24-Hour Fitness

"Do you like to be challenged?"

"Yeah, sure, of course."

"Well, for just $99.99, you can get five one-hour sessions with a personal trainer. What d'you say?"

About two weeks ago, I signed up for a seven-day free trial at 24-Hour Fitness. And so for a week straight, I politely declined offers for protein shakes, personal training sessions and a paid membership. Meanwhile, I enjoyed all the benefits of membership without shelling out a single dime. Really duped the system, I did.

Two days after my free trial expired, Julie, the sales agent who was put in charge of my account, called me up with news of a promotional $29.99 monthly rate. Craving "challenge" and wanting once again to "be part of the club," I decided to sign up. Dollar-a-day health? Fine. I can afford that. What? There is a $49.99 initiation fee? Well...hmm...let me think about this for a second. Oh! It's only $49.99, and it's a one-time fee. Access to locations across the country and across the world. Well, in that case, sure, sign me up!

Okay, I admit it. Julie, the little devil, she got in my head.

Inside the gym are twenty treadmills lined up against a window that overlooks a busy street. Each one of these treadmills is outfitted with a control panel that lets you regulate your pace and incline, as well as monitor your calories burned, distance run and time elapsed. On top of each control panel is a 15-inch LCD screen. They probably call it a personal entertainment center, but I skipped out on the informational tour so I'm not really sure. All you have to do is plug in a set of earphones, and you can browse through any of the three channels that they offer (CNN, ESPN and some other cable channel), and enjoy watching TV with audio while getting a full-body workout. Or, if you're not one for TV, you can bring along your iPod and listen to your very own music library during your workout.

I don't own any earphones, I am a bit ashamed to say. So, as I jog on the treadmill, I watch the number of calories I've burned climb slowly through two-digit totals and finally break into three-digit territory. I'm all business when it comes to taking care of my body, let me tell you. Meanwhile, I also browse through the TV options. Today, there is AC360 on CNN, a college football game on ESPN, and an episode of Family Guy where Peter Griffin has two plungers suctioned on to his man-boobs such that he has a pair of truly killer nipples. Anderson Cooper, muted by my lack of earphones, is rendered comical as he gazes ever so intently into the camera.

Here, I think to my nerdy self, is negative liberty at its very best. Freedom to choose without having to impose or intrude on others. My privacy and my personal space so fiercely protected. Never will I, in this gym, need to compromise my television-viewing or music-listening preferences. Never will I have to suffer through the eccentric musical tastes of another.

Once, during a particularly busy hour at the gym, I had to wait in line to get on a treadmill. I tried to make small talk with the girl that was waiting in front of me, "Is it always this busy at this hour?" I didn't realize, but she was listening to her iPod, so she couldn't hear me but could tell I was trying to ask a question. Removing one side of her earphones, and making it very clear how much of a hassle this was for her, she looked at me questioningly, accusingly. "Nevermind," I said apologetically. Peeved, she looked away, put her earphones back in and resumed her waiting, arms folded.

On to the weights. In the area for free weights, the walls are lined with full-length mirrors to feed the vanity and insecurity of the area's image-conscious frequenters. I am doing bicep curls today, so I position myself in front of the mirror and start counting reps. I exaggerate my exhalations to emphasize my effort. When I discover the faint outline of a vein popping out from my upper right arm, it is all I can do to stop myself from screaming out loud in self-congratulatory elation. Weights equals dates, I remember my college buddy telling me. I quickly look around to see if anybody else noticed my personal triumph. Nope. Nevertheless, I know that through furtive glances or sometimes outright staring, everybody is checking everybody out. There might not be much in the way of conversation to be found at 24-Hour Fitness, but let's make no mistake, this is a community of health-conscious individuals. There is no escape from being looked at here.

When I was teaching in Ecuador, my students were always curious to hear about what it is like to live in America, but I was always at a bit of a loss as to what to say. Once, we were watching the movie About Schmidt together as a supplement to reading The Death of Ivan Ilych. There is a scene in the movie where Jack Nicholson's character walks into a Dairy Queen to buy an Oreo blizzard. "American culture is so weird!" one student blurted out. We laughed disgustedly at the scene together. The interaction between Jack Nicholson and the DQ employee was so commercial, dehumanizing, impersonal, scripted. The brightness of the colors, the oppressiveness of the DQ uniform, the confines within which the interaction took place...it was all so offensive and repugnant to the eyes of my Ecuadorian students.

Today, with a sweaty towel carelessly adorning my neck and shoulders, I mosey my way past customers, attendants and personal trainers, and, as I open the door onto Davis Street, I smile. "Well, kids," I think to myself, "this is what it is like to live in America."