Don't sweat it

I’ve dreaded the P.E. requirement since I began college two years ago. True, phys ed is the only chance you’ll get to ask a teacher about your inner thighs. But just the thought of organized exercise kept me up at night. I’d lie in bed, sweating profusely and rolling around on my mattress, not even receiving credit for my exertions.

Browsing through Columbia’s course guide brought me no comfort. African Dance? Too familiar. I’d end up taking over the class, and the instructor would start to resent me. Martial arts? I’m already taking three English classes—that’s enough of the “Arts” for me. Yoga? Sorry, I only do downward-facing dog in the privacy of my dorm room.

After an extended process of elimination, I settled on Strength Training. The class appealed to me in part because it sounded self-paced, but mostly because it was the only option that fit into my schedule. Five minutes into the first session, though, and I was already regretting my decision.

The class was so public, so emasculating. Our first half hour was spent “warming up,” an activity that I erroneously expected to include light, relaxed exercise. Instead, I found myself sprinting suicide drills across the gym, contorting my body into exotic shapes (“Now use your chin to scratch your lower back”), and doing several abdominal workouts that made me queasy.

Later, we were introduced to the “machines.” I recognized a few of them from my visit to the Tower of London last summer. Some were meant to crush their victims, others to stretch them till their joints begin to pop. One contraption looked like it was stolen from the set of a “Saw” movie. I guess struggling for survival is a great way to build muscle mass.

Hobbling to my next class, I realized what the problem is with physical education: It’s embarrassing. No one wants to lift five-pound dumbbells in front of a football player who can bench-press a Volkswagen. No one wants to gasp for breath on a treadmill next to a cross-country runner who can outpace you even when he’s on crutches. And no one wants to flop around on the floor making grunting noises in front of a crowd. Well, maybe if they have a partner. But even then, I’m not sure I’d call that dignified, per se.

Perhaps Columbia could broaden the definition of what constitutes physical education to cut some slack for the athletically disinclined. Think of the poor souls who routinely lug heavy backpacks to Knox or the ninth floor of Schermerhorn. Consider the unlucky first-years who get locked out of their rooms in a towel and must hightail it to Hartley to get a spare key. Ponder the student who makes the walk of shame from Harmony to Claremont. Don’t these unsung heroes deserve recognition?

If that doesn’t appeal to Columbia’s administration, maybe students could design their own P.E. classes. For example, mine might look something like this: A blindfolded guide escorts you to a private vault in the basement of the gym and locks you in. This small chamber, kept pitch-black at all times, is furnished with a couple of simple exercise tools that are completely self-explanatory. When you are done working out, you knock on the door and a different blindfolded guide comes to escort you off the premises. Bottom line—nobody, not even you, can witness your shame.

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely that any of my proposals will ever see the light of day. Their implementation would be expensive and extremely impractical. Also, the head of the athletic department isn’t returning my phone calls anymore.

I know what you’re probably thinking. Or at least, what it would be convenient for the purposes of this column for you to be thinking. What are we athletically incompetent students to do? Well, there probably isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution like there is with contraception. You could take long “bathroom breaks,” claim you pulled your groin, or invent a new sport. (Men’s synchronized pole dancing comes to mind.) In the meantime, I’m going to try to get P.E. credit for writing this column. I think I feel a cramp coming on...

Update: This column has been modified from the print edition for style and grammar.

Jeremy Liss is a Columbia College junior majoring in English and comparative literature. He is the creative editor of The Current. Liss is More runs alternate Thursdays.