Cabbage Man
That was me. Or rather what Mr. Hill, my PE teacher, called me.
“Oi! CABBAGE MAN! GET OVER THERE!”
I was short, round and had a green PE kit. So I guess I looked like a cabbage? “There” being the centre of the action in a game of rugby. I’d be far off to the side, desperately trying to stay out of Mr. Hill’s field of vision. Rugby wasn’t for me. Full contact sports are scary when the other boys are much bigger. I didn’t have my growth spurt until I was 15.
Mr. Hill would get everyone together and growl in a drill sergeant-esque voice:
“IF THEY’RE SCARED HIT THEM HARDER!”
Yep, that was me. I was scared. I didn’t want to get hit harder—or at all.
He did speak in all caps. Big guy, probably around 6’6”. Young compared to many of the other teachers, early thirties or so. In great shape with easy confidence. I think the big sporty boys looked up to him. The sort of guy who could lead a group of young men over the top during wartime. Whereas my role models were Jean Luc Picard, Gandalf and Spock.
School wasn’t a good time for me and I missed a lot of it. Stayed up all night and slept when I should have been in school. Difficult childhood, broken home and likely being on the spectrum made all that worse. PE, twice a week, was my least favourite activity. I dreaded it. Sometimes I’d have a handwritten note from my mother so I could be excused. It was written by me, she couldn’t write.
Rugby was the worst. Mud everywhere, boys flinging it with relish (as in enjoyment, not condiment — that would be weird). I didn’t enjoy other sports either. Cricket made no sense and football was boring. Tennis seemed fun but I had poor coordination. Then there was the social aspect with captains choosing members for teams. I was always last, really driving home a feeling of being unwanted and useless. I wonder what that teaches kids about the world.
I also hated the showers. Being naked and vulnerable around bullies. I’d refuse to shower, I never worked up a sweat anyway since I didn’t engage. It just seemed like a waste of time and a nuisance. Having to shower in the middle of the day and then pack a wet towel.
The reason I was round and chubby with a protruding belly was because I wasn’t active. I read books, tinkered on my old computer and played Dungeons & Dragons at the local games shop. I’m definitely fitting a few stereotypes here. Then there was my diet. I’d been preparing my own meals since I was 11 — frozen chips, fish fingers and suchlike. My mother made Gujarati vegetarian fare for herself and my sister. I didn’t like it, but it was less about palate than it was about rebelling, identity and belonging. We had lots of unhealthy snacks in the house. Crisps, chocolates, biscuits. My mother was overweight, obese even. It was normal to eat a few packs of crisps and drink cans of cola. I didn’t understand anything about nutrition or healthy eating.
This is a common problem with poverty and we were very poor. Council house and on benefits. I was keenly aware of it because the school had a high proportion of middle class pupils.
That low socioeconomic background poverty trap — high caloric density being cheaper and more satisfying. Especially in bulk. Sugar and fat. You get desensitised to it and crave more and more. Easily drinking can after can of refined sugar like it was water.
I was on free school meals and ate in the school’s canteen rather than take a packed lunch. The options there weren’t particularly healthy either. A lot of greasy Bernard Matthews offerings and chips. Stodgy puddings with custard. I don’t think I ever opted for any fruit.
Comfort eating was a part of this too. Misunderstood, alienated and not fitting in, so of course I was depressed a lot of the time and coped by eating.
So all that gave me a plump and rounded appearance which I wasn’t happy with. I didn’t want to be Cabbage Man. I didn’t like how I looked and would later struggle with body dysmorphia in my twenties, with crash diets, starving myself and then binge eating in cycles. Never quite right, too big, too thin, always that last bit of fat to lose.
Mental and physical health are closely linked. Self-esteem, safety and support are crucial. I had none of those.
But that was all a very long time ago. Lifetimes ago.
I write this on a day after I’ve come back from a regular 10km run, weirdly reminded of all this. Perhaps because I’m staying at my mother’s for a while.
I got into running in my thirties and do it several times a week. I also do bodyweight exercises, many sets of push ups and squats (I didn’t do my first push up until I was 25). It took a long time for me to get here and my enjoyment of running is more about how it makes me feel rather than physical exercise or fitness. Those are just bonuses. Exercise for its own sake is something I was never interested in. PE put me off that and sports.
I also don’t have issues with my appearance these days. I’m happy with my body and in fact even proud of my lean muscular physique. Ironic that in my twenties I’d starve myself or try other things to achieve the same, only to find since my mid thirties I arrived at it anyway just with healthy habits, discipline and most of all consistency. Consistency is everything — in my recent 18 months of travelling around the world I was running and doing my workouts regardless of where I happened to be.
My eating habits are good and getting even better. Unfortunately I have gout but I’m looking at the positives and allowing it to guide me to even healthier choices. I’ve had to give up drinking, become vegetarian and reduced sugar.
I am no longer Cabbage Man. Really I never was. I shouldn’t have internalised that.
I know Mr. Hill wasn’t being intentionally cruel. A bit of toxic masculinity and body shaming. But words matter. Mr. Hill became a bully. That’s not right.
No hard feelings. I’m not there anymore.
At least it’s not as bad as Mr. Baker, the headmaster, who upon learning that I played Dungeons & Dragons called my mother in and recommended I undergo an exorcism.
The exorcism of Cabbage Man.
That’s okay. I exercise regularly these days.
