Sunday, March 19, 2006

It's not you...'s me. Wait, that's not right. It is you. I wanna break up.

This morning I show up five minutes before spin class and see two new spinners plus all the usuals there and I think, I've got little chance of getting a spin-worthy bike. And I was right. I tried one for a while. It kept slipping, causing the crest of each pedal push to become unstable, loose and out of control. That's tough on the knees. Also, it was so tight that I couldn't recover on it without stopping altogether.

This is ridiculous, I thought. First of all, why should I have to test a bunch of bikes to find one suitable for a work out? I'm not a bike tester. I don't get paid for that. I left in a huff, refusing even to wheel that heavy bastard back to it's place on the other side of the gym because I'm also not a warehouse worker and as the bikes do basically nothing else but collect dust because all but five are usable, why should I do my gym owner the favor of returning it to its place after it failed me during class?

It's time to quit my gym. I mean really. How long have I been listening to my weary cycle instructor promise that new bikes or fixed bikes or new ball bearings or whatever were just a few days away?

I believe I've been waiting about five months, and just as in my personal relationships, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me for five months straight, I'm in definite need of therapy.

And a new gym. So, let's make that this weeks' project.

In search of: gym with goood cycle equipment, at least three spin classes a week, yoga classes and I don't want to pay more than $25 a month. Now then, people, disperse. We'll meet back here with what you've found. Good luck.


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