My evenings typically begin with my daily trek across Ankeny towards Cleve. The sun is setting, the ducks are quacking and unbeknownst to me, a frisbee comes hurling towards my head with a sweaty player trailing behind. I quickly dive out of the way before I bolt past the rest of the team who are running to the beat of a Katy Perry song.

I came to this school with a deliberate choice to steer clear of sports and embrace life as a NARP (non-athletic regular person). Every day, I make a conscious effort to keep sports out of my daily routine. But the small size of this school forces me to acknowledge the presence of athletic culture.

I enter Cleve out of breath and shaken up, with the sole purpose of getting my mediocre Mexican food in the form of a quesadilla and leaving full. I step into line and into a puddle, marking the presence of the entire swim team in front of me, post-practice and ravenous. 

Once I finally get my food, I set out to search for a seat, but the last table has been colonized by a group of guys aggressively sporting “Whitman Baseball” caps and pants that are a little too tight. I give up looking for a spot when I notice the volleyball team walk through the doors and retreat to my room with my to-go box. 

Fast forward to the main event of the evening – the Whitman party scene. I’m dancing, lights are strobing and suddenly everything goes dark. A mob of basketball players, all well over six feet, gather in the center of the room. They cast their shadows while they stomp on people’s feet and unintentionally block the exit, causing mass outrage, especially when they’re missing that one player who’s a foot shorter than the others.

No matter how hard I try to distance myself from sports, it’s inescapable. There will always be interactions with ARPs. Athleticism is inherent to human nature. You cannot separate man from ball, and you most certainly cannot detach Whitman College from the campus athletics scene, except for maybe the golf team.