The Gym. "I'm Back".

Okay. I did it.

I joined the gym.

Again.

It’s a Crunch Fitness center and it’s located in the lobby of my apartment building. I won’t have to actually GO anywhere to work out. I won’t have to get in the car and drive. I won’t have to bring gym clothes with me to work. I won’t have to go out in the cold.

I’ll only have to take the elevator down 49 floors and walk across a climate-controlled lobby. The convenience factor for this place is off the charts.
I shouldn’t have any excuses.

But I really need to join the gym. More than that, I need to actually GO to the gym and actually work up a sweat. Here I am:
Age: 48
Height: 6’ 2½”
Weight: 220 lbs.

This boy needs to do a lot of sweating.

The Crunch employee who signed me up was this very enthusiastic young thing named Crystal who spoke wayyy to fast for me to understand. I told her I was originally from Texas and my little Southern ears just couldn’t keep up with what she was saying; she was going to have to bring it down a notch. Ha-ha-ha. She tried, but eventually failed.

Crystal gleefully pointed out the new Stair-Masters they had. I thought to myself how ridiculous it was to be paying money every month to use a Stair-Master when I live on the 49th floor! I’ll bet most of those folks frantically bobbing on the Stair-Masters live in my 60-story apartment building and take an elevator and pay to use a Stair-Master.
Typical life in the U.S. really.

Apparently, all new members get a free session with a trainer. The last thing I wanted was to have some muscled-up dude named "Mace" watch me struggle with a 4 oz. barbell. That’s what happened every day in gym class and my life’s goal is to avoid anything remotely associated with gym class, thank-you-very-much.
“But it comes free with your membership!” chirped Crystal.

I knew that the “free” session with a trainer was just a ploy to have Mace sell private sessions. Besides, paying for my notion of a "private session" is a misdemeanor in Illinois.

I tried my best to tell Crystal that I really just wanted to be left alone at the gym.
No, I don’t want to do kick-boxing.
No, I don’t want to join the psycho-aerobics classes.
No, I definitely don't want to play adult dodgeball. Good god!

However, they do have this new type of aerobics call “Kangarooing” where you hop around on these springy-boingy shoes. That might be fun. Except I've learned the hard way that really tall people have a really high center of gravity. Springy-boingy activities aren't very conducive to an injury-free existence. It might be prudent to stay away from "Kangarooing."

I wish the music wasn’t so loud in that place! It made me nervous. Decades ago, it was disco music they played. Now, it’s all hip-hop, which as you know, I don’t consider music anyway. Because of the loud music and Crystal’s lightening fast speech cadence, I didn’t get most of what she was saying. I hope the loud hip-hop music won’t interfere with the Enya and Bach that I’ll be listening to on my iPod.
God, that’s sad.

Finally, after all the joining-up was completed, Crystal said, “So, do you want to work out now?”

I thought, “Are you kidding me?? It’s Sunday and I need a nap!”

Not a good sign.

Now, if I could only find some shorts that don't make me look like a total dork. . .