The source of this trend is the cold grading standards in university sports courses. The sprinting results, precise to two decimal places, determine whether the physical fitness test can be passed smoothly, and may even affect scholarships, eligibility for awards, and even a certain invisible threshold for graduation. On ordinary days, students are busy with papers, experiments, clubs, or immersed in the virtual world of their dormitories, and physical exercise is often pushed to the margins of life. However, when the countdown for the physical fitness test begins, everyone seems to be awakened by a collective consciousness, and their bodies and will are forcibly pulled back to reality by the system. On the playground, those last-minute crammers are both ridiculous and real, forming a unique picture of campus life.
The Absurd Daily Life of the "Last Ditch Culture"
In the week before the physical fitness test, the sprinting craze on campus can be described as a form of performance art. On the playground in the early morning, students gather in groups, wearing a variety of sneakers—some are brand new trendy models, while others are old shoes covered in dust—discussing the secrets of "scientific warm-up." Some earnestly share "arm-swinging techniques" learned from short video platforms, while others mimic professional athletes' leg-stretching moves on the sidelines, grimacing due to their stiff muscles. Even those who usually can't be bothered to climb stairs are now swearing to "run into the top ten" in the physical fitness test, as if a week of intensive training could reverse the long-term consequences of a sedentary lifestyle.
This "last ditch culture" is not only reflected in the frenzy of sprinting but also permeates all aspects of campus life. The playground before the physical fitness test resembles a microcosm of university life: procrastinators, under the pressure of deadlines, unleash astonishing motivation. They download running apps, create "daily sprint plans," and even discuss the impact of "high-carb diets" on sprinting performance in the cafeteria. However, this temporary effort often carries a hint of self-mockery. Some gasp for breath after completing a lap, collapsing on the grass and lamenting, "If I had known I should have run a few more steps regularly, I wouldn't be in such a bad situation now." Others jog while live-streaming, joking that they are there to "experience the Olympic atmosphere."
This absurd collective behavior reflects a certain survival philosophy of students under institutional constraints. The physical fitness test is not only a test of the body but also resembles a psychological battle with the rules. Students know that last-minute cramming is unlikely to bring about a qualitative leap, yet they still enthusiastically engage in this "last ditch effort." Perhaps this behavior itself is a faint rebellion against the rules—within the framework they must adhere to, they exhaust all means to carve out breathing space for themselves.
A Dialogue Between Body and System
The sprinting craze for the physical fitness test also reveals the subtle and complex dialogue between the body and the system. University physical education aims to cultivate students' physical fitness, but its standardized assessment methods often make students feel that their bodies have been alienated into a set of data. The timer for sprinting results acts like a modern "judgment tool," quantifying, ranking, and evaluating each person's physical abilities. In this context, students' sprinting practice is no longer for health or enjoyment but a forced "task." Every sprint on the playground carries a hint of anxiety about passing.
This institutionalized body management inevitably brings to mind Michel Foucault's discussion of "disciplining the body." The university physical fitness test, as a disciplinary mechanism, incorporates students' bodies into a controllable system through quantitative standards and mandatory assessments. However, the fervent practice of students in the week leading up to the test is also a form of "rebellion" against this discipline. They attempt to find space for survival in the gaps of the rules through last-minute efforts. Although this rebellion is small, it carries a unique vitality—at the moment of sweating on the playground, students seem to rediscover the presence of their bodies.
However, this sense of existence is often fleeting. After the physical fitness test, the playground quickly returns to its usual desolation, the dust on the track no longer rises, and students return to their familiar desks and screens. The body seems to have completed its "mission," being re-encased in the laziness of daily life. This cycle plays out every year on campus, like some eternal recurrence.
The Subtle Psychological Game
Behind the sprinting craze lies a subtle psychological game among students. The playground in the week before the physical fitness test is not only a training ground for the body but also a venue for emotional release. For many, the pressure of sprinting comes not only from the results themselves but is intertwined with broader academic and life anxieties. The multiple pressures of university life—academic competition, social troubles, and uncertainties about the future—are materialized into repeated sprints on the track during this week. The sound of panting while running seems to be an externalization of inner anxiety.
Interestingly, this collective anxiety also inadvertently fosters a subtle sense of group belonging. Students, who usually fight their own battles, cheer each other on, complain, and even "supervise" each other's warm-up actions on the playground. Small groups by the track become temporary "comrades," sharing their helplessness and expectations regarding the physical fitness test amidst banter. A usually taciturn engineering student might draw closer to a peer due to a word of encouragement during a run; a key member of a club might shed their halo on the playground and join everyone in striving for "passing." These moments, though brief, add a touch of warmth to campus life.
At the same time, the sprinting craze prompts some to reflect on their lifestyles. Some discover that their stamina is far from what it was in high school while running; others feel a long-lost sense of exhilaration in the moment of sweating. These experiences lead some students to reevaluate the relationship between their bodies and their lives. A few even continue to run after the physical fitness test, transforming the brief sprints on the playground into a daily habit. However, for most, this reflection is often fleeting, quickly drowned out by the busy demands of academics and life.
The Diversity of Life on the Track
The sprinting craze on the playground also sketches a portrait of campus life. Students of different personalities and majors display entirely different postures on the track. Art students maintain a sense of "aesthetics" while running, their steps light as if performing; engineering students focus more on "efficiency," calculating stride frequency and length before running and analyzing data afterward; liberal arts students may excel at "psychological construction," using self-deprecation and motivational quotes to encourage themselves to cross the finish line. Then there are the "Buddhist-style competitors," whose purpose in running is not to achieve results but to feel a sense of "participation," leaving the track content after completing a lap.
Interestingly, the sprinting craze has also given rise to some campus "legends." For example, a senior, through a week of intensive training, surged from the "edge of failure" to "first in the class"; or a senior girl, who accidentally fell while running but insisted on getting up and crossing the finish line, became that year's "inspirational icon." These stories are passed down by word of mouth at the edge of the playground, adding a touch of drama to the physical fitness test.
The diversity of life on the track also reflects the complexity and variety of university life. Everyone is coping with this sudden "physical challenge" in their own way. Whether through serious sprints or playful jogs, every step on the track carries the subtle tension between the individual and the collective, the rules and freedom.
The Echoes of the Finale
The sprinting craze in the week before the physical fitness test is ultimately a brief carnival. The dust on the playground will settle, the noise on the track will dissipate, but those sweat and laughter, in a sense, become part of university memories. Perhaps years later, when graduates recall their university days, they will remember a certain autumn morning when they gave their all on the track to pass, and laughed with friends at the edge of the playground, mocking each other's "poor performance."
This collective frenzy triggered by the physical fitness test is both absurd and real, both helpless and vivid. It reminds us that university life is not only about books and exams but also about the youth spilled on the track, those moments of struggle between rules and freedom. The finish line of the sprint may just be a number, but the process of running towards it is a complex journey about the body, mind, and life.