Gym Membership

Michael Since I'm not getting any younger, and supposedly—-according to Angelika, who keeps trying to convince me-—I'm putting on weight, I decided one Saturday to hop in the car and sign up at a fitness center. The place is called 24-Hour Fitness, a chain with locations in many U.S. cities, and, as the name suggests, it’s open 24 hours a day. So, if I wanted to lift weights at 3 a.m., I could-—which was important to me, haha.

I'm not up-to-date on fitness trends, and it's honestly astonishing how computerized the equipment has become these days. The center has hundreds of machines, including the classic exercise bikes, though now they’re all computer-controlled. When you sit on one, the first thing you do is enter your age and desired heart rate. Then you start pedaling, and the computer adjusts the resistance to make the ride just hard enough to gradually raise your heart rate—measured with clever technology via the grips you hold—until it reaches the target. It maintains that rate for the preset duration without exceeding it.

While pedaling, countless measurements flash across the screens: how many calories you’re burning per hour, how many miles you’ve already ridden, and so on. There are also Stepmasters, where you climb an endless rolling staircase—-all computer-controlled, of course. Then there are steppers, where you stand on two pedals and simulate climbing stairs. With these, you can program the computer to create mountain routes, alternating between steep sections and flatter ones.

In the admission fee, two hours with a "personal trainer" were included, which is the latest trend in America. You don't just go to the gym; you hire a trainer who exclusively takes care of you, calculates the heart rate at which exercise is healthy, and creates a program based on your wishes ("I'd like a flatter stomach and pumped-up arms like Til Schweiger"). The trainer accompanies you every step of the way and continuously gives tips on how to have a more effective workout.

If you don't want to jog on the street, you can run on a treadmill in the fitness center, where a conveyor belt runs at a preset speed, and you can also set uphill and downhill routes. The first time I stood on the treadmill, it was too slow for me at first, and I wildly pressed the "faster" button, not knowing that the treadmill accelerates very slowly but stores the button presses. So the treadmill kept getting faster, and I started running faster and faster until I finally had to hammer on the "slower" button like crazy to avoid being catapulted off the treadmill.

While working on the machines, many people read books or listen to Walkmans, and there are also TVs everywhere. The lighting provides passersby on the street outside with a funny sight of people pedaling on treadmills and similar equipment. By the way, my personal trainer is named "Juan Carlos," just like the King of Spain, and he's Mexican, tattooed from head to toe, which I found hilariously funny. And when he showed me all the equipment in the weight room, all the muscle men there greeted him, all of them grim-looking tough guys I wouldn't want to meet in the dark. But little Michael wasn't afraid at all, because he had his personal trainer with him, la la la! Back to the studio, Angelika, take over!