Why I hate President Lyndon B. Johnson

from smithsonianmag.com

I know a lot of people have a favorite president. Scratch that. I know a lot of nerds have a favorite president. But I have a least-favorite president, and that president is Lyndon B. Johnson.

First of all, what kind of name is Lyndon? A stupid kind, that’s what.

Second of all, he wasn’t even elected. So there.

Third of all, to the best of my Wikipedia-based knowledge, it was Lyndon B. Johnson who officially initiated the mandatory Presidential Fitness Test for all school-aged children. What an ass.

Prior to the Presidential Fitness Test, no one in my class knew I couldn’t do the sit-and-reach. It was private. That was my business. But then, because of some dumb president’s idea of fitness, I had to lean slightly forward in front of everyone while my gym teacher looked at me with disgust and wrote "-6 inches" on his uppity clipboard. And that was just the beginning.

The shuttle run? Are you kidding? Torturous. Trying to pick up those erasers and quickly run the other way was impossible; and for the record, I have yet to encounter another situation in my life where I’ve needed to do anything similar.

Then there were the pull-ups. Guess how many pull-ups I could do. Zero. I would just hang there until the teacher said I could get down. And even then my hands really hurt.

But the worst of all of these was the mile run.

I run now, by choice, multiple miles at a time. On rare occasions, I actually enjoy it. But in grade school, running a mile was an insurmountable feat. I would have anxiety dreams weeks in advance: the thirst, the side-aches, my classmates lapping me again and again. It was horrible. Twice a year these nightmares would come true. There was no escape … or so I thought.

When I was in 4^th grade, God Himself smiled down upon me and blessed me with a little condition called “Allergy-induced cough-asthma.” It was like having asthma, only more awesome.  Essentially, in the fall and spring (fitness-test season) I would start having coughing attacks when I exerted myself physically. It wasn’t a congested cough, it was like the sound of a dog barking. It sounded awful and was a little painful, but on the day we ran the mile, that cough was like a choir of angels singing sweet hymns in my lungs. Because to treat said coughing-attacks, I needed an inhaler. 

Inhalers are kryptonite to gym teachers. Children with inhalers are automatically exempt from any physical activity they do not wish to participate in. Sometimes it’s legitimate; sometimes it’s crap, but the gym teacher can’t argue. So to have that powerful tool in my possession was miraculous. When we jogged out to the field to run the mile, I would start barking and reach for my trusty puffer: Hey teach, maybe it would be best if I just picked dandelions with the other asthma kids today. Don't want to risk my health! 

It’s not that I don’t believe in physical fitness. I do, especially for children. But I am not sure this type of public testing is helping anyone, other than the kids who are already fit. You’re really thin and athletic? Here is a certificate! You’re not thin or athletic? No certificate for you. Aaaand done. 

Instead, how about training and support for the kids who don't pass? They could set goals for improvement; like, hey, next time let’s shoot for negative four on the sit-and-reach! Or, next time see if you do the shuttle run without crying! Yay, you did it!

Then again I haven’t been in gym class since 1997, so these changes may already be in place. But the fact remains that Lyndon B. Johnson is on my list.