Tales of terror from the world of fitness

Since I live in South Quad, trying to avoid the Lilly Center is not an option. Every day I walk to and from classes, and every day Lilly sits there, a testament to all that is fit and toned. Once, upon entering the terrifying building, I saw my own less than fit and toned reflection in the glass. It was in that moment that I decided that once a day, between classes, I would put on my workout clothes and pump some iron. It was time to get "swoll."The next day, I promptly put on my high school football shirt (just so everyone would know that I was no stranger to the weight room) and strutted into the Lilly Center with confidence.

My confidence waned, however, when I encountered a whole row of girls on the cardio machines. All of them were facing the weight room with only me, the insecure, fat guy, to look at. Sheepishly, I got onto a weight machine and did my best to look inconspicuous. That is, until the entire football team came in. Quickly, I put as much weight onto my machine as possible to try to cover up the fact that I hadn't exercised since last fall after I quit the football team. Needless to say, this trip was a disaster.

The experience was so bad that it wasn't even over three days after I left Lilly. In my zeal to impress the athletes, I had worked my arms so hard that I couldn't even unbend them. Simple tasks such as feeding myself eluded me. It seemed like I had unintentionally added dieting to my exercise regimen. Exercise had stolen my dignity, my daily buffalo chicken sandwich and my ability to use my upper body. I will never ever make fun of John McCain again.

Realizing that working out is not so much a matter of vanity but rather one of health, I decided that the activity warranted at least one more try. This time, I thought a run was in order. After two quick puffs from my inhaler, I set off in the direction of the Nature Park. My pace was pretty leisurely until I encountered curious passerby. Apparently an overweight person running in public is somewhat akin to a car crash. Inevitably, something horrible will occur. To compensate (and maybe to impress some of the ladies), I put on a burst of speed that I had no chance of keeping up . only to bend over panting, trying to catch my breath.

Unfortunately, I pulled this charade so many times that my abs started to hurt from all the bending over. Clearly, my body was rebelling.

Fifteen minutes into my run, a horrifying thought entered my mind. Dread slowly crept its way down my neck and there was an awful feeling of nausea in my stomach, although that could have been my body telling me to give up. Yes, I had been running for 15 minutes, but I forgotten to turn around at my halfway point. Lost and exhausted, I collapsed to the ground and chided myself for my stupidity. Luckily, by the time public safety came to pick me up, I had stopped crying.

So my two forays into the world of fitness failed miserably. But in the end, I learned something very valuable about myself: I always have, and always will hate running, and working out is done best in the privacy of your own home. At least there no one will judge you when you take a quick dough break.



- Banta is a freshman Honors Scholar from Indianapolis who has not declared a major.

opinion@thedepauw.com