This week, our editors posed the question, "How does Dartmouth change you?" The answer occurred to me with such force and clarity that I can only liken the experience to that of Mormons who attest to receiving heavenly testimony from God.**##
"Zoe," said a mystical voice. "Look inside thyself. In thy heart thou knowest the answer to this question. Dartmouth College maketh thee fat."
For a moment I was frozen, transfixed by the holy presence that had just come over me, imparting sacred, prophetic knowledge.
Then I realized it was actually just my stomach grumbling.
But the more I thought about this epiphany, the more I knew it to be true: Dartmouth is a simmering stew-pot of laziness, weight gain and doom. Who needs a disembodied voice of dubious spiritual authenticity telling you what you already know?
Let's consider the evidence. (Kindly bear with me I may begin to sound like an eager freshman extolling the many hedonistic virtues of our alma mater, but believe me, I'm not).
- Here at Dartmouth, we drink a lot of beer.
There's not really any need to elaborate on the beer-drinking front. You know it. I know it. Jim Kim knows it. It's basically a dead horse at this point. Less immediately obvious is the fact that once we turn 21, we are suddenly awakened to the previously untapped delights of Stinson's, $2 margs and Grateful Deads. Downtown Hanover becomes a whole new world of booze calories for those of legal age!
- We also eat a lot of late night crap.
This includes but is not limited to: EBAs, Gusanoz, mozz sticks, chicken nuggets, just about anything from Late Night Collis, most things from Novack, spicy Russians, fries, Easy Mac and whatever you manage to scrounge from your dorm vending machine when it's past 2:10 a.m. but you're jonesin' for a tasty night cap (Salsitas are my go-to in this situation).
- At certain times during your Dartmouth career, beer drinking and late night crap eating will begin to take place at increasingly irregular and perhaps even inappropriate times. Such times may include: Finals, when ordering Jewel of India to Novack becomes a nice study break/ostensible time-saver that is also delicious. To say nothing of the obscene proliferation of bake sales that invariably occurs around this time. Sophomore Summer, when all you want to do is slap a few Bubba Burgers on the grill before your 7 p.m. harbor game. Your FSP or LSA, when your host parents cook you an excessive amount of food for each meal and you lack the language skills to politely refuse. Junior Spring, when your roommate is on crutches and wants to order in constantly, and you're experiencing so much culture shock in the aftermath of your FSP/off-term double header that all you can do is self-medicate with Harpoon UFO and Brew City Fries. Oh wait that's just me. All of senior year. Enough said.
- Going to the gym is often a socially daunting prospect.
This is because there's more aggressive and unwanted facetime at the gym during peak hours than there is anywhere else on campus. And frankly, small talk about spring break is the kind of thing I personally prefer to make when there are no treadmills involved. Or sweaty Hanes white tees, for that matter. Seriously. I'm here to burn as many beer/late night crap calories as humanly possible. Not to chat. Or to be seen. Or potentially judged for my JV fitness level by the jacked bro running a marathon directly behind me.
- When you leave Dartmouth for one or more terms, all of this comes into stark relief.
On my aforementioned off-term, I went to my non-scary hometown gym as a matter of course, drank sparingly and never once took a cheeseburger pizza to the face. This is not a self call virtually all progress in this regard was reversed immediately upon my return to campus. Success: so sweet, and yet so fleeting.
So there you have it: Dartmouth makes you fat, and there's basically nothing you can do about it (short of transferring, becoming a varsity athlete or intentionally getting a tapeworm). Obviously, none of these options are feasible. Except maybe the tapeworm.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go drown my sorrows in a Murph burger.
