Gymsanity

I’ve invested a great deal of time and thought over the years into sneaking visiting relatives into gyms. Restrictive guest policies combined with the crazy cost of one-time gym passes means there’s real pressure to try and outthink the front desk staff.

My uncle is a master in this area. He’s one of those guys who needs only some kind of identification – I’ve seen him use a library card – to talk his way past the turnstiles. My uncle’s basic strategy is to just keep moving. When he’s greeted at the front desk, my uncle immediately asks for a towel, then exploits the confusion.

There are also successful variations of the two-in, one-out method. This tactic is modeled after the fraternity approach to college football games. Two people enter a stadium with legitimate passes; one person stays, while the other walks back out with two passes in his pocket, ready to retrieve someone from the outside. Here’s how this works at the gym. You’ll first check in at the front desk, then loudly forget something in your car. You give your card to your relative waiting outside, and stride back through with nothing, having already shown your bona fides.

Of course, there’s always a chance that the front desk will be empty. Or better yet, the attendant simply doesn’t care.

Yesterday, my mother and I drove to my gym with only my valid gym card and a local resident guest pass - totally inapplicable in her case. During the ride over, we rehearsed all kinds of stories and contingencies to get her through the gate.

At the turnstile, I scanned my card and she strolled through. I scanned my card again and I strolled through. We both nodded to the woman behind the desk and headed toward the locker rooms.

Just keep moving.

Checking out a new gym is a bittersweet experience for me. On the one hand, I enjoy walking the gym floor, seeking out the latest equipment as well as old favorites. On the other hand, I despise the used car salesman approach to membership.

I’ve learned to consider unreliable any promises other than what I can see with my own eyes. One gym I joined told me they were on the verge of replacing a whole room full of aging equipment – it’s already on order really. Two years later, of course, the gym closed down before importing even one new machine.

Then there’s the salesman who insists on putting me through some kind of workout. Needless to say, I’m not warmed up, I’m not in my gym clothes, and if I wanted to leave in a sweat, I’d already have joined.

I’ve also come across salesmen who behave as if my very presence is an imposition. I don’t really understand this sales technique, although I guess it’s similar to the cat string theory approach to dating.

A couple tips: First, show up early, say before 9:00 a.m., and the sales staff won’t be at their desks yet. The teenager at the front desk will be happy to let you explore the gym unmolested. Second, if you like the gym and do get into negotiations, be sure to haggle over the initiation fee. Almost always, if you’re prepared to join, they’ll deal.

Last week, my gym closed unexpectedly, forcing me to go find a new club. At my gym of choice, I realized it wasn’t the sales manager who was out of line, but the gym members themselves.

This gym must sit near an old age home, as my transaction was interrupted twice by geriatrics. First, this wrinkled old man burst through the office door, outraged by a woman on the treadmill using her cell. Fair enough, except his grievance wasn’t that the woman was talking on her cell, but that the woman was talking on her cell in Spanish. Moments after the sales manager threw this guy out, a second graybeard, gasping for air, came waddling through the door as fast as he could. Although it takes this guy 15 minutes to rise from a couch, he demanded that the manager go move a fan into – wait for it - the yoga room.

I think I’ll work out there at a different time of day.