A Traumatic Memory

As part of my attempt to get into the Olympic spirit tonight, I went to the gym. I think I've gotten inspired from a week of watching so many people run, jump, and chase balls. I walked on the treadmill. Talk about boring. To help relieve the tedium, the gym has installed tv monitors on the wall above the treamills. Guess what was on? Olympics! (is there anything else?) In particular, the station was tuned to a field hockey match between China and some European country. 
I spent my elementary and junior high years in Karachi, Pakistan, where field hockey is a popular sport.   My sister and I attended the Karachi American School, and field hockey was part of the physical education curriculum.  I hated it, mostly because PE class was at 2 in the afternoon, when temps were ALWAYS above 110 (f), and our PE teacher, Miss DeSa, would simply never consider NOT making us round around the field with those weapons called bats, chasing that stupid ball.  Try as I might, I just can't bring myself to watch field hockey—it brings back too many traumatic memories.

Time to go watch some volleyball.  Miss DeSa used to make us play that as well, but at least it was in the gym, where the temps were only above 90.