It was my New Year’s resolution to go to the gym five days a week, and I accomplished my goal, for the most part. Spring Break body: check. In perfecting the art of picking heavy things up and putting them down, though, I learned a few things about the fascinating and intimidating building that is the Southwest Recreation Center.
I’m sure most of us can remember our first visit to the Southwest weight room. And unless you were a gym rat in high school, it was a visit most probably characterized by extreme intimidation. As someone who only recently began regularly going to Southwest, I feel particularly qualified to comment on some of the more fascinating creatures that enter this unique habitat.
First, you’ve got the most pervasive specimen: the bros. Usually seen traveling in packs of two or three, these frat dudes always seem to have mysteriously misplaced their sleeves. Whether they’re wearing matching frat tanks (cute) or just torn shirts, they’re clearly “too frat to care.”
Their established bromance means they often work out together. And by that, I mean they watch each other do repetitions and wait until it’s their turn. Personally, I don’t get it. I feel awkward enough being judged by strangers for how much weight I can’t lift, let alone having a friend there to stare at me while I struggle.
Then you’ve got the anxious sorority girls. They are most often spotted grazing near the leg machines or the lightweight dumbbell area. They, like the bros, travel in packs ranging from three to five. I can’t help but pity them and the look of sheer terror in their mascaraed eyes as they enter the weight room. While the bros are tolerant, these girls know their natural habitat is the cardio area. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at the frat guys as they stare the girls up and down as they walk past in their skintight gym clothes.
Less frequent but still prevalent are the buff hipsters. A seemingly unexpected combination, they have gotten past the fact that going to the gym is clearly too mainstream. These specimens usually travel alone and can most often be seen wearing offbeat tanks and cut-off jeans or khakis. Sometimes sporting obtrusively large “my-music-is-better-than-yours” headphones, they understand that standard white earplugs don’t deliver the sound quality needed to lift a dumbbell.
Then you’ve got the unnaturally huge “do-you-even-go-here?” weightlifter types. Often looking like they’ve already passed middle age, they have surpassed a level of muscle than can be deemed entirely natural. Not to mention the fact that they have tans that rival those of that weird-orange girl in your class. Often, they are seen wearing black wife beaters and sporting that thick weightlifting belt that supports their back and allows them to lift more weight than any God intended. Uh, because that seems like a good idea …
Lastly, there are the loners. This mysterious species of gym-goers usually come alone and remain indistinct from the crowd. Bearing standard black gym shorts and a T-shirt, they keep their heads down, discreetly take their drinks from the fountain, quietly observe everyone in between sets and try not to interfere with the intimidating “others.” Not entirely small, not entirely buff, this group is in that odd in-between stage where they want to be as big as the others, but in the meantime, want to remain as anonymous as possible.
As for myself, well, I guess I’m some weird combination of them all — sometimes comfortable like the bros, sometimes intimidated like the sorority girls, sometimes indifferent like the hipsters, but always unaccompanied like the loners.
So next time you’re at the gym, take some time to look, because you never know which animals you’re going to see.
Garrett Bruno is a political science sophomore at UF. His column appears on Thursdays.
