Knowing Where My Towel Is

So, after something like ten years of studiously avoiding enrolling in a gym, my wife got me into one today – at least for a trial run. Yes, she’s at least as persistent as I am stubborn.

To be entirely honest, I loathe the whole thing, from the meat-packing business model (pay extra for towels?) to the logistics of going there, dealing with lockers, performing arbitrarily idiotic exercise routines (inside the pool, of all places) and coming back again.

Which is why I prefer doing exercise on my own: Besides all the walking I’ve been doing for the past year or so, we’ve had an elliptical trainer in the house for several years, which I now use regularly – I slip into something comfortable, set the PSP atop the thing, and while away an hour or so exercising and watching Futurama episodes, three meters away from a decent shower and all the towels I can possibly need.

I guess it’s all about control, really; that and my not having enough free hours on a day to do it otherwise. The gym does, however, have a pretty nice bubble bath right next to the pool.

Time will tell if that’s enough of a selling point.