In elementary school -- second through fifth grade, to be precise -- many of us would make a mad dash to the northeast corner of the playground when the teacher released us. We would race past the foursquare court, past the swings, beyond the monkey bars and merry-go-round, to "The Giants": a 10-foot high metal pole with handlebars attached to equally as long metal chains. The sole purpose of The Giants: grab the handles on one of the extremely large chains, run in a circle around the pole, then leap into the air and soar as far you could until your feet hit the ground again.
The Giants induced an incredible adrenaline rush due to the ability to sail with it -- and a high probability that at least one child would limp away from it at the end of recess covered in blood or a large lump on the head. The Giants was surrounded by a circular pad of concrete, which allowed for maximum traction when running in a circle...or a natural exfoliate for your face, knees, and back when you fell to the concrete. As kids, we found all sorts of ways to maximize the height and air you could get when on The Giants. The best method was to wrap your chain over the top of everyone else's chains, run as fast as you could for a few minutes as a group, and then have everyone duck to the center but you, so that the tension of the chains and exertion of the forward movement propelled you through the air, screaming with joy and terror.
The number of ways we injured ourselves on The Giants was remarkable; I'm surprised no teachers or parents intervened. The most frequent injuries were due to our little hands getting slippery on the metal handlebars, losing our grips, and then sliding off. The child who lost his or her grip faced a possibility of numerous injuries as the child flew through the air and eventually landed hard: scrapes from the concrete, trampling by other little feet, broken limbs. And it was just as bad for those who didn't lose their grips and remained running with their own chains: bumps, bruises, and concussions from the rogue handlebars attached to the chain of the child who lost a grip. I was lucky: the worst injury I sustained was when I lost my grip, tumbled to the ground, and scraped the full width of my back from the small of my back to the top of my shoulders. It bled profusely, and it was painful to wear a shirt for the next week. But at least I walked away that day; many of the children crawled or leaned on each other as they made their way back to the school after a flight off The Giants. We even had a teacher come over to carry the girl who had plummeted to the ground and broke a bone.
After sharing my story of The Giants with others this week, the faces staring at me reflected disbelief and horror. They had a hard time picturing the contraption, and the next question was an obvious one: "Who on earth would allow such a piece of playground equipment to exist?" So I tried googling the term "The Giants" to show them the equipment. Nothing was returned. Knowing that perhaps we had referred to The Giants by a nickname passed along from generation to generation of schoolyard children, I refined my search to dangerous playground equipment.
And there it was: Giant Stride.
Giant Stride, in all of its shiny metal and glory. It was released and available circa 1910, a time when children didn't wear bike helmets, knee pads, and protective gear. When parents let their children run to parks and playgrounds, unattended. Back when they used to let children play on metal poles with chains that more often than not resulted in tears and injuries. It was fantastic.
The Giant Stride was eventually one of the first piece of equipment banned from public playgrounds, and my former elementary school was no exception. The school district removed the chains from the pole in the late 1990s. A few weeks ago I returned home to Iowa, and a friend of mine and I drove by the old elementary school, which closed a few years ago and now stands dark, quiet, and abandoned. The grass where the playground used to be located is overgrown, hiding the gravel and pavement where the swing set, monkey bars, and teeter totter used to be. However, there it was: rusty and aged by weather -- The Giants pole still stands. Slightly ominous, as if it's waiting for children to stop by for another whirl around it...and a few more drops of blood to fall.
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