In the sixth grade our gym teacher made us warm-up before each class period. Presumably so we wouldn't wreck our lax little tendons overzealously chasing a kickball or while diving under the parachute or sustaining whatever injury doing whatever stupid thing I didn't want to participate in because sports were stupid and I'd rather be reading a book.
I was so worked up about the prospect of having to stand in front of thirty of my peers, charged with leading them in STRETCHING no less, that each day we had gym class I skipped out on cereal and Power Rangers early to go through a routine. I'd sit down in the living room and make a mental check-list of all the stretches I'd lead the group in were I called to do so.
I'd make sure not to do anything too hard like the splits or push-ups, largely because oh oh, I physically COULDN'T, and I'd try to formulate an order so that I wouldn't forget anything or be left standing there agape with no stretch to offer.
The final check of course was to make sure my pants didn't have any holes in the crotch as the black stretchy pants of yore were prone to developing. Sitting to lead a straddle stretch would be infinitely more mortifying than it already was if I unknowingly displayed a window to my undies.
I was never called on to lead gym stretch. I'm fairly confident the gym teacher only picked the pretty girls to lead the class or at least those who would willingly make eye contact at the time of choosing.
I don't know what happened to that neurotic little girl. The one who would check and double check and RE-double check and then plan and then plot and then maybe even ask their Dad for stretch recommendations, JUST IN CASE. I used to always be prepared... even for things that were rather inconsequential in the long run.
My marathon of a 12 week medicine rotation ends on Friday. And of course, it culminates in an exam covering oh, you know, all of internal medicine.
I don't feel prepared. I can't bring myself to study anymore. I think the nerd in me has finally, FINALLY burned out. And this time, I don't think it's so inconsequential. Blech.