I was watching the local news the other evening when they raised the question of whatever happened to the 2012 Olympic Games legacy? What became of the promise of a healthier nation, millions of us newly inspired to participate in sport? The presenter seemed much more surprised than I was to discover that the nation had not become super fit and sporty after all, despite its propensity for watching hours of televised running about.
The reason for this is no mystery to me. There are those who would argue that this unforeseen age of austerity has led to cuts in funding so that many sporting opportunities now no longer exist. I would argue that even if there was a free sports hall on every corner most of us would still fail to make it through the door on a regular basis once the novelty had worn off. This is because sport is dreadful. It’s infinitely less enjoyable than having a nice sit down and a cake, which is why sofa and cake consumption is as high as ever, as opposed to swimming pool attendance. You only have to look at the legacy of the Great British Bake Off and compare it to that of the Olympics to see where, as a nation, our passions lie.
I have never been the sporty type. School and its compulsory PE lessons were a torment for me. I never really understood how anyone could actively enjoy the perversity of having to take off your perfectly warm clothing to go and freeze on a rain lashed field, mottled legs bare and vulnerable to flailing hockey sticks. I was nearly always last to be picked for any team, which was fair enough as I made no bones about my unwillingness to participate in anyway whatsoever. I would not attempt to catch or hit any projectile that came my way and I Do Not Run. Individual sports fared no better, I would simply walk through the high or long jump, stroll though hurdles or go for a cross country sit. PE was the one subject for which I used to get terrible school reports – “Susan’s surly and sullen attitude is not what we expect from a 4th year” – but since my parents rated PE as highly as I did, this was never a cause for concern.
I didn’t care, they didn’t care, the nation doesn’t care.
Sport to me conjures up images of horrible clothes, the smell of sweat, unpleasant showers and changing rooms, swimming pools with unspeakable fluids in the compulsory footbath, sticking plasters and hair swirling around the filter, chlorine up your nose, being uncomfortable, hot, sweaty, having a stitch, needing an oxygen tent. I understand that if I stick with it at some point the endorphins will kick in and I will feel amazing but I also feel amazing after half a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a Kit Kat. It’s not a tough choice is it?
The only exercise I enjoy – walking across the Downs, preferably to the pub.
thebigrednotebook 