Saturday, April 29, 2006

24 Witless...uh, I Mean Fitness

Ok. I have decided that I cannot do any of this exercising crap unless I have a drill sergeant like person screaming at me that I can do it! Or at the very least I think I need to be in a room with other out of shape people, so that when I want to quit, I look at them, and think if they can do this, I can too.

So, I joined a gym. And by the way, stay the hell away from 24Hour Fitness. Even if you want to join a gym, run don't walk away from this place. My sister and I made the mistake of going in there to "just check it out". Shit, you can't even look around without giving them your name, address, phone number, urine sample, first born, and a lock of your hair for DNA purposes. We were trapped there for almost two hours!

First they made us fill out the paperwork mentioned above. They then had us sit down at a desk to find out why we want to join a gym. Uh duh? Because I want to work out. It sure as hell isn't because I want to hang out with all the "in shape" people to make myself feel better. How much weight do we want to lose. By what date? Then they wanted to measure our body fat index. What?! Yes, you heard me right. Our body fat index. I had no desire to do this. My body fat index is nobody's business but mine, and I really don't even care to have this knowledge anyway.

But the kicker was when I asked really the only thing I had wanted to know: How much? He wouldn't even tell us that! He then had to go into this long thing about why we need a personal trainer. That anyone who doesn't have a personal trainer is just wasting their time. Oh and did I mention that the personal trainer is $999.00 for 20 sessions. And the first two sessions are for menu planning? Holy shit! I'm pretty sure that my eyes were as big as saucers. I told him right then and there that the personal trainer thing was not going to happen. He still wouldn't give me a monthly price until I told him how much I was willing to pay.

Ugh. I ran out that door. Then we were forced to go to the Olive Garden to eat breadsticks to make ourselves feel better. I hate that.

So the gym I ended up joining is great. A little more money per month than that "other place", but it's bigger, they are nicer, they didn't try to cram a personal trainer down my throat, and they have a deli/juice bar that also serves beer. Cool huh?

No comments:

Post a Comment