Extreme Juicehead

For the past two years I have been lucky enough to have access to a very private and very exclusive gym.  By private and exclusive, I mean that I live in a condo building that is essentially a retirement home and it has a fitness centre in it.  Since most people over the age of 90 do not lift weights nor do they run on treadmills, and since the majority of the tenants in my building are in fact over the age of 90, the condo gym is always empty. This gym situation is a dream for a fitness novice like myself.  I have enjoyed working out in the privacy of my very own, very unpopulated gym.

My stint of feeling like a celebrity with my very own private gym is coming to an end.  My lease is up as of August 31st and I am moving in with my boyfriend who does not have a fitness centre in his townhouse. Thus, my search for the right gym membership begins.

Across the street from my soon-to-be home is an Extreme Fitness.  My boyfriend belongs there, so I figured with the abundance of free guest passes he has I should give it a test run...or two.

Extreme Fitness Test Run #1:

On Tuesday, my goal was to try a Smart Start Cycle class at Extreme Fitness.  I have no clue what the class is like but I figured it would be something that my boyfriend may be into so he would come with me and I would not have to face the intimidation on my own.  Unfortunately, the class started at a later time than I originally thought.  Since we had plans later in the evening, we decided to just do a "regular" workout instead.

What a stupid decision. My workout started off great. I got on a cardio machine that is sort of like an elliptical and StairMaster in one.  It's actually a really good workout and burns something like 12 calories per minute and is a lot more fun that running on a treadmill.  Once I was all warmed up and ready to do some weights and floor exercises, I followed my boyfriend to a different area of the gym.  This area was my worst nightmare.  It was like MTV's The Jersey Shore gone wrong.  I know, I know, you are probably thinking is anything worse that the The Jersey Shore? The answer is yes.

I was in a room filled with juicehead Guidos wearing cut off jean shorts and their younger sister's baby doll t-shirts.  Was I expected to lift weights with these roid freaks??? I attempted to do some reps with 10 pound weights but the meat head freaks kept getting in my way. So, I found a secluded corner, put a mat down and pretended to so some ab exercises until my boyfriend was done his workout.  On our way out he pointed out another weight room.  Apparently, the one we were in is not extreme enough for some members.  I peaked into weight room #2 only to find even more roided out freaks with veins protruding from their necks while they benched 1000 pounds. We left and I vowed never to go back.

Extreme Fitness Test Run #2:

I know I said I vowed never to go back but it bothered me that I let the juiceheads from the day before intimidate me.  So, I found a half hour Hard Core Abs class to go to and headed back to Extreme Fitness for a second attempt.  I got on the elliptical-like machine again to get in some cardio before I headed up the stairs to the abs class.  To my delight, the abs class was great! Maybe it wasn't "Hard Core" enough for the juiceheads, but the fact that there were none in attendance was fine by me. 

My Conclusions:

I will not be joining Extreme Fitness.  While my second attempt was more successful and less intimidating than my first, I cannot see myself going regularly to a gym where juiceheads roam free.  Sure, there are iron freaks at any gym, but the abundance of them at this particular Extreme Fitness is enough to make me want to look elsewhere. This point aside, the gym has a reputation of being a meat market and many of the girls who workout there show up like they are ready for a night out on the town- flawless hair and makeup and perfectly pressed lululemon outfits.

My search for a gym that fits me continues... In the meantime, I will be enjoying my retirement villa's facilities while I still can.