By Brendan McLaughlin
Gyms, health clubs, whatever you want to call them- they irritate me. From the lack of eye contact at the front desk to the vaguely menacing Michelin men at the weight racks to the empty paper towel dispenser in the locker room, it’s a demeaning experience. And it’s not like I have a choice. Without rigorous exercise, a news anchor’s rear end will eventually grow to the size of his ego- which is friggin’ huge. But now I love going to the gym. Why? (cue the Village People). Because I go to the Y-M-C-A.
For my entire adult life, I shunned the “Y” under a misconception. I never understood why I should join a Young Men’s Christian Association when all I wanted was a good schvitz. And it really didn’t seem right to meet those young men wearing a towel. It wasn’t until I moved a few blocks from a Tampa YMCA that I discovered what I was missing.
The “Good Morning” “ Have a great workout” is a little scripted, but genuine. Employees actually ask you if they can help you find anything. They play classic R and B on the sound system for crying out loud. If Marvin Gaye can’t keep you on that treadmill for another 3 minutes, just get bigger clothes. It’s clean, well stocked with paper towels and they sell lemon snow cones to support the daycare center. The mystery is how a non profit club can make you feel like a visiting dignitary while a for-profit health club that spends millions on advertising has customer service that makes the post office seem like the concierge desk at the Ritz Carlton?
The YMCA is a little more expensive than many fitness clubs, but your monthly dues subsidize those who can't pay the full freight. No one gets turned away for lack of dough. I also suspect that some of the kids in swimming class or playing basketball might be doing something less constructive with their spare time, like say, testing the effects of an M80 on my mailbox.
It's fun to stay at y-m-c-a
It's fun to stay at the y-m-c-a
Young man, are you listening to me?
Young man, what do you wanna be?
