Springing into Malley fitness

By Christopher DaCosta

This week ended my three-month, apathy-induced Pat Malley hiatus. I have officially made my long-awaited, highly anticipated return to the cutthroat Malley social scene.

Upon being herded into the gym by my roommate who bears an uncanny resemblance to Orlando Bloom (calm down, ladies), I was greeted with the deceptively inviting turnstiles (a reminder of the time my roommate and I unsuccessfully attempted to breach the gym threshold after he lost his ACCESS card and we were sternly reprimanded) as well as the obligatory pungent weight-room aroma.

As my nostrils acclimated to the dank, musky air (of the male Bronco variety), I observed the Santa Clara crown jewel; our state of the art, fully cardio equipped, calorie-counting hangout. Nothing has changed; the meathead sanctuary still affords itself all the glamour and vogue of a deliciously superficial Milanese catwalk blended with the airy sophistication of a country club: the highly rehearsed strut, the perfectly coordinated sweat suit couture and of course, the upperclassmen hob-nobbery. Without these crucial elements, you're nothing but scum in the elusive Malley monde.

Between the hypnotic motion of the elliptical trainer clientele's ba-dunk-a-dunks and the hustle and bustle of all the weightlifting Goliaths out there, I noticed a significant characteristic of the gym's culture â€" a rigidly formed hierarchy, splitting the weight-room into gender-assigned segments. That's right, I'm talking about the prominent female presence in the heady cardio section and the intimidating machismo of the seemingly "males only" half of the gym.

In my usual routine, I tend to dodge the heavy duty, men's side of the gym to avoid being eschewed from the more intense, iron-pumping goons. Instead, I find comfort in an environment devoid of the phrases like "yeah man, I'm gonna lift" or "yeah man, protein powder." I detest the dearth of integration especially during rush hour when territorial ab mat brawls are known to erupt between the two camps.

Sometimes, the interactions between the two worlds occur under friendlier pretenses; Malley takes on a unique function as a reunion center for upperclassmen. Yesterday, I realized that I made my final transition to upperclassmen-dom â€" between sets, I reveled in reunions with long-lost freshman friends, the girls from the Lafayettes and recent alumni. "Yes! I finally feel like a real junior," I exclaimed to my newly-nose-pierced upperclassmen friend, while we caught up on party scene gossip.

Gossip isn't the only thing that abounds in Malley's sacred halls. With testosterone production in overdrive and pheromones permeating the air, mild to heavy flirting is in full force. So at the very least, visit the gym if not to witness its inane culture, but to give your game a workout too.

û Contact Christopher DaCosta at (408) 554-4546 or cdacosta@scu.edu.