It's amazing to me that they're cutting physical education

Host: The rain fell hard against the windows of the old gymnasium, beating a steady rhythm that echoed through the hollow corridors. The once-bright basketball court lay empty — its faded lines like the veins of a forgotten heart. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, throwing shadows that stretched and retreated across the dusty floorboards.

Jack sat on the edge of the bleachers, his hands clasped, his jacket damp from the weather. Jeeny stood near the center court, her hair tied back, holding an old volleyball in her hands — its surface scuffed, the air half gone.

Host: The silence between them was not empty; it was nostalgic, filled with ghosts of laughter, the thud of shoes, the sharp whistle of games that no longer were.

Jeeny: “Shannon Miller once said, ‘It’s amazing to me that they’re cutting physical education programs in the school systems.’”

Jack: (snorts softly) “Amazing, huh? More like inevitable. Schools are businesses now, Jeeny. If it doesn’t show up on a test, it doesn’t matter.”

Jeeny: (turns, her eyes steady) “You make it sound like they’re factories, Jack. Factories for grades, for numbers — not for people.”

Jack: “That’s exactly what they are. Metrics, funding, results. That’s how the world works. You can’t measure how high a kid can jump on a standardized test.”

Jeeny: “No, but you can measure what’s missing when they stop jumping.”

Host: The volleyball slipped from her hands, rolling softly across the floor until it stopped by Jack’s foot. He didn’t move to pick it up. The light overhead hummed faintly, the sound merging with the rain outside — a slow, rhythmic lament.

Jeeny: “Do you remember when we were kids? PE was the one class where everyone was equal. You could be bad at math, but still feel alive when you ran. You could fail a test but still feel like you belonged.”

Jack: “Yeah, and some of us were the ones picked last, Jeeny. PE wasn’t freedom for everyone.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But it was real. You could fall, bleed, laugh — and it meant something. Now everything’s behind a screen. Kids move their thumbs more than their hearts.”

Jack: “Times change. The world’s digital. Maybe physical education is just… outdated. We don’t need to climb ropes when we’re coding robots.”

Jeeny: “But we do need to know our bodies. To feel our own weight. To learn what it means to push through limits, to trust our strength. Coding won’t teach you that, Jack.”

Host: The gym creaked as the wind pushed through the cracked windows, scattering a few leaves across the floor. The bleachers seemed to sigh under the weight of their memories.

Jack: “You talk about strength like it’s a philosophy. It’s just biology. Muscles, reflexes, adrenaline — no moral lesson in that.”

Jeeny: “Then why do you still go running at dawn when you’re angry?”

Host: The question hung in the air like a slow echo. Jack’s face shifted, the cynicism cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of truth. He rubbed his hands, avoiding her eyes.

Jack: “Because it clears my head. That’s all.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because movement is meaning. Because your body carries what your mind can’t.”

Jack: “You sound like a yoga teacher.”

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) “Maybe they’re right.”

Host: A gust of wind pushed open the door, sending a cold draft through the gym. The rain intensified, pattering against the ceiling like the applause of an invisible crowd. Jeeny walked toward the center, her feet echoing softly.

Jeeny: “I once read a study — after schools cut PE, student anxiety shot up by 40%. Forty, Jack. Kids forgot how to breathe, how to run off their fear. Isn’t that tragic?”

Jack: “Or maybe they just grew up faster. Life’s stressful. Better they learn it early.”

Jeeny: “No. They learned exhaustion, not maturity. There’s a difference.”

Host: She bounced the volleyball once — the hollow sound reverberated through the gym, a faint ghost of energy returning to the air. Jack’s eyes followed it.

Jack: “You always think movement fixes things. But the world’s not a treadmill, Jeeny. It doesn’t stop breaking just because we’re in shape.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But when you move, you remember you exist. You remember you have agency — you’re not just a passenger in your own life.”

Jack: “Agency doesn’t come from exercise. It comes from education, from awareness.”

Jeeny: “And what use is awareness if your body is collapsing under the weight of it? Knowledge without health is like a fire without oxygen.”

Host: Her words filled the space, quiet but fierce. The lightbulb flickered again, and for a moment, the shadows seemed to dance with them — echoes of children running, leaping, shouting.

Jack: “So you’re saying gym class can save the world?”

Jeeny: “Not the world. But maybe a child. Maybe a generation that’s forgetting what it feels like to be alive.”

Host: The rain softened now, becoming a whisper against the glass. Jack rose from the bleachers, stepping toward her, his boots squeaking faintly on the wood.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? When I was twelve, I hated PE. But when I broke my wrist senior year, couldn’t play, I realized how much I missed it. The running, the noise, the sweat — it was... freedom. The only class that didn’t feel like a cage.”

Jeeny: “That’s because it wasn’t. It was a reminder that learning isn’t just mental — it’s physical, emotional, human.”

Jack: “Maybe cutting it was never about space or budget. Maybe it’s because the system’s forgotten that humanity can’t be quantified.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Now you’re starting to sound like me.”

Host: They both smiled faintly, a truce carved in memory. The volleyball rolled again, this time stopping at Jack’s foot. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and then tossed it gently toward her.

Jack: “Alright, philosopher. Teach me again how to ground myself.”

Jeeny: “Easy. One throw at a time.”

Host: She caught the ball with a small laugh, the sound light, healing. The lightbulb steadied at last, glowing soft and constant. The rain outside had stopped; only the faint dripping of the roof remained — a slow rhythm of renewal.

Host: As they stood facing each other on the worn court, surrounded by silence and memory, the camera pulled back — revealing the emptiness that wasn’t emptiness at all. Just waiting. Waiting for life to return.

Host: In that forgotten gym, two souls rediscovered what the world had forgotten — that the body, too, is a form of learning, and every heartbeat is a lesson that no test could ever measure.