Were we physically educated?

I recall physical education mostly as a cluster of unpleasant smell, sounds and textures. Foot sweat, grit and the clatter of spiked shoes. As far as I was concerned it was a psychological battle between me and a series of body obsessed weightists who wished to inspire me to accept that I was a fat waste of space and I need to stop disfiguring the place with my presence.

Looking back this wasn’t far from the truth. I vividly remember being the focus of a discussion on different body shapes after calling out a teacher on implying that I was the wrong shape for my gender. He was not shaken by my forwardness. I must admit that I get pleasant feel thinking of that chiseled but dim individual sliding despairingly into middle age.

I won the battle if your wondering. But largely because what they saw as punishment I saw as a way out of being at the receiving end of the disappointment of my less reluctant team mates. They’d leave me in a walk-in cupboard for a couple of hours. I’d come out with a smile on my face after a good sit down and a couple of chapters of whatever book I was reading brewing in my imagination.

In the last couple of years I found myself re-approaching exercise with a new energy. And although I must admit that at first I picked up the weights to boost my confidence as a single man with little experience approaching women. I now find myself enthralled with the benefits to my mental health and find myself wondering what in earth went wrong.

I am not so different to the boy who would rather sit out and fail than grant some bigot the pleasure of watching me pant my way through whatever ball-kicking/hitting pastime they felt was so important that it should  demand hours of my time. If anything I am more resolute in my dislike for people who seek this bizarre form of self validation.

Weightisim like all prejudice is a way of belittling people not motivating them and although in the latter years of secondary school PE theory a little time was set aside to address the more holistic benefits. It was not till I studied the practice of some of the more dramatic advocates of the civil rights movement that I granted the notion any credence.

Setting aside the quite frankly bizarre paramilitary aspect. Here were people facing great adversity using physical training to strengthen the body and mind. In the face of my own challenges I found that their setting aside of the contrived notions of body shape in service of something all-together more rewarding was a great inspiration. Suddenly exercise was not a toxic distraction from my goals and an acceptance of my failure to rise above. But a way of energising myself which could be tailored to helping me achieve my goals.

It would be laughable to suggest that the social isolation that the less able find in western PE classes would be soothed by converting entirely to an eastern approach to physical education with drills an routines. But surely our vast state-funded physical education system should be focused on the key skills an individual needs to stay healthy and fit, with sporting skills taking a back seat. With that said should the job of PE teacher be not more akin to that of a personal trainer then that of a coach.

I don’t remember having Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle being explained to me in physics even though I’m sure any physicist will admit it plays a key role in the understanding of the world we see around us, amongst other things. However I do remember having the rules of rugby explained to me several times. And although I use my understanding of either rarely I know which one I’m more likely be able to study in the pub.

Brain Glover as the quintessential obnoxious PE teacher in Ken Loach’s 1969 film ‘Kes’.

Brain glover as the quintessential obnoxious PE teacher in Ken Loach’s 1969 film “Kes”

Condition this…

Just over a year ago I was out with my father two and a half drink in and beginning to relax into my own skin in a pub filled to the rafters with my parents piers bopping to a cover of Bob Dylan’s anthem Wagon Wheel. I’d craftily ducked the “so what are you up to nowadays?” question several times with a couple of ‘living the dream’-esc vague platitudes. So when a larger gent who I did know so well buckled up to fill some silence I figured I’d give it a go. “I make music” I gleefully replied. As this is true and I enjoy it greatly. “Yeah but besides that, cant do that forever”. This was a revelation I as not ready for. Not by any-means that I could not indulge myself creative exploration for the rest of my life. But rather that a perfect stranger would so openly declare my aspirations a joke.

Its been 18 months and countless hours of un-payed work since my graduation. I’m starting to feel like the victim of conditioning. Hours upon hours of advice so many incentives and schemes that I’ve lost any understanding of why I started my degree. I know that once upon a time it was enough to work payed or un-payed. As long as my head was above water then learning day by day moving from project to project was a victory. There was a playfulness to it. Even while I ground through the most mundane of chores. Filling out applications, researching funding avenues, structuring portfolios and CV’s. They where steps along the way to something.

I now understand the disappointment that followed to be a product of entitlement. I was not so self deluded as to think the conclusion of my Music production degree would leave me inundated with offers. I new a chose the hard road. What I didn’t expect is the resentment I was to be a target of.

Entitlement is a dirty word now there is no getting away from it. Whether your facing a mistreated civil servant, a employer that just cashed in a free shift or smiling recruitment agent in a shiny suit. That which once protected the rights that people fought so hard to secure is being dangled over our heads like so much first-world guilt.

Its difficult to imagine how the relatively new idea of all powerful growth will be matched by a culture of always posing the alternatives as a reason to not be dishearten. Our options are not progressive and leave little in the way of hope for personal growth. Call centre work beckons forth the young. The caring profession welcomes back the damaged. The lucky find there place in a bar, cafe or the loving arms of American Express. These are the trials of are young as they consult with their shackled spirit guides.

Homeland‘s abused protagonist Nicholas Brody has become a useful archetype for failure. As they bat and balled his mental heath across the pacific he emotes at the pace of his captors. Hands outstretched towards whatever goal promises the little peace he found before he began lessening.

If the comparison seems harsh and a little like a conspiracy that’s because before conspiracy became associated grandiose sudo-socail-science it would have been considered an apt description of what the un/under-employed face on a day to day bases. It does not encourage growth to so loudly begrudge young people support as they attempt to re-build there professions from the ground up. Let alone to presser them into submission and the reluctant acceptance of a cynical world that promises so much and delivers so little.

Would you like the carrot now Sgt Brody?