I never thought I’d want to be a member of a high-end fitness club. I felt perfectly comfortable exercising at the local recreation center. But Richard decided he wanted to start working out and, due to his desire for all things boiled and sanitized, would only join what I had judged by its cover to be The Ritz of all health clubs.
We went to meet with the club’s Concierge a few weeks ago. We were given the grand tour of the amenities which ended with a waft through the dimly-lit health spa. The smell of eucalyptus, mint, and lavender married with a hint of Madagascar cinnamon made me feel like a cartoon character whose feet drag along the ground while she’s lured by a visible wisp of smoke in the shape of a finger, beckoning her to follow it. I was impressed. I didn’t want to be.
Due to various variables…
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