Why is it so hard to stay fit in college? I pose the question rhetorically, because I know its answer. Since I have to get a job someday, let’s just say this: I came home at 2 a.m. on Friday night, ate one plate of cheese and crackers, made a Panini, went upstairs to my friend’s apartment, ate two cinnamon rolls and then went back downstairs and made another Panini.
Am I proud? No. Would I do it again? Clearly. Paninis rank among food royalty, about a half degree below brunch. One does not regret a Panini.
Until today, at least, when I was forced to face the emotional fallout created by discovering, upon purchase, my leggings were matte and not sheer. After this incident, it was obvious: no good Panini goes unpunished. If only life weren’t a series of deciding between Blue Moon and accidentally mooning your peers, it would be so much easier.
I’ll admit healthy eating has never been my forte. This may be because I’m convinced the people who actually choose lettuce when given the option of, say, a medium-rare beef burger with a pepper jack and cheddar cheese blend, are the very same people who think listening to “Wagon Wheel” at parties is “pedestrian” or “stale.”
People. “Wagon Wheel” is a modern American classic, and America is neither pedestrian nor stale. Senator Joseph McCarthy, may he rest in peace, would be appalled to hear such communist leanings openly uttered and tolerated. Would you question the relevancy of such key democratic institutions as the Electoral College? Yes? I don’t care. “Wagon Wheel” is to be left untouched — as are those wilted greens. Please just call it quits and order a steak, for both my sake and yours.
So, maybe I’m not the correct person to consult when shaping a balanced diet. But there’s always exercise, right? When all else fails, can’t you just pop a few squats, decisively lunge once and call it a day? Apparently not, because — as I was recently told — exercising allegedly requires sweating. Upon hearing this, I was forced to re-examine my workout routine, and — sadly — it would seem going to the gym and bopping around on the elliptical for 14 minutes while listen to Lorde and watching talk shows leads only to glistening, not actual sweat.
Unfortunately, ruling out my gym regimen leaves me with few options. I simply can’t run in public. This is not for lack of scheduling convenience, but for my crippling physical handicap, called in the medical world “I don’t know what to do with my hands.” Tragically, this impediment is only compounded by the fact I am a tad bow-legged, which means when I run, my hands flail and my legs buckle and I look like Phoebe from “Friends” if Phoebe did methamphetamines. Some could call it endearing, but no one ever has.
Woefully afflicted by such misfortune, I’ve sworn not to venture outside my comfort zone, sticking to the recumbent bike or, more typically, recumbently lying in my bed. This has had three direct results. The first — okay, this trimming plan has had no real results. This has resulted in sadness. This has resulted in me consuming a bag of chips. If only I can find a way to market this three-step Weight Botchers plan, I’ll be golden.
So why is it so hard to stay fit in college, you ask? With hefty discipline and proper prioritizing, it probably isn’t. But when priorities one through four contain the word “panini,” well, it seems you’re out of luck.
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