Just call me Dennis

Today for the second time I became a point of interest on a tour, and I don't recommend the experience. I'm not always prepared to be put on display for the benefit of prospective students, but today I couldn't find a way to avoid it.

I hadn't intended to work out at the rec center this afternoon, but the weather looked pretty iffy and I know I'll be too swamped to work out tomorrow--and besides, I have to meet with a group of prospective students and their parents later this afternoon, so since I have to be on campus anyway, why not get in a little exercise?

So there I was walking to nowhere in a virtually empty facility. Three of us in the cardio room, all women. One of my students was running on a treadmill. (I envy people who can run on treadmills: I can't even walk on them without falling over sideways.) Another student in hot-pink short-shorts pedaled a stationary bike in a desultory manner while chatting on her hot-pink cell phone. Down below on the track a couple who looked like a dad and his teenaged daughter ran smoothly around the oval, side-by-side for the first few laps until the girl pulled out ahead and dad fell farther and farther behind, finally falling into a slow, loping walk, hands at his sides--but he kept going! He didn't give up!

And neither did I, although I've been tempted to eschew the rec center ever since Monday, when I was slogging my way through a strenuous workout, sweat pouring down my face, my baggy sweats streaked with paint--looking, in short, as if I'd been running a marathon straight through Death Valley while being attacked by rabid weasels, when suddenly a student led a tour of prospective students and their parents right through the cardio room and right past my elliptical machine, where she stopped and pointed me out by name as if I were a notable piece of architecture, not failing to mention that I am the chair of the English Department.

"I don't always dress like this," I wanted to tell them, "And I am often capable of articulating sophisticated and complex ideas, but right now all I can really do is breathe and sweat, and I'm not really sure about the breathing part. So you go on and enjoy your tour, okay?"

But I didn't say that. I smiled weakly, nodded, and waited for the tour to move on to something more interesting, like the climbing wall. Why would they want to watch me sweating when they could be looking at a climbing wall?

Today, though, I thought I was safe. With the rec center nearly empty and no one around campus, I thought I could get through my entire routine without suddenly finding myself in the spotlight. And I almost did it, too, but then as I was walking up the steps after my shower, my hair still wet and my face still red, I saw a huge clot of nicely-dressed strangers standing between me and the exit.

A tour. A big one. No way around it if I want to get out of the building--and the tour guide is one of my capstone students. Surely he'll let me slip on past without a fuss, won't he?

He will not. In fact, he will draw attention to me, invite everyone to look at me as if I've just stepped off of Mount Rushmore, and tell them all my name and my title. All I can do is wave and move on--out the door and down the sidewalk, which is blocked by, you guessed it, another clot of well-dressed strangers. Another tour. And the only way through is right past the tour guide, another one of my students. Not again!

If this keeps up, I'll need to invest in a mask and wig to wear to the rec center, or perhaps several to keep the tour guides on their toes. I'll be Dennis Kucinich one day, the Dalai Lama the next, and Katie Couric on the third. If that doesn't work, I could add to my already considerable entourage a biggish oaf whose sole duty is to stand stupidly in doorways so that tour guides and their followers can't slip past. We'll call him Dumble-Door. He'll work for peanuts.

I'm dreaming, of course. I've always known that the chief danger of working out in the campus rec center is that I will at some point humiliate myself in front of my current students, but now I have to worry about prospective students too. One of these days I'll figure out some clever thing to say when I stumble all unprepared into the spotlight, but right today, just call me Dennis.