Dumbbells slam against the hard floorbelow, the smell of sweat lingers in the stale Kresge air, and scores of self-motivated college-aged students crunch, lift, squat and jerk. Yup, you guessed it, we're standing in the middle of the weight room in Alumni Gymnasium.
However, for this lanky, partially-motivated Dartmouth non-varsity athlete, the Kresge Fitness Center represents my own personal Wait room. Before you make any assumptions, I want to assure you that The Dartmouth did not just make another spelling error. I am indeed referring to the Kresge Wait room. W-A-I-T.
You see, during an average term, I have a difficult enough time dragging my body over to the gymnasium. And I live in Topliff, only a few short moments away.
However, when I do make my way to the gym wearing my never-to-be-washed, peel-off workout clothes, my routine usually progresses as follows. First, I jump on the most arbitrary scale in the history of weights and measures. This age-old contraption actually represents a dieter's dream; over the course of a day you can lose up to ten pounds without doing one ounce of physical activity. I challenge someone to stay the same weight for more than a two minutes.
After the official Olympic weigh-in and routine Kresge drug test, I begin to look around to see if I recognize anybody in the facility. Sidestepping the rowing machines and exercise bikes that unnecessarily clutter the center of the Nautilus section, I usually find myself asking about somebody else's workout and the length of time he has spent in the weight room that particular afternoon.
At this point, I break out my Wait Room jargon, using phrases like, "What'd you max at?, You workin' lats or pecs today? I assume you've already done bi's and tri's. Boy, your Joe looks more noticeable than usual. I saw you at Gamma Xi last night funneling a pony keg."
But I cannot forget my three favorite lines used by the non-professional lifters: 1) Remember it's not how much you lift, but who's looking at you while you're doing the lifting. 2) Who cares how many reps you do as long as you leave a lot of weight on the bar? 3) No matter how big you get, don't forget you're face will always look the same.
Once I'm done breaking out my Wait room slang, I usually meander over to the Chest Fly machine. I crack my knuckles, tuck in my shirt, take ten deep breaths, recite a few Shakespearean sonnets, philosophize about the origin of man, contemplate the economic future of the new Haitian regime, rehearse my Haftorah portion, translate a little bit of Catullus and finally lie down on the bench. Oops, I forgot to set the weight once again.
Nine out of ten times, I have to move the weight down a few notches, although I have become adept at acting as if I'm actually substantially increasing the amount of weight on the machine I am about to use. A few guttural grunts and a couple of leg-shakings usually convinces the hard-core Nautilus people. Unfortunately though, the hard-core nautilus people aren't even acknowledged by hard-core Free weight lifters.
After my first set of four and 1/3 repetitions, I am in desperate need of some of that metallic-tasting gymnasium water. But, before I venture to the water fountain, I double the amount of weight that I had previously been doing on the Chest Fly Machine. I wouldn't want anybody to think that I was a patsy or anything!
By this time, my workout buddy is usually heading over to the water fountain from the squat rack, and we typically moan to each other about the rigor of our respective workouts. Somewhat satisfied with my one set of chest flys, I suggest to my friend, who is also known as Sir Hugeness, that we spot each other on the curling bar.
Unfortunately, there's only one curling bar in all of Berry Gymnasium, so we usually end up waiting 15 minutes to a half hour before getting the bar to ourselves. We probably could work in with someone else, but it's kind of embarrassing to remove about 40 or 50 pounds for every other set being done.
By the way, it is against Wait room etiquette for scrawny guys to make any grunting noises on the free weight side of the gym. Big guys are, by law, supposed to grunt, burp, throw weights, curse, flex and strike assorted vanity poses in the full-length mirrors at each end of the fitness center.
Now on to the bench. The key to the bench is to make sure all the heavy weights are already placed on the bar before you start working out. I can bench it, but God forbid that I have to bring that 35 pound weight back to the weight rack. That's an instant hernia. I might not be able to carry the fridge upstairs, move the couch across the room or carry the tent into the woods, but I know for a fact that I can bench them a couple of times. I might even be able to curl them a few times.
After a few sets my partner and I are usually more than a bit spent, and it's time to pack up my stuff and head back to my steambath of a Topliff room for an afternoon nap. Before I officially leave the Wait room, though, I usually hop on a few pieces of equipment do a couple of repetitions and feign some heavy panting. I then step back onto the infamous wait room scale. Once again, I'm down seven pounds. Next time, I'll have to make the workout a lot less grueling, I think to myself. That should be no problem at all.
