Meine luftkissenboot ist windig und mein speigelei felt auf dem boden!
In year 10 we were given the option - do two PE lessons a week or swap one of them for a second foreign language.

I can now say that I have a windy hovercraft and my friend eggs have fallen on the floor in German thanks to that choice. Nothing else mind you, but as long as I didn't have to run around in shorts anything will do.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:46, 9 replies)

I'm lazy, bookish, antisocial and dislike being cold and bored.
So Yeah. PE and Games were a bucketload of fun for your truly. The fact that I was now sharing a small patch of muddy grass with the same headcases I spent the rest of the school day avoiding was just the icing on the cake made of turds.
I did get to see somebody smacked in the bollocks with a fastmoving cricketball though.
And Mr Moore may have regretted his decision to punish the entire class with an hour of wind-sprints - in November- when I boked on his changing room floor.
(Big D, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:33, Reply)

Beep test.
My PE teacher was quite an old man. He had grey hair and always wore tracksuit trousers and trainers with a faded T shirt. He also had those glasses on a chain, which just made him look older. He was generally quite shouty and scary. And old.

I was always really, really awful at 'the beep test'.
The beep test was an excercise where the teacher played a tape, we were lined up at each end of the hall and when it beeped we had to run to the other side before it beeped again. The beeps would go faster and faster and eventually people started dropping out. Some kids could go up to like, level 10, which meant they'd get a high mark.

Although I'm quite skinny, I'm basically just physically unfit. I get tired after walking up a flight of stairs. I was always the second person to drop out, after the 'larger' kid in our class. This meant I was failing at gym, I was also crap at swinging on the ropes and sports etc.

However, in my last year, after failing the beep test for the last time ever and having quite a low mark for PE, the teacher let me untangle a netball net and marked me on that. It meant I passed PE and the only thing I failed was maths. Turns out he was a nice guy and not a scary, shouty pedo after all.
(Lalalalou, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:18, 3 replies)

It wasnt so bad actually.
PE wasnt too bad for me. I was and still am rubbish at running, rugby, football etc, but our school had a decent range of sports equipment, so there were only a few weeks of each sport till we moved onto something else for a while. Years of wanking have given me a pretty well developed right arm, and I turned out to be good at throwing things - javelin, discs, shotput etc...

The teachers werent so bad either - one was pretty cool infact. He would load whatever equipment was needed into the boot of his Cortina estate, then he would choose a pupil at random, ask if they knew how to drive, and if they could, let them drive it round onto the playing fields whilst he jogged out with the rest of the kids.

Best PE memory though? the sports fields and changing rooms were a short bus ride away from the school buildings on the other side of the town. after we had finished sport, being stinky teenage boys we would run through the showers giving arm pits and faces a cursory scrub, them head out as quickly as we could and wait on the bus to go back to the school. Whilst waiting one day, Sam, one of the girls nobody liked for no apparent reason and Tracey, one of the female school bullies burst out of the girls changing rooms in the middle of a full-on cat fight. Hair pulling, slapping, tripping and wrestling on the grass was all good entertainment, but it was made even better due to Sam being butt naked and still soapy from her shower, and tracey wearing just her undies. Im pretty sure every boy on the bus that day wanked themselves into a stupor for weeks to come over that image.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:11, 4 replies)

2nd year of secondary school..
rugby in january,first thing 9 oclock,ice on the fields,and
sadistic ex failed semi pro rugby players and definatly failed teachers,who whatever the season or weather("footballs for poofs")made us play.
getting changed in the coldest changing rooms in the world was a quick process.
except this day for shaun harris,now shaun was a small guy and the youngest in our year,shaun sat on the bench in the middle of the room topless and looking down at his stomach with a confused look on his face."woke up this morning and all the skins peeling of my stomach"he said as he flaked bits of skin off his puny body.
except this was not "skin" but as any 13 year old boy knows if you dont use the wank sock and leave it to dry then you wake up with wankers psoriasis.
now we all knew this but kept quite and told him he should really see the school nurse as it looked serious and was probably stomach aids or something.
shaun by now was getting worried and asked neanderthal p.e teacher if he could go and see the nurse.
"whats wrong with you boy?"
"all the skin,its peelin of my stomach sir"as he lifted his shirt.
by now we are all in hysterics and neanderthal is looking quizzically at shauns stomach."erm shaun" he said without flinching"have any good dreams last night?"this sent us rolling around laughing,and shaun just looked more confused than ever."come here lad"and neanderthal led him out into the hallway.
after a couple of minutes shaun came back in,with the biggest grin on his face,and i dont think that any amount of piss taking from us was going to remove it either.and rightly so,as you poor woman will never know the boy to man transition that happens when you first(knowingly or not)shoot from your pump action porridge gun.
(norfolkngood, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:11, 1 reply)

All we did was football
and I was always in goals. I wanted to be there, honestly, but I was always goalie because I was rubbish.

One time there was a match where the wind was like some furiously flatulent god squatting at one end of the pitch and blowing off all game. One guy actually booted the ball full force into the wind and it landed behind him, it was that bad. In any case, there I was in goals, crouching down and watching the action at the other end of the field when and absolute bastard of a gust pitched me onto my face like a belmer, throwing me clear of a quarter of a ton of goalpost crashing to the ground where I had been sitting moments previously.

I like to pretend it was deliberate.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 21:06, Reply)

The rope.
These gigantic thick course bastards were rarely used, there seemed to be no point to them except for hanging from the ceiling and looking a little phallic with their length, girth and smoothed ends due to the wax dip they received to prevent fraying.

They were held from the ceiling on a track and secured to one wall of the sports hall, they were gathered together against the wall and the rope pull that drew them into position was tied well out of reach. I'd only even seen them being used when watching local TV news, where the stereotypical sadist PE teacher would stand there wearing the traditional uniform of burgundy tracksuit, balding head and crap white tennis shoes and would watch children scurry up them and presumably disappear at the top. They'd never ever show the descent.

Then, as a 14 year old I saw them out for the first time. They built some form of circuit obstacle course for us all complete, formed out of a collection of equipment that had been rotting in the store cupboard since the early seventies.

The fuckers hung there, secured in place and I realised that I'd do what I'd seen them do in the background on occassional dull local interest stories in my parents living room for years.

The route was faily dull to be brutally honest, for some stupid reason they decided that rather than climb the rope we would use it to swing across a sizable crash mat and then approach the next obstacle.

I started the course and knew that several pieces of apparatus ahead of me lay that rope swing. I'd done this numerous times at the adventure playground and was well aware of what needed to be done, grab the rope, and swing. I worked towards it, taking each obstacle with ease. I didn't really possess athletic prowess but the obstacles were so piss poor that it wasn't exactly necessary.

I grabbed that thick hemp woven bastard and pulled myself up, the swing went somewhat naturally, but for security I instinctively wrapped my legs around the sodding thing. The release on the other side was fine, I released my arms, pulled my legs off the rope to drop to the floor, but there was a problem. The way I held the rope and effectively clasped it between my legs for that brief second meant it was in prime position to give me the most evil friction burn I've ever experienced, cutting straight through my shorts, underwear and running the coarse rope right along my tender 14 year old scrotum.

Naturally, I was desperate to avoid any fucker finding out about this and developing a cruel and moderately amusing nickname based around my unfortunate incident, so continued to do the course with a slightly awkward gait to protect my dignity. A quick trip to the changing room to switch my shorts and I was back in action. Anyone who asked why I was walking like the school bike was merely told that I pulled a muscle, fortunately the teacher let me avoid the rope after that in case it aggrovated the injury.

I think that week was the longest period during my teenage years where I managed to avoid wanking like, well, a teenager!
( Muns, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:50, Reply)

Jock Thompson
Was my PE teacher.

He'd clearly been on a BIG diet of Quaker Oats (for those who recall the 1970's TV ads) and was - as the advert said - A fine figure of a man.

Not, however, a man without understanding.

I was fairly good at cricket (hard and sure batsman with very little control over direction) until at 14 my eyesight started fading and I needed glasses.

Bespectacled, I dropped out of the school cricket team and frankly lost all interest in anything remotely sporting or athletic.

After one particularly embarrasing attempt at volleyball - I couldn't see the ball, so how could I be expected to hit the fucker - Jock sidled up to me in the changing rooms.

"Cripes" - thunk I. Here comes a bollocking at least, a slippering at most.

None of the sort - Jock struck a deal.

As a result, for the last two years of senior school I was exempt from PE and free to wander at leisure for two hours on a Thursday morning PROVIDING I collected his cheese and pickle sandwich from
the butty shop round the corner at 11.50.

Inverse bullying? Didn't do me any harm.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:36, Reply)

Pe Teacher...
My PE teacher had a sidearm throw that would knock a kid unconscious in dodge ball, which he used mercilessly and with sadistic glee. I wish I was exaggerating but he really did knock kids out with it, the ball made the air hum as it flew towards you and at the very least you were going to hit the floor hard after it got you - sometimes with the smaller kids they only hit the floor after flying a yard or so first, he celebrated those hits with an exclamation - usually "booyah" or "BAM".

I was one of the few people who could dodge his shots at all - every dodgeball day was basically just him nailing the kids one after another until the class was all "out" until it was just him and I, until he'd eventually get me too.

One day I made the mistake of trying to catch his 'bullet' attack - I did manage it, but I had friction burns on my arms and a huge red welt on my stomach from doing it. Still - was good for one day of kudos until the next class where he just got me in the head first thing. (I'm pretty sure he said "go" after it hit me ... but I could be misremembering - everything around that hit is a little shaky in my memory to be honest.)

After I got up - he accused me of something so nonsensical it's hard to remember now what it was, all I can recall thinking was a general "wtf?" - maybe he said I was faking being injured by his hit, that would have been in character for him - but whatever it was, as punishment for it I had to do thigh squats against the wall until the end of class.

It's a little hard to describe these if you haven't done them, but imagine sitting in a chair with your back against a wall and your feet flat on the ground - now remove the chair and hold yourself in the same position for as long as you can. A few minutes of that hurts as you quads get an endurance burn going... doing it (well, trying) for an hour is just torture, punctuated with yells from him whenever I slipped or tried to stop (I did manage to move the little trashcan under my ass for a few blessed minutes in the middle of class while he was distracted, that helped) still - I could barely walk afterward.

At the end of class as I was shaking and trying to stand and not to cry (it really hurt), he came over and said to me "See? Not so tough are you? Remember that. No matter how tough you think you are - you're still just a kid, and that's just kid muscle not adult muscle - it'll never compare." I remember it distinctly because I honestly just didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, I had no idea that - from his point of view at least - there was something personal and challenging between us.

Apparently, I had challenged his ego or supremacy or something by getting him out at dodgeball. But hey, he showed me.

If this were a movie or something I undoubtedly would have dyed his face purple or made him fall in a mud hole or something else brilliant, but in reality I just skipped gym a lot after that, I didn't really care about any of it - but I didn't want to deal with a crazy ass for an hour a day either.

He had a pet snake which he kept at the school, big black one (looking back ... he was probably compensating for something...) and a big tank of feeder mice. He encouraged the kids to play with the mice, make friends with them, feed "their" mouse, take them out and pet them and name them, and kids bonded with them... then after a week or two he'd pick one out to feed to the snake.

And of course, since no PE teacher story would be complete with out the paedo portion... he also had a crush on the cutest girl in our class. To be fair - we all did - she was awfully pretty and nice, but he was in his late thirties and she was 13. Also she was smarter and more mature than he was, so it would never have worked out.

He would leer at her and look down her shirt or up her shorts during stretches and whatever activities we were doing, and would "help" her with her stretching by putting his hands all over her... never helped anyone else in the class except her but there he was, helping spread those legs just a bit more or putting on hand on her back and one reaching around to her chest to help her lean over a bit farther. We all thought he was an asshole but ... we were kids, we were used to teachers abusing us one way or another - this was just one more thing.

Then one day he came into another class room (shop class) and started talking to her, resting his hands on her as he talked to her, stroking her hair... after her left the other students asked her if that was her father, and she had to explain that it wasn't. She was ashamed about it and tried not to talk about it.

When he did that I knew - even in my junior high brain - that this was out of control for him. Bad enough what he did in the gym, where only students could see and it could be explained away - but coming into another teacher's room to do it? That kind of stupidity will get you fired...

And it did.

Our new one was a nice lady who liked boats.
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:27, Reply)

Like
seemingly everyone here, I avoided PE as much as possible. Couldn't stand the people who taught it, or the people who genuinely enjoyed getting a ball between two cones. Most pointless lesson in the world.

However I had one good PE lesson once. A weird set of coincidences meant I ended up for a few months in a school where my dad was deputy head (though despite us obviously having the same surname no-one twigged.) As deputy head he occasionally had to cover lessons, and ended up covering PE. Now this was an 'educationally disadvantaged' school with the usual assortment of chavs etc, all crowding round with complaints of 'haven't brought my kit' 'this is inhumane' etc.

It was the best way I've ever seen a PE class handled. He chose table tennis, and informed everyone that they were all playing kit or no kit, and it was their own fault if they got their school uniform sweaty (surprising how many kits turned up suddenly) and then worked out a complicated rota (his subjects include maths taught to A-level) that meant everyone in the room had to spend 70% of their time playing tabletennis, but could have 30% malingering time. And randomly picked 1 in 6 people to have the lesson off.

It worked. Yes, I'm a bit proud of my dad.
I think the lesbian teacher might be saved for another post :)
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:25, 1 reply)

Fat Wood
early thirties , over six foot tall and massively obese . Taught Latin but helped out with rugby , shouted a lot from the sidelines then magically appeared in the showers , particularly if there were any injuries to be examined , this was of course back in the day when you could belt children with a leather strap . He terrified me at the time , looking back though I wonder if he was more scary than I realised
( horace wimp needs more than 49 characters to fully express hi, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:22, 4 replies)

Magnum PI
Yep, our PE teacher looked a bit like a cheap version of Magnum PI, only with hair more grey than black. And he used to touch us girls on our bums. Funny, I find him strangely attractive now...

Our female PE teacher just looked like a man. A short man. Who played rugby. She had dark hair like pubes and should have waxed her upper lip.

We used to have to do cross-country running which was really just running through the streets and taking shortcuts through alleyways. Whilst smoking, and hiding from 'the man'.

Oh my god - flashback- RUNNING KNICKERS!!! ARGH!!!!
(I'mOffKilter can't be arsed, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 20:00, 1 reply)

It is not in the genes.
My PE teacher could never grasp that just because my older brother enjoyed running around muddy fields chasing balls, and do it to a reasonable standard that did not mean I was going to. I did finish up on various school teams but that was a numbers issue rather than sporting ability as our results show. In my 2nd year at comp. the teachers withdrew out of hours cover so no more trips around the county wondering what that machine in the girls' changing room at other schools was for.
(jvz, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:53, Reply)

Once, at the start of a tennis lesson, we were asked to name some famous tennis players.
The standard names came out at first, then I stuck my hand up and answered, bold as brass, "Chris Akabusi!"

There was a brief, pregnant pause, then the air was rent with laughter and loud belming noises.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:52, Reply)

PE Change rooms
I was at an all boys school and as such we were all disgusting little rotters. I recall a particular time when it became fashionable to spit on the ceiling of the PE change rooms and see how long it would stay there. On one occasion someone in my class spat a large sinewy green slimy loogy onto the ceiling. It's sticky mass held it together and conspired to keep it there for no less than a week. It slowly ebbed off the ceiling until it was hanging by a thin thread of mucas about 15cm long.

It was a thing of wonder and since everyone in the school used the change room at varying times during the week it became quite a celebrity. We were all secretly envious that it wasn't any of us who had spawned this wondrously disgusting and fascinating creature.

Come Monday our little alien friend was no where to be seen. Many tried to replicate the feat accomplished by our class mate, but they all failed. On occasion some unlucky souls across the rooms were covered in monstrous loogy's by those spitting at the ceiling, although sometime you had to wonder if they really were aiming at the ceiling. Bad aim once you can forgive, but when the same guy receives numerous helpings on the naked skin of his back by various people you have to wonder.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:52, Reply)

There's a guy in my school,
who was once dared to wear a bra. So he did, (even got measured for it and everything).

The thing is, he quite took to it, enjoying, no doubt, the support and confidence it surely gave him.

Well, until the day he wore it to PE and forgot how to take it off...
(Tin Can Man, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:52, Reply)

It could have been you.....
No long winded posts here.

One of our PE teachers got the boot. The long and the short of it?

He got caught buggering a supply geography teacher in the boys changing room showers.
(o2x o2x, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:49, Reply)

Having to play as 'skins'.
That's all that needs to be said.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:46, Reply)

7th grade here in the US
Mr Sterling. Glass eye, one lung. And still as fit as Jeremy the horse and twenty times as annoying. And not nearly as funny.

Christ, that was nearly 40 years ago and I remember that asshole.
( HairyTwatter certified eel and sodium salesman, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:41, Reply)

Miss B again
The aforementioned Miss B was a sodding sadist.

My school was on the outskirts of the town and that meant that cross country running was done around the country lanes.
The mental, sadist bitch that was our PE teacher used to set us off running for our lesson and then follow us in her convertible MG shouting at us.

About half way along the route was a house where an elderly couple lived. One day running past the lady was outside doing the garden and as we were walking past she called out "here comes the old bitch, better start running girls!'
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:25, Reply)

Not so much the teachers or the lesson...
But I remember Charlotte. Not for any physical, beauty, attraction...But because I remember us all having to use the trampette and the horse (minus the POWs underneath) one drizzly typical British Summers day...

So everyone is jumping on the trampette, hands on the horse, feet forwards to land on the mat, taking hands off the horse at the same time...

Except she didn't.

I remember that sickening crack. I heard it once before whilst travelling in Mongolia, closely followed by the thought "I'm 12 days drive from Ulan, buddy, you're fucked"...

It was, I admit the first time I heard that crack, but I liken it breaking an old wooden broomstick.

Anyway, this crack, closely followed by a peircing scream.

She'd missed the opportunity to move one of her arms, and as a result two things happened.

She royally fucked her arm, by it breaking the two bones that connect the elbow to her wrist...

And secondly, it put paid to us EVER playing pirates again at Christmas.

Selfish cow.
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:21, Reply)

Our P.E. Teacher was on the England Rugby team in the 50's
and quite well known.

Our school banned girls wearing black bras under white shirts as they could be seen. When he saw a girl wearing a black bra he would snap the strap and make them take it off, right there, in front of him. He them confiscated the bras and made the girls go bra-less for the rest of the day.

When it was bought to light he was asked to take early retirement rather than it all go official.
( Peej, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:13, Reply)

on a slightly different vein...
Every wednesday, my dear old Nan would pick us up from school, as my Mum worked late. This would mean that at half past three, we'd get in from school and immediately have to put our pyjamas on before tea. Usually with either my brother, sister or myself racing each other to be first downstairs. Every week.
This is where my foolproof plan came in. I would win this week by cunningly concealing my flannel pyjamas UNDER my school uniform, so when we got in from school, I would have the advantage!

Brilliant, unless you have P.E. on a wednesday and the entire class were there to point the finger and laugh at my paisley jim-jams.

Never tried that again.
( pickledpizza Older, nicer, fluffier., Thu 19 Nov 2009, 19:09, Reply)

I used to play in goal for my school footie team
It had its advantages. While the other lads were freezing their knackers off in subzero temperatures I got to wear jogging bottoms and gloves. I also had pockets in my jogging bottoms where I could stash stuff. The team I was in, Northampton School for Boys first eleven, where shit hot too. A couple of the lads went on to become professionals playing in the lower leagues. It meant I had very little to do most of the time, just standing round in my goal waiting for half time and the opportunity to drink some hot sweet tea.

Of course this led to a weeks' worth of detentions one time.

Apparently Mr Butler, the fat Nazi games teacher, didn't think it was appropriate to spark up a fag while I was waiting for my next touch of the ball during a midweek friendly against Duston Upper School.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:58, 3 replies)

Urgh tennis
At school, for a group of us eggheads, only 1 lesson per week was dedicated to sport which was just as well, we were fecking hopeless at sport.
However, we did appreciate the break from classes and took every opportunity we could to run riot.

Thank heavens we were never taught PE at big school.

Tennis was our pet hate and our tennis courts backed onto a loony bin whose residents used to roam freely in the grounds.

We took every opportunity to hit the ball over the fence so we could open the gate (which could only be opened on our side) and go into the loony bin grounds to retrieve it.

Many's the time that a resident would spot us and run to the fence with his willy in his hand, drooling from both ends with us shouting encouragement.

Our teacher, Miss Jolly Hocky Sticks, would go ballistic at us and get us to turn our backs and ignore the rude men which meant we would sneakily lift up our short skirts at the back to give the rude men a view of our knickers.
( Flowerpot No longer has the vapours thanks to DTH, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:42, 2 replies)