Clubbin' For Health

I'm considering joining a gym. Not one of those public gymnasiums that all cities are sponsoring nowadays, but a privately held, bright primary colors, meat-market-style gym. It has to do with a desire to shave down this gut, which in turn has to do with my ongoing midlife crisis, now entering its sixth year.

For a long time I belonged to Bally's, and I gotta admit I had a sweet deal with those guys. In the eighties they offered this insane rate - something like a $400 initiation fee but $60 a year membership dues. That didn't last long, but I got in on it, and they honored the commitment for a long time. Up until 2005 I paid it despite never actually going to a Bally's, because it was 4 miles from my house in the wrong direction. I didn't want to give it up, because even though I was getting nothing for the money, it was a bargain nothing.

Now that I'm considering other local gyms, I'm lamenting that deal all the more. The best deal is this tiny l'il gym near the freeway that will cost me about $300 a year. Next best deal, $400 and change. All so I can can stave off the icy hand of decay for a few extra years, and maybe, just maybe, catch the eye of a college girl; who will cooley appraise me before turning her head and chuckling silently to herself, as she tones up for her date with Lars, the trainer. If I'm smart I'll just stick with plan B, which is a daily run around the neighborhood except when it's too cold. Healthful, but not much fun.

Either way, it's cheaper than a Testerossa.