Too Many Options

My friends and I went to a health fair at work, mainly to get free candy and toothbrushes. In the process, we also received a three-day pass to the Philadelphia Sporting Club. On Wed., Celia, Molly and I decided to try it out. We were given a brief tour of the 198,098 square foot facility. It houses a pool, sauna, steam room, massage parlor, gift shop, food lobby, Pilate's room, yoga room, boxing ring, squash and racquetball courts, an indoor track, and acres and acres of locker/shower rooms. In the locker rooms, you can freely use the following: white towels, shampoo, spray on deodorant, hair dryer, body wash, lotion, tampons, shower caps, and pink razors. We felt very luxurious. The only drawback was that the locker rooms and cabinets are these square areas that aren't very large and there were many women there who were in various stages of undress (or completely undressed) and just milling around and chatting. I am not a completely self-conscious person, but I do find it difficult to change into work out clothes in the midst of a dozen other strange women.

It was then that I realized problem number two: I had forgotten my sneakers. The only footwear I had were these pair of black laceless, rubber soled slip ons. However, Celia assured me that no one would notice. She lies. We decided to take a class called I Will Kick Your Butt Plus Pantomime. It became clear almost immediately that the most difficult part of the class would be seeing how I could keep my shoes from slipping off my heels during lunges. We did a series of odd moves, including lots of punching and pushing away of invisible balls (?). Celia stayed for about 20 minutes and then laughed her way out of the room. I endured, despite the fact that I was in danger of hitting myself in the face with my own fist when the instructor increased the tempo by 105%.

The following day, we bravely returned to take a different class called Pilate's and Sitting on a Small Rubber Ball. This class involved a very gentle version of pilates--I was so unbelievably happy to discover that we weren't going to be asked to do roll backs. The last 15 minutes, we were each given a red or yellow rubber ball, a little smaller than a soccer ball and told to sit on it. From there, we used the ball to massage our gluteal and leg muscles. In the midst of it, I glanced at Celia and my head almost exploded from having to suppress a fit of junior high laughter. It occurred to me that I live in a society that has way too much money and way too many options and that none of them really should consist of exercise on a small ball.

If I had a little more money to spare, I guess I might join--with my job discount, it's $84 a month, which is expensive but not prohibitive. The people were very nice and, aside from the stark nudity, the amenities were pleasant too. But I don't know if I could justify that kind of pampering to myself, especially when the gym at work is five minutes away.

To the left, you will see the move the Celia hates the most.