Five years ago I moved into my first one-bedroom apartment in the far reaches of Brooklyn, New York. Living roommate-free was a wonderful but expensive luxury, and in an attempt to cut back elsewhere on my monthly bills, I decided to join a nearby gym for the bargain price of five dollars a month. Henceforth shall I call this gym “Reggie’s.” I belonged to Reggie’s for a total of three months during which a) my wallet was stolen while working out, b) my ipod was stolen while working out, c) I noticed a sign in the women’s locker room which read, “If you getting sexually harassed or raped by one of our male members, please inform the front desk,” and d) I had it explained to me that I wasn’t allowed to wear above-the-knee shorts while working out. I’d arrived at the gym that day in what I believe are called “bootie shorts” along with a sports-bra and baggy tee-shirt, and was promptly told I would not be allowed to work out. The “bootie shorts,” it was explained, would be too distracting to the male members. They’d come to exercise, after all, and they needed to be able to concentrate.
So it was that I realized Reggie’s gym was not the place to scrimp and save. I showed myself out (bootie shorts and all) and joined Crunch Fitness. I joined a branch in downtown New York.
If Crunch Gyms are unfamiliar, picture, if you will, a standard, midlevel joint whose slogan is, “No Judgments,” but whose clientele is annoyingly fit and attractive.
Well, if I’d felt cripplingly scared at my five-dollar-a-month gym, I now felt cripplingly intimidated, and to cope – to avoid all that threatening-looking machinery – I decided to take the classes. Crunch is well-known for its class-selection, and for good reason: It has lots of them. Lots. Things you didn’t know were things: Soca ‘n wet, Fly Girls, Buddha Belly. Bosu Body, Tutu Fresh, and Hot Pilates. The list goes on.
Five years later, I’ve taken most every class available. I am, and please pardon the arrogance here, a bit of a connoisseur of The Crunch Class. Could I recommend the ones to take? Sure I could. Although what good would that do, really, as it’s pretty much an issue of opinion? What I thought would be more valuable – and more appropriate from all of us here at The Date Report – are suggested pick-up lines for the people in the given classes. Since, as I said, most of these peeps are annoyingly attractive.
Class description: You ride quickly on a stationary bike in the dark.
Suggested pick-up line: “You know what’s slightly less ridiculous than this? Riding outside, in daylight, on a real bike. Are you game? Then you should call me.”
Class description: You do frenetically paced ballet moves to hip-hop music.
Suggested pick-up line: “I love a man who loves ballet. It shows he’s secure. Do you think I’m secure? I mean, I am over age seven and wearing a leotard, am I not? Can you dig it? Then you should call me.”
Class description: You do brisk dance moves to Bollywood film soundtracks.
Suggested pick-up line: “So: I know you like Indian-themed exercise classes, but do you also like Indian food? I know it’s not the, ahem, sexiest of world cuisines, but so what? It’s delicious. And so are you. So you should call me.”
Class description: You do yoga moves with the specific intention of releasing strain from your lower back.
Suggested pick-up line: “What a coincidence, right? A couple of young folks like us, needing to loosen up out lower backs. What a cool thing to have in common. It’s like, if we got together, neither one of us would ever roll our eyes at the other person, and be, like, ‘OMG, why are you being such an old fogie and complaining about your back?’ Wouldn’t that be a breath of fresh air? I think it would. Also, I think you should call me.”
Sara Barron is the author of People Are Unappealing and the forthcoming Eating While Peeing: and other adventures.