FALLING OVER IN THE GYM

Did you hear the one about the middle school teacher who fell over and got wedged under two large gym tumbling mats?

Of course you didn't; I haven't told you yet.

The entire school is reading a book together.  I won't tell you the title of the book because I don't want to get into a pissing match about whether or not it is a worthy book. Honestly?  The book sucks.  It sucks big time.

This book teaches the children that if you have major problems and issues, all you have to do is claim you're being offended or bullied, and the whole world will fall open at your feet because you're a nasty brat.  It teaches kids that if life hands your sibling a raw deal, the rest of your life will suck because of it, and you'll never, ever be recognized for your own achievements because you'll never, ever be as important to your parents, teachers, or the world as your sibling is.

Yup.  Real life lesson here, folks.  The sad part?  It's the truth.

Our culminating school project is to write what the book calls precepts ("really important lessons about life") on the gym wall cinder blocks using permanent magic marker.  The gym walls have been taped off with a section for each English teacher, and the space for my classes' precepts is the far gym wall nearest the exit by the science wing.

When my first class gets to the gym, we notice that our entire area is blocked by two giant blue tumbling mats, the really thick foam ones. Being the logical person I am (and a natural problem-solver, can't forget that part), I grab both mats by the straps and start pulling them out of the way.  I drag them across the front of the open bleachers, shuffling so that I do not slip in my grip-less sandals.  I'm not going to slip and fall and make an ass out of myself in front of the students----

Suddenly, my left leg hits a hard barrier that is about eight inches tall, and that same leg completely stops moving.  The only problem with this is the fact that my right leg is still in motion, and the weight of the giant mats combined with my momentum forces me to violate one of Newton's Laws:  An object in motion tends to stay in motion.

I feel myself falling backward, and it seems to be ever-so-slowly.  I could drop the mats and put my arms down to break my fall.  This reaction, though, has been trained out of me via judo classes.  I have been trained in the fine art of falling!  In the same fraction of a second it takes me to reconcile this fact, in kicks the crap-I've-just-been-thrown-for-ippon mentality.   

I am going down.

This would be unnoticeable except for the fact that that my left leg caught the stair that sticks out of the open bleachers, and I whack the edge of that stair with my back and left ass cheek.  This creates what essentially becomes a sonic boom through the semi-empty gym, followed by the kerthunking sound of the two humungous gym mats splatting on top of me and pinning me in my sprawled-out stance.

I am now a prisoner half-on, half-off the lowest stair, balancing the weight of the gym mats on my chest.

Classy.  

I immediately erupt into laughter, even though I have searing pain in my left leg and my spine, and I'm fairly certain that I have fractured my pelvis in the fall.  Students who are not mine rush over to help me, but do not offer any physical assistance.  Their help begins and ends with loud shouts of, "Omigod, are you okay?"

Holy crap, I think to myself, do I look okay to you?!

Meanwhile, my group of kids points at me from afar and they start giggling.  Yup, for them this is normal fare.  Not only do they not come to my aid, they actually roll their eyes and shrug as if this kind of shit happens every day in my classroom.

I manage to roll myself into a sitting position, unwedge myself from the tangle of twisted limbs, stand back up, and continue pulling the mats out of the way as if nothing has happened because, like my students already know, this shit only happens to me and it happens every single day.

By the time we get back to our classroom ten minutes later, the back of my leg just above my ankle has already turned a nasty purple.  The students all want to see it.  Yes, yes, the teacher is an idiot, and yes, yes, the teacher has a bruise to prove it.  That stunt definitely leaves its mark.  It's also a stunt that makes its way around the team -- two classes later the students come to my room and announce, "We heard you fell over in the gym this morning!"

Hours later I finally look at the rest of my battered body in the bathroom mirror in the privacy of my own home.  I have a beauty of a bruise starting on my butt, and I have a nasty ache in my back.  I'd say I have no one to blame but myself, but it's all that book's fault.  If that selfish main character weren't so self-absorbed, we wouldn't be coming up with these collective precepts in the first place.  I also blame the school construction project because if they weren't tearing apart our gym over the summer, then we wouldn't be writing on the walls, either.  And who pulled out the damn bleachers for kids to sit on, anyway?

Okay, okay.  I'll own it.  It's my fault I fall over.  I'm paying attention to anything but the bleachers, and I completely miss the step sticking out.  Truth be told, it is pretty damn funny, and it must've been hilarious to witness.  Years ago one of my college professors fell over while sitting in a student desk and got stuck in it while she lay crashed over sideways.  When I witnessed that fiasco, I damn near pissed my pants I laughed so hard, and I was a grown adult at the time (as if I'm not one anymore).  I can only imagine what the twelve and thirteen year olds are thinking about me.

Who am I kidding?  I know exactly what they're thinking:  "Oh, it's just our English teacher falling over again.  If we just ignore her, maybe she'll cut that shit out."