Friday, April 21, 2006

Ricardo, could you hold my Evian while I jazzercise?

Well, I bit the bullet, accepted that I wasn't ever going to my ghetto, faraway, $19-a-month, grunting-meathead-on-every-machine gym, and joined a new gym. And by new gym, I mean the gym to end all gyms. It's like the gym that walks into the cafeteria and goes, "You have GOT to be kidding me," and then starts its own cool gym table, and all the other previously cool gyms just look on in awe. It's about five minutes from my apartment, in an inexplicably ritzy part of town, where even the mall is a little intimidating. The woman at the front desk told me that the time I was there today, around 9:30, is the busiest part of the day, because most of the members are stay-at-home moms. And in this weird part of town, stay-at-home mom doesn't evoke images of dinner on the table at six, attending all the school plays, or my own mom. It's more like infant pilates, death by tanning booth, and Botox. They had a step class going on, and the front desk woman actually sort of apologized for it. "I guess some people are still into step," she said, rolling her eyes. I'm sure Tae-Bo is a dirty word, too.

No real joining fee, but $91 a month. I KNOW! And that's with my teacher discount! Who am I, Rockefeller? For $91 a month I feel like someone should go FOR me and then do my grocery shopping.

I'm so out of my league, it's hysterical. I should only be a part of this society as part of their community outreach project. But I'm busting my way in in a desperate attempt to force myself to go to the gym. I'm doing this if it kills or bankrupts me, whichever comes first.

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