It's Like Some Sort Of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Regarding Dodge Ball

Husband and I have started exercising, after a long period of too many sweets and too many trips to McDonald's.  As our jiggly guts can attest, it's hard to resist the siren's song that is McDonald's french fries.

Irresistible bastards.

Working out with him is actually enjoyable. We both motivate each other to get off our fat butts, and I can honestly say that if not for him, I'd still spend my nights sitting on the couch eating Fritos.  But every now and then I have flashbacks to my days of high school gym class.  It's like some sort of post traumatic stress disorder regarding dodge ball.

You're doomed. DOOMED!!!

I’ve made no bones about the fact that I hated gym class.  So you can imagine how thrilled I was junior year on the last day of mandatory gym class, EVER.

To celebrate the fact that most students wouldn’t take the optional senior year gym class, the teachers went old school and let us play dodge ball.

Displaying my usual athletic prowess, I spent the hour standing by the bleachers chatting to friends when WHAM a dodge ball smacked me right in the face, hard enough for me to see stars for several minutes.

The boy who threw the ball was more distraught than I.  He was a nice guy, and knew I wasn’t really playing the game.

But I still used the dodge-ball incident as an excuse to change out of my gym clothes, and spend the rest of the period sitting on the bleachers.

So really, it was one of the best gym classes ever.