As I rolled out of bed, I tugged the curtain aside and peered at the dismal clouds, shivering on impulse. Switching on the coffee pot, I chuckled softly as I thought of the light summery outfit that I'd originally planned on wearing. I certainly wouldn't be Miss Sunshine at this year's Inter-School Sports Day.

After my morning shower, black coffee, and hot toast, I joined the rest of the high school out on Ridgewood Field where we were to meet our advisors. I fingered the soft warmth of my pink fleece sweater as I searched through the sea of confused faces for a glimpse of my advisor. After failing to find him, I caught up with my younger sister and linked arms with her as we began the chilly trudge to Wynberg Allen School. The usual groups walked together, and the couples clung to each other's icy hands, attempting to spark some heat. I felt rather stupid for bringing along my umbrella because it was in the way and no one else had one. Well, at least my grandmother would be proud of me for thinking ahead.

Seating was tight, so I ended up sitting on a cement walkway ramp with several of my friends. Woodstock was the only school not clad in perfect uniforms, and we stuck out like a wart on a nose. It was obvious that we didn't know the first thing about marching either when the March-Past started. As the other school's participants marched forward like noble battalions, Woodstock athletes swayed from side to side, didn't really swing their arms high enough, and didn't stomp in unison. Nonetheless, we jumped up, cheering and screaming as if it were the Olympics; those were our friends out there. We certainly couldn't care less if they knew how to march. Besides, you don't need to know how to march well in order to give a good hug or stand up for each other.

We watched the races and track and field events, but soon we were too cold to sit still, and we weren't allowed to go buy hot food or drinks until 11:00 am. My sister turned and stared up at a boy eating Wai-Wai as if those steaming noodles were Romeo and she was Juliet. As her eyes glazed with longing and her mouth dropped, I couldn't help but tease her for her blatant noodle-lust. I could've used some chocolate and hot cocoa by then. I turned to watch three little boys in matching blue uniforms stretching until I thought they'd pop their sockets. Their shorts were miniscule; almost non-existent, and the goose bumps stood out on their skinny long legs. Since watching them was so painful, I shifted my focus over to the older guys who were pole-vaulting over a bar, also cold, also clad in tiny shorts. As one guy knocked the bar down, flipped over it, hit the mattress, bounced off, and smacked his head on the ground, I groaned and closed my eyes. It was too horrible to watch.

When 11:00 am finally arrived, there was a mad dash for the food stalls. The line for momos had become a tightly packed crowd. By the time I finally brought my miserly little cup of coffee to my lips, half of it was gone, sloshed over recklessly by stampeding middle-school kids. I studied the hand that held the small Styrofoam cup. It was singed red by the hot drink, however probably not as red as my face as I stared vengefully at the group of rambunctiously loud boys who'd knocked into me. Didn't they realize how hard a good cup of coffee was to come by? Didn't they see how they'd spilled a bit of my heaven as if it were a mere soda? Some people these days.

I sucked on a cherry-flavored lollypop as I watched the races and hurdles. Unfortunately, Woodstock didn't seem to be winning much in the way of medals, although we probably could've won a cup or two for "Most School Spirit" or "Most Obnoxious Crowd", or even "Absolute Biggest Eaters". Although Woodstockers were trailing far behind, we were cheering and screaming as if we were in line for the final trophy. The weather didn't seem to be getting any better. The winds had picked up, and it began to sprinkle slightly and rain was pouring down by the time we received our packed lunches. Thanks to some teachers who didn't want a bunch of sick students on Activity Week, we were allowed to pack up and leave, that is, except for the participating athletes, who had to stay behind and take part in the sporting events, regardless of the icy water. We made our way back to school through the bazaar and stopped for more hot coffee (this time without the rude little boys there to spill it all). It seemed like an eternity later that I finally made it back to my room at Midlands. I slipped into warm clothes, put on soft music, and curled up into my patchwork quilt for a nap. It had been a long, cold day.

For a complete list of Inter-school sports results, click here (PDF file)

-Surekha Poelman, a 12th grade student, is an intern in the Development Department who writes feature articles about life at Woodstock.