How to Show Off Your Legs

“Anger, pass me the ball! To your left, look out!” Ashley yelled at one of the boys on our dodge ball team during fifth period gym class. She’d given most everyone in the class a nickname: Anger, China, Curly, Bruce Almighty, etc... It was bonding and amicable and made her irritatingly popular. I envied Ashley and her bronzed, flawless skin, shiny brown hair, and perfect ease with boys. In comparison, I felt the insecurity of my sloppy ponytail and skin so pale I could glow in the dark. What made matters worse was the fact that I had put off taking a gym class for so long that by the time I absolutely had to take it, I was the only Junior in a class of Freshmen and Sophomores. I was ashamed that I, the oldest, should be so cowed by students who, according to typical high school ranking, should have been “beneath” me on the pyramid of high school hierarchy. I watched from afar as teasing boys would pick her up and spin her around, while she playfully giggled and squealed to be put down. I told myself that popularity contests were beneath me, that I didn’t want the attention of these “immature” sophomore boys.

Even though I just knew no one was looking at me, because, after all, I was nothing to look at, I felt as if there was a neon sign above my head reading, “Look and Laugh at the Awkward Girl!” as I ran around the court trying to avoid being plastered with the soft dodge balls. I was all too aware of my short stature, skinny thighs, and tattered Chuck Taylor tennis shoes. Boys sought girls who had shape, and I felt mine was too small to be of any consequence.

It wasn’t just the boys though that made me so uncomfortable, it was the way everyone else seemed to interact with each other, as though they had been best friends for years. Maybe some of them had, but I was all too aware that most people had no compunction about starting conversations and making friends with their classmates. “Hey, you! Girl! Throw me the ball!” Ashley called out again. I blushed and threw her the ball that had landed at my feet.

It never occurred to me that I was solely responsible for my estrangement from my classmates. From my perspective, you were only popular if you looked the part. I worried daily about what I would bring to change into when it came time for gym class. If I wore shorts, I would “fit in” but would be forced to expose my pencil legs. If I wore sweat pants, though, they would disguise whatever shape I had even further as they swallowed my small frame. Typically I opted with shorts simply because they fit better, and I thought, just maybe, I’d wake up one day and find I’d transformed into a leggy goddess.

Worse than laboring over what athletic clothes to choose for the daily dodge ball or volleyball game was the swimming unit of the class, when it came time to forego normal clothing altogether in favor of the bathing suit.

Coming out of the locker rooms, the boys and the girls mingled in the hallway waiting for the teacher to unlock the door to the pool area. It was hard to find Ashley, surrounded as she was by her vast following of admirers. Girls laughed and playfully shoved the boys, who returned the gesture with light nudge with their elbows - anything to have some kind of physical contact with the skin that was suddenly everywhere. It was a veritable sea of necks, shoulders, chests, thighs, and calves. I stood off to the side with a towel wrapped around my legs, which I kept firmly in position until the last possible moment when I had to take it off and slip into the cold, chlorinated water.

Getting out of the pool an hour later and walking back to the locker room was both a relief and a hurdle. Dripping wet and covered in goose bumps, I was forced to wrap my towel around my shoulders instead of my waist as I took the seemingly endless walk back to the safety of the locker room where my jeans and sweatshirt awaited me. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the windows surrounding the pool, and all I could see were skinny, shapeless legs. It was no wonder I was so unpopular.

*

It’s been over four years since I escaped that gym class. It wasn’t just the gym class I escaped though; it was myself. My body hasn’t changed since then, but I’ve learned who I am and that “popular” people are not the ones who have the best hair or the best legs, but are the ones who best express themselves. People like people who like themselves.

It’s the almost summertime again, and I can’t wait to get my shorts out of the closet so I can show off my legs.