Physical Education was taught to us only during the first three years of secondary school. In my school, we studied more of the theoretical aspects of sports than the physical aspects. We only went outside to play soccer and basketball during the few times that we were outdoors. Although there was a time when the school got a table tennis board and we took turns playing it. Physical education was unremarkable for me during that entire period.
I have always been interested in sports. I would spend hours seated in front of our television screen with my younger sister watching the Olympics and gymnastics when I was young. My father was the only one who was actively interested in sports. He played Lawn tennis and Squash while I was in primary school and part of my secondary school. My mother would pack bread and butter with hot tea for us every Saturday morning as we followed our father to the Police officer’s mess to watch him play. It was our routine for a very long time, until it wasn’t.
My father was made chairman of the Kwara State Basketball Association when I was twelve, and he pushed my sister and I to start training, which I terribly sucked at despite my height back then. I just couldn’t shoot right. We stopped going for training a year later because life was getting serious and I needed to focus on school and get better grades.
Since I was starting my senior year, I thought that was the last time I would have anything to do with sports until we got an announcement in school that there would be an interhouse sports event in the coming year. It was a surprise, as it was the first interhouse sports event hosted by my school. The school was abuzz with the news, and everyone was preparing. Everything I had learned in the physical education class was about to be put to use.
The first thing was house selection. There were to be four houses, separated by colours. So there were the blue, red, yellow, and green houses. The teachers selected the students from year one to year six to be put into each house.
After that, the preparation began in earnest. Everyone assumed that I would run. ‘I have long legs', I heard the teachers in charge of my house say. I found myself in the red house, by the way. I wasn’t sure I could run, but I had to try. I practised for months. I wish they had let me try other activities like javelin or long jump, but they didn’t. I was only made to run again and again.
On the day of the sport event, I ran a 200-metre race. I got elbowed during the race and fell on my knees, groaning in pain. I got back up and finished the race, though, in last position.
My teachers were disappointed, and I felt terrible. My classmates made fun of me for weeks after that, and I could only ignore them. The only thing I could think of after that 200-metre race was, ‘I shouldn’t have raced. It’s not meant for me’.
Looking at that moment right now, I have realised that I tend to give up quickly after trying something for the first time, especially if it is something that I don’t like, want, or am not sure of. I like to picture myself doing things before actually doing them. It is sometimes slow and causes procrastination on my part, but it is how I am able to cope with the monotony of life, sometimes. Also, knowing this trait of mine pushes me to keep trying again, even if I don't want it or like it until I find a balance and succeed at it, simply because I know that I have to put in the work to get what I want.
I found a sport that I enjoyed and was good at a few years later. It was volleyball, and I will tell you all about it sometime in the future.
