Running in circles

I have had more than a few complaints about Columbia. I realize that I have an unhealthy amount of school spirit for my undergraduate college (Wahoowa!), and I should probably stop comparing the two, but I saw something today that made me question how much this university really cares about its students: a nearly naked octogenarian.

I was in the gym, minding my own business and doing some post-running stretches, when a wrinkly old man with man-boobs and back hair wandered past in nothing but a pink speedo. But it wasn’t actually pink. You could tell that back in 1965, the swimsuit was a healthy shade of red. But no longer!

The reason I had to see such a trainwreck before lunch is that the Columbia gym is possibly the worst college gym in the United States. I’ll get back to the naked old man, but feel like you deserve a full rundown of the unpleasant conditions of Dodge Center. The gym is four stories with the top floor on ground level. To get to the locker rooms, one must walk across a track, looking both ways to ensure that a runner and passerby don’t collide. The track is one-tenth of a mile, so when I go to the gym I usually run around it about 35 times, which makes me feel a lot like a hamster in its wheel.

There are treadmills and other exercise equipment that face the track giving track-users a self-conscious feeling that they’re being watched, because, well, they are. The outside lane curves up, so passing people feels a bit like Nascar according to one of my friends (a fellow wahoo and Columbia complainer). There is a guardrail for about a quarter of a lap so that runners can stare at the basketball court below. The rail is about hip height, which feels a little low, so every time I run by, I have the strange sensation that I’m going to end up tripping and somehow ending up in a hoop. Other things I saw while running around the track today include a yoga class in downward dog (glass-walled fitness rooms abut the track), three female members of the track team making fun of an elderly man whose shorts were drenched with sweat and a bloodied bandaid that someone had left on the track for me to look at 35 times.

You might ask: if I hate the track so much, why do I use it? Well, for one thing, you have to go to a person who sits at a desk and sign up for the equipment in 30-minute slots; they say, “okay you can have elliptical 4 at 6:30” and then if someone is on elliptical 4, you’re supposed to kick them off at 6:30. This is problematic for me, because I’m non-confrontational. Plus, 30 minutes simply isn’t enough some days and the average time it takes to get a treadmill is about an hour.

So I use the stupid track. Except even the track is a hot commodity some days. Today for example, the track closed from 1 until 3:30 because the track team needed to practice. WHAT? The track team practices on a 1/10 mile track? Wow. They must be really good, especially the long distance runners. So after I got kicked off the track, I wandered over to stretch and that’s when Old Man River walked by in all his speedoed glory. What can you say though? The locker rooms are on the 4th floor and the pool is in the basement. Who planned this thing? L’Enfant? (hahaha. DC humor) As I turned away, I noticed a towel slung casually over his shoulder. Why isn’t that thing covering you up? I wanted to scream, but instead I held onto the handrail and stared down at the volleyball class on the basketball court.

Every freshman at Columbia is required to take a gym class, and there they were. There was a net set up, and about 20 pairs of students were hitting volleyballs back and forth to each other. Not a Gabrielle Reese among them, balls were flying in every direction leaving the 18-year-olds to scurry after their wayward balls. It seemed like a recipe for broken noses. But I suppose the teacher would have said the same thing as the jackass who planned this godforsaken gym: it seemed like a good idea at the time...