Globo gym.

Cinematic Moment: Come on and work it on out.

In a mad dash to be in tip top wedding shape (even though it could be another 10 years before the wedding), I have been going to the gym nearly every single day. This post isn't about losing weight or gaining muscles. It's about the gym itself. The one-the only-Planet Fitness.

The gym is a chain that touts itself as being the "anti-gym." A place completely free of judgment and meatheads looking to harness their 'roid rage into a work out. This in theory is a relatively pleasant and groundbreaking idea. Finally, a place to work out in which no one stares at you, judges the amount of reps you are doing or marvels at your leisurely 15 minute stroll on the treadmill posing as cardio! It's the lengths they take to enforce this idea that make everyday at the gym a Cinematic Moment.

For example, when you walk through the door, there is a blazing purple garbage can with a sign: Leave attitudes here. Seriously? I usually walk over and annoyingly toss something in to prove that I really am walking in judgment free. I never look other people in the eyes for fear they will report me to the woman at the front desk as a "judger." I curse Juicy Couture for making pants with words emblazoned across the butt just in case the girl next to me thinks I am judging the girth of her ass, when I am really just trying to read (which brings up the question of why she insists on communicating to the world that she is a "flirt" on her buttcrack...but at the risk of sounding judgmental, I will keep this between us.)

Then there are the large alarm systems, complete with flashing lights on every wall. These alarms are called "lunk" alarms. They are meant to intimidate any brave souls who should drop weights unnecessarily or grunt loudly during a workout, making them a "lunk." When I joined, I thought they were an adorable little marketing tool. "Planet Fitness really goes the extra mile to scare away those big bad lunks." Then I watched this. Now I live in fear of accidentally putting something down too loudly. I refuse to use free weights higher than 3 pounds. Thus, the reason I have to go back EVERY day--otherwise, I'll never see results!

PF is a bit like the Disney World of gyms. Or the Los Angeles. The list of things that aren't allowed is pretty strict, among them: cell phones, purses or bags, doo rags, jeans, sandals, hats, attitudes, water bottles filled with vodka (learned that the hard way...) They avoid conflict like the plague. They also hand out Tootsie Rolls at the desk and celebrate their members every month with bagel and coffee morning. For the record, this is a winning combo. Sort of insurance that they will stay in business by feeding us solid lard/carb combos. The attitude is always positive, team members are always smiling...even the air smells like joy. I half expect a whole cast of costumed characters to perform a choreographed treadmill dance complete with light show and lasers.

Truth is, I have a hard time really buying the idea of a gym with no judgment and no self-absorbed body builders. The men in the tank tops stay on their side and ogle the women who are desperate to stay positive and abide by the rules. Everyone still keeps up appearances. And I still wake up every morning at 7 am to be there.

(Photo above was the best/most ridiculous image produced when googling the phrase "Planet Fitness." If it's you or someone you know and you'd like me to take it down, drop me a line--and I totally believe you when you say it was cold in there.)