(OK, that's a pretty surreal headline.)

Let's take a break from my normal discussion of law, law school, and politics to discuss something else that's been weighing on my mind. Three forces are creating a perfect storm of discomfort in my life: it is very, very cold outside; law school might be considered the ultimate anti-diet of junk food and sedentary reading; and I am almost pathetically ignorant of the Way of the Gym. All of this is resulting in there being more of me than really is ideal.

When I lived in England, I didn't really worry about this because my lifestyle involved much more walking than I do these days. And my general attitude towards exercise has always been to do more when it looked like I might slip up a waist size: whatever I might lack in motivation or vanity, I rarely look forward to the prospect of paying for new clothing in larger sizes.

Now, however, a combination of age and being stuck to a desk seems to actually be doing me cardiovascular harm. Were it spring or summer, I'd start jogging, but right now every step outside involves an immediate desire to seek warmth. My schedule precludes attending a weekly martial arts class. And so with some reluctance, I'm thinking I should figure out where Columbia hides its gym.

Unfortunately, I have a phobia of gyms. Twice in my life I've joined them, once when I lived in D.C., and last summer in Tokyo. Both times I encountered the same problem: I am wholly ignorant of gym etiquette and formality.

For instance, what does one wear to a gym? I dimly understand that there's an entire industry of spandex and lycra that has to do with arcane subjects like "breathability" and cloth that molds itself to one's body mass. Variously remembered snippets of stand-up comedy suggest to me that those not already body-sculpted are advised to avoid them, and this seems prudent. But for a student gym, are old shorts and a t-shirt too much/too little? Are white socks gym attire, or has something changed since I've been last? What about shoes: black, white, striped, does it really matter?

As someone whose physical vanity can't normally be described as excessive (an exception should be made for suits, which I find more of a hobby than anything else), gyms are intimidating. In most situations I'd put together some outfit that combined my personal convenience with some aesthetic preference, and convince myself that the rest of the world can look elsewhere if they don't like it. (Needless to say, I'm not winning any "best-dressed" awards at Columbia.) But a gym seems to be an exercise in being looked at, and I find such nonchalance impossible there.

This summer wasn't so difficult, perversely because of the Japan factor. Wandering around as a foreigner can sometimes be annoying, but in the gym it's liberating. I wasn't going to buy the $250 worth of gymwear common to most of the other sweaty men in the weight room, but who cares if they stared at my t-shirt and old jogging shorts? I'm five inches taller than the average height, a completely different skin tone, and the only person trying to balance a bilingual dictionary on top of their magazine when using the treadmill. I had no illusions that I'd blend in.

Here it's more difficult. Between stylistic concerns, the normal comparative vanity that's involved in group exercise, and the fact that I really don't know much about how to do gym exercise anyway, I feel in need of some Virgil or Beatrice to guide me through the maze of machines and aerobic exercisers.

I hope most everyone has some area lilke this: a perfectly normal thing that they feel ill-equipped to deal with. It would make me feel vaguely less silly. Nonetheless, it's getting to the point where I have no choice but to solve the problem somehow. To quote the old Rodney Dangerfield line, "I'm so out of shape, when I die they're going to donate my body to science fiction."