Ready Steady Stop

I went to the gym today.  Actually that’s such a remarkable event, I’m almost tempted to stop there.  I don’t want to dilute the achievement by wittering on inanely.  But when has that stopped me before? 

For the first time in five months, I got my lardy arse to the Shiny Land of Stretching, Bending, Pushing, Pulling Machines.  I didn’t want to calculate how much my ninety minute workout actually cost given my monthly subscription but in the same way one can’t help but watch The Jeremy Kyle Show or pick a scab, it didn’t take too long to work out that my hour and a half’s sweat had set me back a couple of hundred pounds.

And so I sat, obscured by the mist of the steam room, invisible or ignored by the clutch of middle-aged women chatting about manicures and MRSA and the elderly man in cycling shorts with his phlegmy cough, and reflected on the benefits of my membership.  In my four years I’ve acquired a fat arse and long legs, my hair hasn’t grown back, I’ve had seven conversations with strangers but three of them concerned an unidentified stain on the Hip Flexor machine and another was simply informing me that my trunks had split and that was more pointing and giggling than actual words, I’ve had a scuffle over the lockers and an embarrassing swelling during an ill-judged Pilates class. 

With a drop of perspiration hanging off my nose, this catalogue of achievement didn’t feel very impressive.  I made a New Year’s Resolution: I would stop going to the gym.  Moreover, I would stop paying for not going to the gym.  I felt as though I was on a running machine to Emmaus. 

I approached the desk with convicted glee.

“Afternoon” I said cheerily.
“Awright” replied the sixteen year old peroxide blonde behind the counter without looking up from her nail filing.
“Yes.  I’d like to cancel my membership.”
“Please.” I added as though somehow they were doing me a favour or more accurately, I was doing something wrong.

‘Yer what?’  Asked the girl.  Not aggressively so much as utterly baffled.  As though I’d spoken to her in Klingon. 
“Well, I’d like to cancel my membership, please.  You see, I’ve had a baby, not me obviously, but my wife, we’ve had a baby and, well, I don’t get home from work until late and...”

As I was speaking, the girl, let’s call her Lizzi because that’s what it said on her badge, reached over and pressed a large red button on the desk.  Her voice boomed out across the complex,
‘Sarah.  This is a message for Sarah.  There’s someone here who wants to cancel his membership.  Can you come to the front and sort him out?  Ta.’

The entire building went quiet.  A sprig of tumbleweed appeared magically and rolled across the desk for dramatic effect.  The runners stopped running, the rowers stopped rowing, the elliptical trainer stopped training elliptically.  Even the weights waited.  I thought I heard distant sirens and expected the shutter to slam shut at any moment.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t want to cause a problem”
‘Sandra will deal with you.’  Lizzi said having not looked up once.  I thought about defusing the situation by complimenting her beautiful cuticles until I realised all her nails were false.  I wondered why she was filing them at all but suspected she would regard any questioning about Beauty Therapy as inflammatory.  I tried another tack.
“Sandra?  I thought you said ‘Sarah.’”
‘Yeh.’
“Ah.  Good.  I see.”  I didn’t.

We waited fifteen minutes. Silent except for the slight scratching of emery board on acrylic.  When I looked around I occasionally caught the eye of other gym members.  Most were dumbfounded, a few looked at me disgusted, others with what I took for admiration.  One mouthed ‘Help me!’ as he tapped out S-O-S with the weights bolt.

Eventually Susan arrived at the desk.  I suspect Susan ran all the classes.  She was nothing but bones in that horribly gaunt and terribly manic All-I-Do-Is-Exercise way.  She was also just less than five foot high, a characteristic I assigned to overly abrasive treadmills.

‘Can I help you?’  she said meaning the complete opposite.
“Yes.  I’d like to...I’d like to...Yes. I’d like to cancel my membership.  Please.”
‘I see.’  She didn’t.  ‘Why?’
“Well you see my baby’s had a wife and my home’s late and I often get work, you see.”  My legendary communication skills coming to rescue as ever.
‘What?’
“Well, it just seems a lot of money to spend on something I don’t use very often.”
She looked at me with utter repugnance.
‘So you can’t afford it?’
“No.  I mean yes.  I mean that’s not really it.”
‘Because you look like you need it.’
“Sorry.  What?”
‘Bit haggard.  Bit flabby.’
“I’m sorry?”
‘Well, it’s not like you don’t need it.’
“Thank you.”

At least the mild abuse hardened my resolve.

“So, what do I need to do?”
‘Well I’d start with cardio.’
“I’m sorry.  What?”
‘To get rid of the flab.’
“No. I mean to leave.”
‘Oh.  Well, you’d have to give us notice.’
“How much?”
‘Quite a bit.’
“Yes, I’m sure but can you possibly be more precise?”
‘Hmm.  I’m not entirely sure but I think it’s thirty one days and a whole calendar month before the penultimate payment.’
“I’m sorry.  What?”
‘And you’ll need to fill out these forms in order to not breach your contract.’

She handed me a hundredweight of paper.  I realised I was getting nowhere.

“And what would happen if I just cancelled my Direct Debit?”
‘Erm.  We’d cancel your membership.’
“Smashing.  Goodbye.”

At home, thirty minutes later, one direct debit finished, one Mars bar eaten and enjoying my first few moments of freedom:  I felt better already.

Comments

[LondonGirl]

Like the direct approach. These gyms need to realise we don't need them. And anyway, a brisk walk round the park with S pushing the pram regularly will sort you out. and put more of a smile on your face too

[jon]

You bl**dy fool!!!

They'll find you, oh yes - they'll find you ..... Do you seriously think you can outrun them?!

No-one escapes. No-one.

(good move!)

[Carlton]

Not sure that I don't need a gym, LondonGirl. Certainly need the exercise but the whole pram idea is a good one. I might invest in one of those all-terrain buggies and try a bit off roading too!

Jon - Thankfully no-one knows who I am and I have taken the precaution of moving house and surgery. Got to go there's a knock at the door...

[Mrs RW]

Been there, done that, bought the sweatshirt.