You asked for it.... "The Skipping Contest"

It was a crisp cool autumn day in Eureka SD. The year was 1982 and I was in Mrs. Fischer’s fourth grade class. School was almost over for the week; only my favorite class was left – PE. I loved PE. On this particular day, I had two very important things to look forward to: Firstly, we had a very cute student teacher shadowing our regular gym teacher - Mr. Connel. He was one of Eureka’s Svendson twins… and my crush on him went way back to 1^st grade; and secondly, we were having a skip-off contest – boys against girls. It was done elimination style… you skipped until you lost – top skippers of each gender kept moving up the bracket until the ultimate ‘mano y mano’ race – fastest boy skipper versus the fastest girl skipper. It was huge and I was fiercely competitive. I wanted that title. I was willing to sacrifice it all to have it too.

Being a very athletic 10 year old, I sailed through the first few rounds barely breaking a skipping sweat. Sharon, Robin, Amy… I beat them all with very little effort. I knew my hardest challenge amongst the girls would be Kristine – she too was also very competitive and keenly quick. We were dear friends, but I wasn’t going to let friendship get in the way of my goals, my aspirations. That round was grueling. I skipped until my little knees shook. But I cleared the finish line victorious. I was the fastest girl skipper in the 4^th grade of Eureka Public School. (Oh, did I mention there were only 12 kids in my class: 6 boys and 6 girls - an even numbered scenario that nearly begged for this kind of competition.)

But now, the hugest obstacle stood in my way of my ultimate dream… and they called him “Meat” (real name Mike). He was fast, he had incredible speed, and he could skip the pants off anyone.

Our course was to skip to the end of the multi-purpose room and back again. (Side note, the multi-purpose room in Eureka was just a small gym … the perimeter of the gym were the rooms’ walls – this is a key part of the story later on – so the court ended, and the walls were just inches behind that… get it?? Small room, with walls to serve as the boundaries.)

I double knotted my Kangaroos and I did a few knee lifts to make sure that my form was in check. Cute student teacher Steve gave me a good luck high five and I went to my starting position along the back of the gym wall.

“On your marks, get set, GO!,” fired Mr. Connel.

The race was off to a dismal start. Meat shot out of the 'starting blocks’ like lighting. I felt as if I was only chasing him the entire first half of the race. But then the tables turned. As we reached the far wall and began our return, I could see that Mike had over extended himself in the front end of the race. I pressed on. Half court line, I was nearly caught up to him. He gave a quick glance to his side as he felt my presence gaining on him. Free-throw line. I am taking the lead. Yes. I am winning. Strangely Meat is slowing down considerably. My chance. Yes, I’m doing it. I push on. I am winning. I will win. Yes! Yes!

Thud.

Ouch. White hot, searing pain.

(remember I told you about the walls being the boundaries)

Yes. I was the fastest skipper of the 4^th grade class. I was proud. I accepted all the congratulations from my fellow competitors, from Mr. Connel, from the really cute student teacher…. I should have been on top of the world. But yet, I wasn’t. I wasn’t flying high, because I was in an inexplicable amount of pain, and both my wrists were just dangling in front of me.

I simply couldn’t tell my teacher that I hurt myself. I’m sure Student teacher Steve would be thinking ‘what a little wimpy girl!’ So I decided to pretend I was fine. It was the end of the school day anyway. I would just wait until I got home and tell my mom about the pain.

Well I distinctly remember having a ton of books to take home that weekend. And due to the pain in my wrists – I wasn’t able to load them properly into my book back – so instead carried them wedged into my elbows. I met my little sister Gina on the bus and told her that I hurt my arms and asked for her help, but she only laughed and said ‘no way.’

I remember getting off the bus at our house, unassisted by my sister, and following her up to the front door. She didn’t even hold the door open for me and instead let it slam in my face. Here I was standing in the cold, school books dropping from my arms, unable to open the door due to the intense pain from both wrists and a sister with no love to show. All I could do was ring the doorbell with my elbow and hope for some sympathy from my mom.

Turns out… I sprained one wrist and had fractured the other. One was wrapped and placed in a splint, the other hung in front of me in a sling… and this is how it was for what seemed to be an eternity.

My dear friends at school created a sign-up sheet and they all took turns carrying my lunch tray and helping me eat. I was mocked terribly by the upper-class men in the 6^th grade. My mom helped me get dressed, wrote my homework for me, and helped bath me and take care of ‘personal business’ (I don’t exactly remember what happened if I had to use the bathroom at school and if I required any help… perhaps that’s been suppressed from my memory).

And today, arthritis is my nemesis…. I feel the seasons change in my wrists. I sense unstable weather patterns approaching by the throbbing sensation sent up my arms.

And I ask myself why? Why?

For the glory, of course. For the glory.

(Thanks Kristi and Tammy. You got your wish of hearing the famous story. A story I’m quite sure my Washington friends have never heard… and until your recent posts… would never have. Thanks. Oh and Leif and I are working on creating a video reenactment... watch for it on YouTube soon.)