2008 Woodie Awards
Find a workout plan that gets you psyched, suits your style
Issue date: 11/20/08
Looking after your personal fitness is often like cleaning a nasty, vomit-covered toilet. Even before you get started, you know it's going to be tough, and while you're in the act, you keep asking yourself why you're still at it. Both are smelly, sweat-inducing processes with results erasable by a case of the munchies gone too far. What's the point? Why keep at it?
I've asked myself that question a lot since transitioning from high school to college. However, when I think back to my early childhood, when I barely had to dress up to become Fat Albert for Halloween, I cringe at the thought of returning to my earlier obesity.
But that question still keeps popping up in my head - why should I keep at it? I could certainly avoid becoming a monstrous overflow of flesh simply by avoiding gluttony and walking to and from classes. So I kept giving myself excuses to avoid real exercise in high school. I couldn't join cross country, because I didn't have time in my schedule, I couldn't join the gym because I was piss-poor and so on.
I knew something was lacking. Doing work all day in my comfy armchair was no substitute for real, fulfilling physical activity. So when I got to Hopkins and heard that I'd have free access to the rec center, I was pretty excited. This gave me an opportunity to make an intricate workout schedule that built both my health and discipline. At the very least, I wanted to avoid the "freshman 15."
Just a few days after I dragged my luggage into my room, I unleashed my JCard on my first 6 a.m. trip to the rec center weight room. My eyes widened at the equipment available to me. I had absolutely no idea where to start until my roommate, a former wrestler, helped me out. He put me through a painful combination of bench presses, curls, preacher's curls, arms-ripped-off-by-rabid-hyenas dumbbells and so on. As I kept a record of each workout in a little notebook, I was glad - tired, but glad.
With first semester covered grades, I was hoping to edge ever closer to the Promise Land of buffness with each set. But as I reviewed my notebook, I realized the Promise Land wasn't getting closer after all; I could hardly bench anything. Compared to others in that weight room, my max was a number so low I dare not have it printed on these pages.
I've asked myself that question a lot since transitioning from high school to college. However, when I think back to my early childhood, when I barely had to dress up to become Fat Albert for Halloween, I cringe at the thought of returning to my earlier obesity.
But that question still keeps popping up in my head - why should I keep at it? I could certainly avoid becoming a monstrous overflow of flesh simply by avoiding gluttony and walking to and from classes. So I kept giving myself excuses to avoid real exercise in high school. I couldn't join cross country, because I didn't have time in my schedule, I couldn't join the gym because I was piss-poor and so on.
I knew something was lacking. Doing work all day in my comfy armchair was no substitute for real, fulfilling physical activity. So when I got to Hopkins and heard that I'd have free access to the rec center, I was pretty excited. This gave me an opportunity to make an intricate workout schedule that built both my health and discipline. At the very least, I wanted to avoid the "freshman 15."
Just a few days after I dragged my luggage into my room, I unleashed my JCard on my first 6 a.m. trip to the rec center weight room. My eyes widened at the equipment available to me. I had absolutely no idea where to start until my roommate, a former wrestler, helped me out. He put me through a painful combination of bench presses, curls, preacher's curls, arms-ripped-off-by-rabid-hyenas dumbbells and so on. As I kept a record of each workout in a little notebook, I was glad - tired, but glad.
With first semester covered grades, I was hoping to edge ever closer to the Promise Land of buffness with each set. But as I reviewed my notebook, I realized the Promise Land wasn't getting closer after all; I could hardly bench anything. Compared to others in that weight room, my max was a number so low I dare not have it printed on these pages.
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