I did it. I spent–oh–at least 25-30 minutes on the 2nd floor of Pottruck, the main gym at UPenn, this evening. It’s the weight-lifting floor. No girls allowed.
In all seriousness, I have never seen a girl on this floor. Except today, just as I was leaving. I swear she decided it was safe only after I broke the mold. I give myself far too much, completely unnecessary credit. Please note that this post thus far is dripping in sarcasm.
I learned two things:
a) My biceps brachii, brachiali, and brachioradiali are in terrible condition. I am as weak as a limp noodle.
2) The gym plays Christmas music on the second floor. Kids’ sing-a-long type Christmas music (“Rudolf” and the like). Meanwhile, pump up rock is being played on the other three floors. Why this discrepancy, I have no idea. Is there a new theory suggesting that forced exposure to carols can benefit the burly gym rats in our community?