As I trudged down the winding hall with all the other students after lunch, more like brunch, I couldn't stop thinking about how uncomfortable my throat was and imagining how it would feel after gym. I shuffled into the cold locker room, and I did my locker combination as I recited it in my head trying to recall it. Swiftly I ran to change, so I wouldn't have to wait for a changing stall. Trying to postpone the pain as long as possible, I planned to change very slowly. Unfortunately, it didn't work out because so many people were waiting restlessly outside the changing room. I finished changing, praying that I would not have to do many if any laps. Then I went out to brave gym.



I stood outside the locker room with the other kids who had finished changing as an awkward feeling loomed about. The awkward feeling, caused by a long silence, ended abruptly when a pair of popular girls came out of the changing room chattering at full volume. Despite the talking, which had started very quickly, nothing could distract me from my impending doom that was awaiting me in the field house. My short, muscular gym teacher, Ms. Smith , walked out of the changing room in her usual attire, a pair of khaki pants and a tee shirt, to hold the girls' locker room door while yelling at the dawdling girls to hurry up.


Once everyone was out of the changing room, Ms. Smith barked at my class to go to the field house. I walked down the hall with my friends Natasha and Olivia and not even the uniform pleasant conversation kept me from forgetting what awaited me in the field house. Once we got to the field house we did our usual warm ups and then I heard the words that made me shiver. Ms. Smith told the class to run two laps around the field house. I reluctantly began running with my friend Olivia (we are not the fastest runners) at the end of the trail of people. Around the end of my second lap my throat was burning so much I started to walk. My gym teacher then yelled in a commanding voice from across the gym, "Pick it up girls," and I began to run again. I thought to myself, "You have got to be kidding me. My throat hurts more then I can ever remember it hurting. Why do these ironic things always happen to me? I walked last time, and she didn't yell at me, but now she yells at me when I really need to walk." When I finally finished the lap I was gasping for breath. I then plodded over to my friends to stand with them to wait until the end of class.



Once the eternal torture, also know as gym, was over Ms. Smith told us to go to the changing room to get back into our regular clothes. I rushed to my gym locker and did the combination as quick as I could so I didn't have to wait for a stall. Once I got to the stalls, there weren't any left, to my great dismay. I had to wait as attentively as a mother to her toddler so I could dash to a stall as soon as one opened. I wanted to get this day over with. Once a stall finally opened up, I rushed to change. Despite my burning throat, I sprinted out just to make sure Ms. Smith wouldn't make me do any more excruciatingly painful laps. I left gym feeling much worse than before. I rushed to get my things for my next class, math, with a feeling of fatigue and a wish that I could just fall asleep or go home. After I got my stuff I went to my friend Iris' locker to talk to he about my horrible gym experience, and she told me to go to the nurse. I said, "No, I can't go to the nurse. She will insist on sending me home, and my mom can not pick me up." That was only half true because my mom might not have been able to pick me up. Really, I just don't like the environment of the nurse's office and all the "sick" kids who aren't actually sick. This feeling was reinforced by the fact that the last time I went to the nurse's office it didn't really help me at all. The day was terrible, but the thought of a warm bed and rest when I got home drove me on and helped me survive that day and that painful gym class.