I blame women for this.

You and your so-called ‘standards.’ You’re so demanding. Every girl wants a guy who’s nice, smart and funny. Fine. But where do you get off making physical demands as well?

Sure, guys objectify women all the time. But we’re pigs. You’re better than that.

Unfortunately, it’s easier to meet women’s expectations than to change them. With that in mind, I went to the Ernie Davis Hall Fitness Center last week to sculpt my fluffy body into the mean, lean, loving machine I know it can be. Or, at the very least, I hoped to get people to stop confusing me with a pear.

Instead, I almost left in a stretcher.

The workout started like any other —I lifted some weights, ran on the treadmill for a little bit and then pretended to be injured for half an hour while I caught my breath.  

Of course, any workout is all for naught if you’re still squishy around the middle, so to end my gym session, I hopped on the inverted sit-ups bench for a few quick reps. As I diligently worked my keg of a gut into the six-pack I’ve always dreamed of, my abs seized up and sent a sharp pain through my entire midsection. I was cramping up.

This had happened to me before, so I knew what to do. I lay down on the bench, waited until the pain subsided and then tried to stand back up. The cramps came back, even worse than before. I doubled over in pain and laid myself against the machine, sprawled out in the middle of the weight room floor.

While I became progressively dizzier, light-headed, and nauseous, my fellow fitness center patrons continued their workouts, stepping over my lifeless body on their way to the bench press, rowing machine or other equipment. They, unlike me, were in good enough shape and had drunk enough water to continue exercising their way into the hearts and minds of young females everywhere.

Eventually, I tapped a nearby weight lifter on the ankle and had him fetch a facility employee, who brought me a Gatorade that I’m almost certain saved my life. Soon I was on my way home, ready for a night of rest and recovery from one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

As I rested in a bathtub filled with sweat, ice packs and my own humiliation, I couldn’t help but wonder what drove me to work my body to the brink of passing out.

Sure, I could kid myself and pretend general health is important to me —you know, because I eat wings four times a week for the high protein content. It’s not like my pick-up basketball career requires much physical training either.  

The fact is I work out so that women will find me attractive. And that’s why I nearly slept at Ernie Davis last Wednesday night.

Like I said, I blame women for this.

Danny Fersh is a senior broadcast journalism major and his columns appear every Wednesday. If you happen to see him sprawled out on the ground in front of you, please hand him a Gatorade, for God’s sake. Email him at dafersh@syr.edu and follow him on Twitter at @fershprince.