The gym for the privileged

Over the past six years, I've belonged to five gyms. And that's not to say I'm that picky about where I workout, because I'm really not. All I need is an elliptical machine or a treadmill, free weights, and some space to do crunches and maybe a push-up or two--I do love a good exercise ball but that's just icing on the cake.

When it comes to working out, I'm a minimalist. Which is why the gym I belong to now is a bit overwhelming. Is it the fact that when you walk in the door the smell of rosemary and lavender waft through the air? Don't get me wrong, it smells peaceful and lovely and not at all like the sweaty damp socks mixed with the metallic smell of dumbbells (or the smell of the 17 meat heads likely named Blade, Laser, or Blazer at the Globo-esque Gym I belonged to first). Or is it because in the lobby and in the locker rooms there is actual art, fancy art? Or that when you change into your workout clothes, you hear classical music? Again, a far cry from the death metal I'm used to at most other gyms.

It's not the equipment, in that arena it's like an average gym--the weights aren't plated in gold or anything. Maybe it's the view. Yes, the gym has a view. It's situated in a building on a hill that overlooks the Space Needle, downtown Seattle, Lake Union, and on clear days the Olympic mountain range. Um okay, I'm used to mirrors. And as much as I love to see my haggard work out face chugging away on a treadmill--oh wait, I don't. And perhaps one of the coolest things about this view is that on the second floor of the gym, it's the "dimmed" workout room. I don't know if it's dimmed to create harmony and zen on the treadmill, or if it's for people that are self-conscious working out in bright fluorescent lighting, but they don't turn the lights on and in the morning or the night, you workout in the dark and you just see the whole city in lights. Hmm, the last gym I belonged to was actually a really nice gym, but it was in the basement of an Italian restaurant.

Yes, this is the gym for the privileged. And the only reason I have the privilege to workout there is because it is completely subsidised by work. I don't feel like I belong at the gym, which is crazy to me because I am a gym girl, a jockette. I actually feel like I need to have nicer workout clothes, make-up and a nice smooth ponytail to be there. But I don't, and I won't, and I just can't. So I will continue to be the girl at the gym in a rumpled old t-shirt, with stray hairs sticking out of my half ponytail-half bun, and will be the minimalist amid all the excess.

Note to self: All I need is an elliptical machine or a treadmill, free weights, and some space to do crunches and maybe a push-up or two... and maybe the smell of rosemary and the view of the Seattle skyline.