“The cross country was always won by the same type of kid”
Once I discovered chips with gravy and reality TV, my interest in sport jogged on. Different story in primary school though … I had a finger in every sporting pie. Well, except for two sports, the first being netball, something about getting the ball then having to give it to someone else isn’t my vibe, like sharing hot chips or offering to be the designated driver to a wedding. No thanks.
The other sport I couldn’t bond with was the annual school cross country. If you’re not familiar, cross country is a running race over a few kilometres usually through the school grounds and surrounding areas, culminating in a lap of the oval, where all the kids with sick notes were made to cheer you on, and did so half heartedly as they enjoyed their library books and non-burning legs and lungs. The cross-country course is marked by teachers at checkpoints giving you directions onwards. It used to feel weird running in front of non-pe staff. I remember dashing past Mrs Moody, she never usually gets to see me run, usually when I see her, I’m in a chair learning how to order a glass of milk in German.
Seeing a teacher out of context is always weird, like when you see them at Target and you think to yourself, “what is she doing here, at my local Target, how did she find out about this place?”
On cross-country day teachers who usually teach you maths stand on the school’s driveway, camouflaged in a sunhat, screaming things at you like, “left at the hall, girls, no other left, girls!”
The cross country was such a big event that it would have to be announced on assembly like a new school rule about banning necklaces. Every September, the deputy principal would hand over to the head of PE to let you know you’re about to race your peers and, no, walking the course is not an option.
“Mr Harris will now speak to you about the cross country that’s happening next week.” My heart would sink as Mr Harris took to the microphone – why do some PE teachers talk like they’re a rugby league player giving a press conference? They’re always off to a slow start. “Um, yeah, guys, listening please, this is about next week’s cross country event, shh please, girls, Ms Sparkes and I have put a lot of effort into planning the course, so you need to listen up.”
I don’t remember the rest of the instructions, I’d be too busy hoping I’d get very sick next week, or better still get a note that prevented my involvement.
I don’t think they had cross country when my parents were growing up. Mum never understood why I needed a strongly worded note to get out of it. “I
think it’d be good for you.” That’s what parents say when they wouldn’t do something themselves, but want to make you do it. Other examples of things that fall into this category are getting up to turn the beeping dishwasher off and the general, but important helping your father please.
The cross country was always won by the same type of kid … lean, long legs, quiet, you didn’t notice them until they sprung ahead of you on cross country day. Go for it, Cassie, or is it Casey?
The cross country felt like it went for hours. It didn’t, it was roughly a 3km course. Being a young lady of taste, I’d get lost in taking in the back yards of houses around the school that I’d never noticed. Any house with a hut in the pool area blew young Mel away. How could I focus on running up hill and down dale when I was in the presence of these multimillionaires with their extravagant backyard landscaping?
I wonder if a good result at the school cross country is a determining factor in future success? Like that marshmallow test for little kids? It probably is, as I don’t even have a pool, let alone a Balinese style hut to accompany it.