Don’t you just love it when science backs up the things you already knew? Recent research has declared that – it’s official – boys do more exercise than girls, with working-class girls being particularly inactive, and ethnic minority girls especially. As a member of the latter demographic, I have always known this; I’d barely broken a sweat until my university days, and even that was from an especially hot Nando’s.
You see, where I was growing up (council house, east London), sports were simply not a thing. You might see the odd lad chasing a football, and if one of those lads got a trial for West Ham, you might then see him being chased (by a bunch of girls). But that was the most exercise many of us got, and at my secondary school – which had more BAME pupils than not – the girls’ PE class was the truant’s delight.
University changed all that. There, many of the girls played sports. They were in teams, they went on tours, they wore sleeveless jackets that they refused to call Puffas (they called them gilets, as if that is a real word). And while I was turned off by that specific brand of total knob, I did recognise the health benefits.
Which is why, a few years ago, I joined a gym. My arms, which had the strength of a baguette, soon became firmer and stronger. My legs did the same, and my lung capacity grew. So now I am ready. I am going to join a sports team. Or at least, I’m trying to. I can’t quite get past the try-out bit. I tried the local women’s netball squad, but couldn’t shoot; I tried the running club, but got a stitch after five minutes; and in martial arts it is apparently bad form to shriek, “You hit me! I can’t believe you hit me!”
Frankly, it all seems very judge-y. Can’t these people see that I might not have had the benefit of exercise seamlessly integrated into my life from childhood, but I do have a disproportionate amount of enthusiasm and an underlying death wish? That’s prime athlete material!
Though I do have high hopes for an antique-wooden-boat rowing club I’ve discovered. Let’s just say it’s a very London experience. We row on the Thames between an airport and some sewage works, and there’s no trial, no 5am starts – and no obligation to race because there are no other teams to race. Ah, the sweet taste of victory (by default). I could get used to this.
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