I don't have a lot of money. I can barely afford the Internet connection that allows me to inspect bankofamerica.com and see just how badly the weekend has fucked any chance I had of paying the rent that was due six days ago. I have mastered the art of T hopping and my diet consists exclusively of potatoes, chicken patties, and occasionally Goldfish (when I really need that energy boost).
Throughout the sacrifices that a typical post-college lad has to deal with, staying in shape is still important to a lot of us, and I'm no exception. So I have two options. I could go running, but I guess the tax dollars that we spend to plow the sidewalks of Boston only apply to the ares of the city that AREN'T within a five mile radius of my apartment. I could do try to do push-ups and sit-ups in the comfort of my own room, but the collection of Natty-Ice cans and clothes that I refuse to pick up leaves me little room to do these exercises with perfect form. I even tried P90X for a few days before I wanted to shoot bullet holes all over Tony's perfect, saturated-fat free body.
So being unable to exercise on my own , I had no choice but to join a gym. But if you refer to Paragraph #1, my wallet has more expired Shaws cards than it does cold hard cash. So I had to really squeeze pennies, and I had to squeeze them fast while I still had the muscle strength to do so.
And guess what I found. ALL BOSTON GYMS ARE WAY TOO FUCKING EXPENSIVE. Seriously. My buddy told me to join Boston Sports Club because "it's good for people on a budget." Believing that he was a good friend, I went to the front desk to check it out only for some DUDE who looked exactly like Mark Whalberg in Invincble to tell me it would cost me $60 a month to join his little steroid-of-the-month club. Thanks, but no thanks not-Mark Whalberg. Not only was it $60 a month but there was a 75$ start up fee, a $30 dollar waiver, and -- are you fucking ready for this -- $25 "towel" fee. If I wanted to get raped I would've...I would've....well I guess would've joined your gym and did squats right in front of your heavy-breathing juiced up clientèle.
I was ready to give up and invest in a body-suit until one day I was walking in Government Center and saw something I couldn't believe:
"Planet Fitness: Join Now! Only $10!"
I passed out. Not because I was in disbelief of this deal, but because the bright yellow and purple coloring of their logo gave me an epileptic seizure. Once I came too, I walked in.
The guy at the front desk of Planet Fitness couldn't have looked anymore different than the guy at Boston Sports Club. He didn't look like a young Mark Whalberg, he looked like a pre-pubescent Mark Summers. But hey, I'm far from a Dwayne Johnson myself so I didn't judge, and took this difference in appearance as a good, non-raping sign.
Of course there were some additional start up fees that they threw at me, but in the end the price was right. I was now a Planet Fitness member. And believe me, from every day thereon I was constantly reminded that I was a member of the cheapest gym in Boston.
First off, Planet Fitness apparently can't afford the licensing fees for any more than maybe eight different songs to be played over their sound system. And I guess they spent too much money on the indigo siren that tells you not to judge people for any of these songs to be quality beats. And these songs are a far cry from the Theme to Rocky IV. Instead of inspiring you to work your ass off to max and end the Cold War, they make you want to just give up on life and leave. I'm sorry but there's no way I can improve my body while listening to Evanesence and I sure as hell can't do any self-improving activity when the Click Five are playing.
The closest thing I can compare running on the Treadmills to is working in a sweatshop. Seriously, you're packed like sardines. You're waiting for the indigo siren to go off like a steam whistle, and think it does before you realize that the high pitched noise was just the chorus of that fucking "She's Bittersweet / She Knocks Me off Of My Feet" song again.
Last, but dear-mother-of-god not least, the locker rooms. One of my first blog posts I talked about how male gym-goers in Los Angeles will go to extreme lengths to hide their genitalia from you. If its just you and the average LA male in a locker room, he will literally pull a sixth grade move and go into the bathroom stall to change. People in LA don't want you to know that it's even possible for them to be naked.
Planet Fitness in Government Center is completely 100% opposite of that. At any given time, there is more exposed scrotum than there are available lockers. And keep in mind, this a ten dollar a month gym whose entire marketing campaign is aimed towards people who've never worked out a day in their life. Not exactly the kind of people that could at least make a living out of being naked. So, you're seeing a lot of lumpy, orbs of flesh walking around with their man-parts swigning every which way without a single ounce of shame.
And the worse the body is, the more they want to be naked around you. There are literally people who go to Planet Fitness who spend more time idling nude in the locker room than performing any sort of anaerobic activity.
And yet despite the crowded treadmills, the Senses Fail, and the horrifying truths of what the human body can look like, it doesn't seem like I'll be leaving Planet Fitness anytime soon. It's just too damn cheap, and since no one at the front desk actually checks your ID, I actually haven't paid in two months and am still going. Perhaps one day, I'll set my sights higher, and join a decent gym, but for now I'm settling with you, Planet Fitness. I have no other choice.
Thanks for reading y'all, and good things could be coming soon!
Ya boy,
-Andrew G. / Geno
He's saying what we're all thinking
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