Sports Costume

[MetaAudi]

Costumes were a weird thing. Izumi's father, an imposing and powerful man who liked to whimper and serve to those above him, wore the costume of a businessman with money. Her mother talked like a glorified trophy wife but had surprising success in handling the company's financials and investing in small businesses across town. She wore a costume that fit this cross section, a dress with a deep cut yet regal, intelligent colors. Izumi wore the costume of a school girl, for obvious reasons. She was good at fulfilling the role of a student, a quiet and studious girl that earnestly wished others no harm and sought to broker peace whenever possible. Things were easiest with the least amount of conflict.

Gym clothes were awkward. They were a different costume. Was she supposed to be aggressive like a gladiator or keep her niceties about her? Competitive or compassionate? She had tried to figure out how to act by watching others in her gym classes, but they all seemed to just act the same as when they weren't wearing their uniforms. Was Izumi overthinking this? Absolutely, but that didn't stop her from bearing that awkward feeling of physical education. Her father told her when she was young that people dressed for the job they wanted. "So that means," he said, "what you're dressed up as changes who you are." It wasn't that your clothes showed who you are, fashion is deliberated by context as much as personal choice, after all. You were decided by what you were allowed to wear. Wearing something else made you a different person.

Every now and then she'd watch the boys play basketball and wonder if they thought much about this sort of stuff. They probably didn't, all things considered. Either that or this was just something that everyone thought about and she was being a bit pretentious. It was probably the latter, she thought. She wasn't the type to let those thoughts show however, only ever smiling and nodding when one of the boys scored a point or yelled about a block and happened to look in her direction as if for approval. She wasn't actually sure if they were even looking at her or wanting her approval in the first place but it was a nice thought that she let herself go along with.

She wasn't one much for playing sports though. Aside from not having a good role to fill in teams, she just couldn't handle the pressure. She wasn't sure why, she did well on timed tests and other stressful situations, but something about the aimlessness of sports was just too much.

"This'll be a good shot," her father told her after she had been selected for a relay race at some forgettable school event, "to test out your muscles before you go domestic." What a wonderful world to live in. Unsure how to respond, she just smiled and nodded like always. Somehow, her times from P.E. had roped her in to some special relay event. Everyone else who was fit either had some other obligation or was calling in sick. Her father assured her that this was the perfect underdog story she needed, a chance to prove herself to her classmates and teachers. He also vaguely hinted at some sort of romantic undertone that she was a bit unsure about.

Wearing the uncomfortable, itchy, sweaty, cold, hot, skimpy, confusing, icy, scratching gym clothes in a racer's position was Izumi. She hadn't really gotten a good explanation of what exactly the rules were thanks to her mother only finally taking her to the event nearly a full hour late but that wouldn't matter. She stood where she was told to stand. Eventually, someone would run up to her and tell her to keep running in their stead, right? Something like that, at least.

Standing silently was pain. What exactly was she supposed to do when the runner before her approached? When she did solo runs for P.E., she had just gone through the track without care for form or efficiency or even sportsmanship, only wanting to get things over with. How was she supposed to run properly? Was there a way to run properly? There must have been. Were you supposed to lean into the curve when you ran or would that be unnecessary? Would you say anything to the person behind you, 'a thank you,' or would you say nothing? What if someone from the other team passed her? What if...?

A shove from behind. A baton, which had already tapped her shoulder five times impatiently, gave her a good smack to the head with it, almost knocking Izumi over as it was pushed into her hands. A wind tickled her side as another girl from some other place sped ahead. Izumi had evidently day dreamed for too long and shambled in place, muttering out apologies to the runner behind her as she gripped onto the baton. "Oh, sorry, so sorry, uh," she whispered, only for the girl to yell back at her to keep going. It wasn't exactly an intimidating cry, more than likely actually meant to be encouraging, but in the moment it was a hallmark of Izumi's own neglectfulness.

She shifted heel and sprinted ahead, almost running off the track onto a different section entirely as she stumbled, struggling to find a good standing as she ran. Her breath skipped and hopped as she attempted to recover some semblance of composure but found it difficult, wobbling place to place before the baton slipped through her ever tightening hands and clicked with the track below. She stopped instantly, looking down at the thing like spilled milk. What was she supposed to do? What was the procedure for this, exactly?

The blood in her skin bubbled and whirled, her mouth tight from nausea. Not exactly sure how much more she could have screwed this up, she just stared at the ground, dumbfounded. There were a few more yells around her but they were growing quieter as the people grew near. The colors around her became darker, static, and black as she started to cry without even comprehending. She tried to apologize a few more times, oblivious to whether or not she was even able to speak, before running off and away. She didn't remember where she went after that too well.

One way or another she ended up going back home with her mother in awkward silence. Her family didn't seem that invested in her embarrassment. She'd hardly ever bring it up to anyone else as school, though she was sure other people had talked about it. Instead she only kept silent and acted as if her mistakes hadn't happened while keeping their wisdom. The mistake was that she had engaged in something as lecherous as physical activity. The wisdom was that she wouldn't participate in things like that again, things that she didn't understand, things that she couldn't function in, especially when it came to working alongside other people.

Her father jokingly suggested that she find a cheer team to join instead. This was not, in fact, a realistic option nor a good idea.