I was chubby, enjoyed multiplication tables, and thought – oh so errantly – that having a Sega Nomad was cool.  But, at my school, what really determined if you were cool or not was if you were good at sports. Being pretty didn’t mean shit. In fact, if you wore lip gloss, you were basically broadcasting how hopeless you were at floor hockey. So here are the sports-related failures that made me just so uncool:

Failing to do a somersault: In second grade, I found myself stumped. Every time I tried to do a somersault, I merely flopped over my right shoulder in a half-sideways roll. My gym teacher, let’s call her Mrs. Grayhair, barked at me, “What kind of second grader can’t do a somersault?” I came home and practiced diligently while my cool, teenaged older sisters sat on the couch and moaned, “Who cares? Why don’t you go up to Mrs. Grayhair and say, ‘You do a somersault, you fat troll.’ Bet she can’t.” I did in fact, master it eventually, and I politely declined their advice.

Failing at basketball dribbling: I swear, I can dribble a basketball. But when it came to the moment of truth – some B.S. sports test – I got a flat ball that hit the ground and stayed there. No second chance from old trolly Grayhair.

Failing at the sit-and-reach: Girls are supposed to be bendy. It’s one of the proudest traits of the female race. But uh, because I’m a feminist and don’t conform to gender stereotypes, I have been categorically un-bendy since birth. When it came time for the sit-and-reach, I barely reached past my knees. I was even sore afterward.

Failing at jump roping: Don’t even ask.

Being the worst kid on the soccer team: My parents made me play soccer for reasons that I could only pinpoint as extreme jealousy of my knowledge of evening TV programming. I went along with it because I, like all sane people, enjoy a post-game celebratory Orange Drink, and because I figured I could my help my fellow 2nd-graders come up with a better name than “The Big Green,” which copied a recent movie. (They ignored me.)

While on the field, I liked to think about cool things like American Girl Dolls and Chinese symbols (what do they mean!?), getting lost in a haze that was occasionally distracted by a ball. When it came, I simply ran away, figuring I’d give a more intrepid young shin-guard wearer and possible future Ivy Leaguer a moment to shine. My rating was the same as my last laser tag score: 0.

Coming in last place on the long jump: By the time I was in 6th grade, I had lost my chubbiness after an extreme season or two of following workouts in women’s health magazines and switching from Reese’s Cups to York Peppermint Patties. I was ready to sign up for the track team. For some reason, my gym teacher decided that I should compete in the long jump. Trivia: I have really short legs. I just do. Apparently he had never looked at them and thus thought this was a good idea. I dreaded seeing my name come up last on that list so much that I never even looked. Let’s just assume I was last.

Because I was so bad at sports, I always insisted on being Sporty Spice during my girly Spice Girl-related get-togethers. When I was Mel. C., I could be the athletic me that I always knew was hidden in there somewhere. As you can tell, I was also uncool because I used the Spice Girls to project the tomboy aspects of my personality. Girl power!

–Becky Lang is not actually in that picture. She could not procure the appropriate soccer portrait in time.