My gym partner and I have been pretty consistent this semester, and as lifting heavy weights is only a passing distraction for me, I take almost every opportunity I can get to people watch. I've noticed a disturbing trend: A divide exists between male and female gym-goers.
It's an interesting little experiment in social interaction - Jane Goodall can have her gorillas.
On the male side of the room, sometimes there's not much difference anyway.
There are two halves to the room: one female, and one good. There are few crossings between the two sides, except on limited occasions. Girls usually intermingle to work on their legs, which doesn't usually anger the men, who are mostly working on upper body. A few daring spirits try dumbbells, usually ranging from 2.5 pounds to 12, maybe. Under no circumstances is a woman to use the bench. This is unwritten law; it just looks silly. I once saw three girls pumping iron on one bench. Not only did the tomboy in question need two spotters, there couldn't be more than 60 there to begin with and there was much simpering over breaking a nail.
Likewise, few men venture into the forest of treadmills, oscillation devices and Stairmasters that populate the female half of the room. The medicine balls are stacked near the yoga mats and exercise balls, where any female is free to demonstrate her flexibility.
They even have banks of televisions provided for them, giving them something to watch and listen to, in order to drown out the drone of the machines. Any man caught on the oscillators is branded as effeminate for the rest of his days.
In the middle of the opposing sides is the Rec Sports staff kiosk, just like in a Clint Eastwood western. Sans tumbleweeds, but still just as dangerous as it's the staff members who have control over the music, the most precious and valuable commodity to be had in the gym. Many of the students that are cast into this teeming whirlpool choose to tune out the sounds and emotions around them, focusing only on the mundane music they fill their cavernous craniums with via headphones. For the few who enjoy conversation, we risk the whims of XM radio.
At the beginning of every semester, the staff sets up a poll, which, out of the hundreds of XM stations, lists five options, three of them for recent music, one for the '90s and one classic rock station. Despite my best attempts to stuff the ballot boxes this year, I note that whenever a certain, dollish Rec Sports girl with platinum blonde highlights saunters in, the station gets flipped to the '90s. Next thing I know, I'm two inches away from death by bench press, and "Bye Bye Bye" blares out through the speakers. Way to throw off my groove.
Now, let it be said that I believe music has different moods, and for different moods there are different activities. I should not have to listen to Kelly Clarkson swear out violent revenge on the male race while gasping through the military press. Workout music should set the blood afire, put the adrenaline to flow, and angry girl music does not, and will not, accomplish this. Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased by the chains of slavery? I know not what course others may take; but as for me, Give me AC/DC or give me death!
In order to speak out for the masses, I've begun an underground revolution, using the weapons of the system against them: the comment box. Styling myself as "The Official Chapter of the He-Man Woman Hater's Club" or the "Anti-Hip/Hop Initiative," I've been leaving messages like "The song 'Disturbia' not only disturbs me, it reminds me of what a terrible actor Shia LaBeouf is," or "Hearing 'I Wanna Make Love Right Na Na Na' is not a sentiment I feel while working out, and I hope that you will be responsible and cease in your attempts to encourage others to do so."
This is the right and privilege of every man that has had to suffer through this sickening abomination. Surely we find ourselves in the middle of a great and terrible crisis, and as Thomas Paine wrote, "These are the times that try men's souls." I find we are called to and must follow the example of our forefathers and abolish this tyranny. Tomorrow night, I'm going to grab my tomahawk, put on the war paint, and dump the XM radio in the Rec Center swimming pool. Just like Paul Revere woulda done.
Joshua Nederveld is a journalism and German junior.
