a return to form

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posted by tom / September 29, 2004 /

Well, it was nice, but not vast conspiracy nice. Lots of short brunette girls on elliptical machines; surprisingly little talk about controlling Hollywood. But the lap pool was only three lanes wide, and they shut the place down for all the holy days of the Jewish calendar, which I won't even pretend I could keep track of. Plus, the complicated scheme I had worked out -- under which I would belong to a suburban Maryland Jewish Community Center in order to get a discounted "commuter" rate -- seemed likely to unravel into angry charges of fraud and/or antisemitism.

So I had a look at the YMCA. It's a little farther than the DCJCC, but they have a full-sized pool. Better yet, they offer scuba lessons in it! My mom's been bugging me to take a self-defense class since I moved into the city, but I've resisted. Scuba seems like a good compromise. There's got to be a unit on sharks, right?

But the Y is a bit unusual. It's seven stories, which is impressive until you get inside -- then it's just confusing. The space seems to have been originally designed for office use, and the machines are scattered haphazardly as a result. I was not thrilled about the idea of having to remember that, say, the lat pulldown is over by the vending machines, or that towel service is in the copy room. Even weirder, the elevators don't all go to the same floors. There would definitely be a learning curve.

Fortunately, fate intervened and Charles won a three month trial membership to Bally's as part of Catherine's fundraiser at the Front Page. Since Charles already belongs to a gym, he was nice enough to give me his prize. My first visit was on Monday, during which I completed an exhaustive analysis of my fitness goals ("be fit") with a friendly guy named Darrell who I initially thought was a power lifter, but it turns out is just kind of pudgy.

Bally's is pretty good so far. There are plenty of intimidatingly jacked people, but only one or two obvious steroid abusers. And while it doesn't have a pool, it is pretty big, taking up the underground space of about a quarter of L street's 2000 block. Like a lot of gyms, it unfortunately looks like the decorators had their hearts set on designing a nightclub and had to settle for a fitness center. But once you get past the painted ductwork and techno music it's not so bad. I do miss the Arlington Y, though, and all of its trappings: the eerily-fit 50something ex-DoD regulars, exactly how you'd imagine the moms & dads of the cast of Top Gun to be; its halls filled with the smell of gym mats from before they stopped making gym mats out of whatever they make them from; and of course, its cheerfully fat personal trainers.

But I've got to put that behind me and focus on getting back into a consistent routine. I used to be one of those guys who'd get agitated and moody if I didn't get to the gym every couple of days. Until I can reestablish that endogenous morphine dependence, working out will be pretty tedious. But I'm glad to be getting back to it: even my knees and back marked the occasion of my first deadlift in a month with a celebratory "click", "click" and "pop". Today we're continuing the celebration by not going at all. Hurray for fitness!