“Why am I here?” This is the mantra I repeat to myself while my friend and I drag our upperclassman selves towards Baker. We’re having an existential crisis of sorts. Suddenly, we have to fight the urge to wear our catcards on lanyards and ask for directions to “the Armfield.” When we finally walk into the gym, it’s like everything Teen Mom has tried to warn us against: they’re so overeager…and tiny. Even though most of them are taller than me.
I will say this for the freshmen: they’re doing something that I failed to do at their age: their PE requirements. Why Davidson still thinks it’s necessary to force us to be sporty is beyond me. Not all of us are meant to be Steph Curry. Going into my junior year at Davidson, I’m not quite sure how requiring us to do PE classes and therefore lose an additional hour per week fits in with “alenda lux ubi orta libertas.” And it’ll be even worse when this class is the sole reason I shave my legs in the winter. Goodbye, No Shave November. Until next year, old friend.
On the other hand, there’s something to be learned from these freshmen. College is so full of possibilities for them, and over the course of the hour, I remember what it’s like to be a freshman as opposed to a (somewhat) jaded junior. I still have two years of possibilities left, and even through the difficult times at Davidson, there’s always comfort in these labyrinthine brick pathways, hallowed halls, and oddly numbered classrooms. And as an added bonus, my butt is going to look great by the end of the semester.