 2004-07-30 01:41:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn. That last line... I know the feeling. This one time, this guy mark put his gum on my pizza, so I pizzad him good. I was like "Haha Mark, how do you like your gum now?" and then a bunch oof people looked at me funny, and mark got pissed becayse he couldn't get the grease stains out of hs shirt.
Submitted by Zeccs (user info) at 2004-07-30 01:40:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No wonder brad thinks hes cooler than you.
Submitted by Falco (user info) at 2004-07-30 01:24:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Fourteen pullups AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Are they full extension?
Submitted by Confusion (user info) at 2004-07-30 00:43:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by PatheticCapitalistFuck (user info) at 2004-07-30 00:30:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well written and entertaining.
Looking forward to your work in your sophomore year.