On the first day of the second semester, I experienced certain heartbreak. It was a terrible, achingly dramatic ordeal with a side dish of betrayal. I remember feeling hollow and disjointed.

Almost like it was a freshly dead beloved household pet that nobody wanted to mention by name, I was forced to learn through word of mouth that the newly implemented PE policy from last semester – the one which allowed students the chance to carry their phones with them and listen to ‘tunes’ in class when running – was now cancelled. After only a single semester of testing, it was decided that the policy just didn’t work out.

So, although five minutes earlier, I had entered the gym with a smile on my face and anticipation in my step after being somewhat excited (read: resigned) to the idea that there would come a time when I would be forced to run several miles twice a week in fourth period heat (when the sun was at its hottest and I was at my most hopeless), my happy mood quickly turned itself around.
The worst part, of course, wasn’t that I had no time to mourn privately as my hopes and dreams swan dived into the nearest squirrel hole around me. Nor was the worst part the twinge of unfairness that those who went before me got some sort of reprieve that I didn’t.

I knew that my only saving grace was going to be the terrible, obnoxious bubblegum electropop I hoard on my phone like a crow stealing away especially shiny tidbits for its nest. Just like that, with only the press of a metaphorical, nonexistent bright red button, any hopes I had for my future in PE shattered.

I wouldn’t go so far as to compare music to energy for me, but I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that I very audibly sigh in relief whenever I’m searching for my earbuds and I discover them hiding away in a pocket of my backpack, rather than at home or in the last classroom I’d left.

Like any self-respecting teenager, my attachment to my music is strong enough that the chance to listen to it in the middle of class is one I’ll take at nearly any opportunity.

Getting the chance to distract myself from my own pounding feet, heart, breaths, and the growing fear that I’m about to have a heart attack, because something in my chest cavity really hurts when I run? That would have been the slightest bit of icing on the misery cake.