Going to the Gym

VCU prides itself on many things, not just the art school and basketball team. One of them is the glorious Cary Street Gym.


Aww see isn’t it pretty? It used to be a warehouse and still has the historical feeling (built in 1891) with its awesome brick interior.


I know you wish you went to VCU now. Unless you go here now, in that case, you know how lucky you are!

So today, after classes were done and I watched a crazy preacher tell us how we’re all going to Hell and a guy dressed as Jesus yelled back at him, I decided to go to the gym. And at first I see the many high quality machines and suddenly I’m so inspired to work out


My inner Michelle Tanner is ready for 80’s workouts and 80’s workout clothes

So then I go upstairs because the bottom floor is pretty intimating plus it’s mostly girls at the top. It’s less crowded up there as well, and I just hate seeing people I know as I “workout”. So I get on the elliptical or one of those crazy machines and of course I’m stuck between that one girl who’s taking it a bit too seriously at level 8 for forty-seven minutes and after five minutes on level one I’m like


And so I look to the other side and the chick next to me is walking on the treadmill and she’s on the phone.  Uhm excuse me? And going hardcore on the bike in the back is a middle aged Asian man wearing his suit. I’m so confused what’s going on so I just watch Ellen and put in my ear buds and listen to music and end up trying to sing along when Fall Out Boy plays but I’m so out of breath I just look like a lunatic mouthing all the words. So after I eventually leave thanks to the marathon runner who made me feel like a lazy pants, and I retreat downstairs. Which actually isn’t that much better. It’s filled with guys who cut the sleeves off their shirts and lift in the middle of the floor to show off, those random middle aged men who are wearing jeans and more girls who take it way too seriously, except for now they’re with their equally (extremely) fit boyfriends. Of course, as I do the weight machines,  the girl who used them in front of me set them all to 175 lb from the 60 she actually used when she’s done with each machine to make herself feel good.


Maybe you heard Cary Street Gym has a rock wall. Well, they do. Here’s a (kinda awful) picture of it. It’s mostly just used by hipsters and art students (wait the art students are out of the school of the arts building?). But it’s kinda fun to watch them until they notice you’ve been staring the whole time so then you kinda hide your sweaty face and pray you didn’t lose any hope with him because he was really cute and sorry but he has a nice butt.

Lately, for some reason at the entrance, there’s been a table of those little trial packs of tampons and pads. Why? I’m not exactly sure, but the funniest part is the sign that hung from the table that said “Women only” Don’t boys run away when you say tampon?

After feeling good about myself and all those calories burned, I go home and this happens:


Praising Jesús Christo for putting Sweet Frog half a block away from the gym

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