I was disqualified from the ‘Children’s Olympics’, at the age of 8.

 

I was disqualified from the ‘Children’s Olympics’, at the age of 8.

 

I must have been 8 years old, during which, a pupil at Child’s Hill School, which still stands there on Dersingham Road, this time with an electric gate, I was the fastest girl in my class.

Selected amongst dozens of others, to represent the school in a form of children’s Olympic-like event, was an honour. To me though, I was all butterflies, moths and mosquitoes buzzing in my stomach. That morning, I gulped down raw egg and orange, which my P.E teacher said would boost my energy. Holding my nose and closing my eyes, I gulped down this concoction of yuck and torture.

It wasn’t the Olympics, of course but it was a grand sports event. The bleachers were filled with spectators, the stadium was either an actual Olympics size, or half. I was eight and while my memory remains fuzzy, I do recall the hundreds of people and that all runners were taken to a specific place for preps.

Sizing out my competition, I was neither petrified nor confident, because of the butterflies. My mum was somewhere nearby, I think. I don’t even remember how I got there. I do remember the raw egg and orange juice.

A few of our school-mates and teachers came to wish me the best. It was time for us to walk to our places. There were many eyes. The painted lines could have fit three of us, they were huge. Only 100 metres, I think, or at least it was a distance I had run many times and won. It may have been less than 100 metres, since we were only 8 or 9 years old.

Why did everything appear so different? Everything was ten times the size of Child’s Hill School. Even the adults appeared more domineering.

Each of us girls, about six or eight altogether, stood by our places. I wore a number 13 bib and the Japanese girl next to me, wore a number 30.

Why was I given 13? Everyone who lived in the eighties, in the Northern Hemisphere, knew that 13 was an unlucky number of that time.

I had run this distance many times and always won. Why did today seem so different?

The clapper went and we began running. There was a short curly-haired girl who led the line. She was a speedy Gonzales. Three others were ahead of me. I don’t know how. Looking behind me, I saw the Japanese girl directly behind. What!

Didn’t she know that we were each supposed to stay in our own lanes? We started doing our own zig-zag dance. She, trying to overtake me and me running right in front of her, until the end of the race. I must have emerged 4^th. At least I beat No. 30.

And that’s when I heard the announcer say,

“Number 13 has been disqualified.”

What! No. Surely he meant No. 30.

My P.E teacher came and put her hands around me. Well Bev, well done but you were disqualified.

“No Miss, he said No. 30!”

One of the sports officials came and explained to me, with N0. 30 in tears, that I was running in her lane, which led to my disqualification.

I went home and shared my version of events. That I would have been the first or second if Number 30 was not in my lane.

I want to share this with my children, without forcing a life lesson. Sometimes a story is for entertainment.

And I’ll never take raw egg and orange juice together, again.