Gym monologue

“Now slowly, lift.. two.. three.. four. Good, now brace and hold that weight for 60 seconds.”

He’ll be lucky to make it for 10 seconds, another of the week-end enthusiasts who turn up for an hour of gym work once a week and expect it will turn them into the next Arnold Schwarzenegger by the end of the week.

“No that’s fine Mr Feldman, just slowly down, gently does it. Now relax and take a few deep breaths to help re-oxygenate the blood. Lovely.”

Of course it’s not want I planned to do with my life, but I guess there’s worse ways to have to have to make a living. I’d wanted to be a Footballer, doesn’t every kid with a bit of skill, and I even once  had a trial with Tranford Wanderers, but even on the day I knew they weren’t really interested.

Yeah, we were just there because the clubs Assistant coach was a drinking buddy of our PE teacher Mr Lewis, and taking six of his half decent pupils down for a kick about trial was an easy day for each of them, and the sort of thing that looked good come their Annual evaluations.

“How are you feeling now Mr Feldman, ready to give it another go or would you prefer to move onto another machine? Right then, let’s give the Cross-trainer a go, work on building up that Cardio vascular stamina.”

Still it was a good day out for us too, got us off a few lessons and made the rest of the class a bit jealous. So everyone was in a fairly good mood as we got off the Mini-bus and were led round to a small hut where we could get changed into our kit and boots. Then after a few warm up exercises, we found ourselves lined up on one of the training pitches in front of a Goal manned by the Clubs number three keeper, who looked no more than about six months older than the rest of us but exuded the air of someone already bored by this waste of his time.   

“Go on then first boy” bellowed Mr Lewis, and Jenkinson stepped forward lined up the ball on the Penalty spot and belted towards the centre of goal. It was a powerful shot but no finesse and flew like a cannonball straight into the Keeper arms, who immediately rolled it back towards us boys.

I was next up and determined not to make the same mistake, so I targeted the ball towards the top right corner of the net, but a touch of nerves and lack of familiarity with the pitch meant I misjudged it and the instead to sailing in the ball ricocheted off the post, and shot off towards the next pitch.

 “Pathetic” called out Mr Lewis, “My one legged granny could do better than that. Well don’t just stand there like a cabbage boy, go and get the ball”. He waved his arm dispiritingly to signal the direction the ball had sailed off in and I trudged off to retrieve it.

“OK the Mr Feldman, if you’re feeling refreshed let’s take up the seated grip and get started”. 

So the Football trials went on and we generally fared badly. Each boy took his turn, and whilst there were a couple of moments of cheer when the ball went in, generally we kept failing to score and instead received a volley of abuse from Mr Lewis about our lack of talent and how easily he could do better. In fairness I’d have to say the Keeper wasn’t having a bad morning, and made quite a few impressive looking saves, even allowing for the fact that his competition was a bunch of 15 year old schoolboys

Finally it seemed to get too much for Mr Lewis and after a whispered conversation with the Assistant coach, he instructed us to take a break from the shots and instead to start running round the sides of the nearby practice pitches until he returned to show us how it was done properly.

Well we did about one round of the pitch watching Mr Lewis and co. depart, and then figuring we were now out of anyone’s sight stopped and begun bemoaning our fate and how unfair Mr Lewis was being. I think it was about then that Roberts probably meaning it as a joke put forward his idea and pointed to the sand hopper sat by some stands at that the far end of the pitch. It was fairly common for small clubs to have these, the sand ready to be sprinkled on water logged pitches as a means of soaking up some of the excess moisture after heavy rain. We examined the hopper and with a mixture of dares and jeers egged each other on until a proposed joke had become a plan of mischief.

“That’s it Mr Feldman, nice regular strokes. Now why don’t you try a brisker pace, I’ll set up the timer for 3 minutes.”

It was about 20 minutes later that Mr Lewis, the Assistant Coach and the Keeper returned from the clubhouse to find us all conscientiously trotting round the pitch as instructed. Mr Lewis called us all back together, and as he began to once again list our many failings, it was clear from the whiff of spirit on his breath that they had probably used the break as an opportunity to have a few drinks.

The ball sat where it had been left on the Penalty spot, and Mr Lewis began to explain how half knack of scoring was about mental preparation, knowing upfront where you were going to place the ball, but not giving it away. Then signalling to the keeper to take up his position again, Mr Lewis took a short run up to the ball and swung out his foot to make contact. Time seemed to slow, and we all watched as in the same moment the keeper - in what was no doubt a prearranged move- dived the wrong way leaving the goal unprotected, and with all his force Mr Lewis’s foot struck the ball.

But the ball didn’t move towards the goal. Instead Mr Lewis let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground clutching his foot, and rolling around on the ground in a performance many a modern Premiership Centre Forward could learn from, for the next time one of them take a dive”.

Subsequent examination of the day’s activities discovered that;

-          One , that the football innards had somehow become filled with wet sand, giving the ball a consistency and weight not dissimilar to that of a bowling ball.

-          Two that Mr Lewis’s toe was broken and would be in plaster for the next eight weeks, and

-          Three that for all his talk of our shortcomings, Mr Lewis had also failed to score a goal, and so like the rest of us was no better at football than his one legged granny. 

Of course when we got back to the School the Head Teacher wasn’t very happy, but we all stuck by the School boy code of silence and each claimed we had no idea how something like that could possibly have happened, some suggesting that possibly some local prankster had slipped by when we were off running round the pitches and performed the deed. In addition, Mr Lewis himself couldn’t admit to the Head Teacher that he’d left us unattended to go off drinking, so eventually we were each given 2 hours detention for unruly behaviour and it was decided that was the end of the matter. But for us it was well worth the price of that detention, as we each took on an almost legendary status with the other kids in the school, all desperate to get details of the inside story.

“That’s much more like it Mr Feldman, keep up the good work. Nice steady moves two… three… four…”

I never got another chance to be a professional football player, but after school the Careers teacher got me this opportunity as a Gym Fitness coach. I still have to go to Colleague once a week to do my Body Fitness GVNQ, and at times it can be a bit dull and repetitive, but on balance I enjoy, and it could have been worst, I could have ended up a PE Teacher.