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“Uno di piu, Marco — uno di piu!”
So shouted Lorenzo, the muscle-bound Italian who’d taken me under his wing at a Roman gym. We were doing shoulder presses, and his testosterone-fueled urging to do “one more, Marc — one more!” struck me as the only similarity to gyms back home. In gregarious Italy, health clubs are as boisterous as bars, and in the locker room full frontal was not only the norm but the expectation. When in Rome, I thought later as, tired of the funny looks, I threw my Anglo-Saxon modesty aside and whipped off my towel.