Gym carnies: Yo Adrian!

Gym carnies is an irregular series about the curious characters and intriguing individuals that people my gym. After a summer away from the gym, I'm heading back, but this time to a gym by my new office with a whole new set of gym carnies to rant about.
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I showed up at the new gym knowing that I'd have to put up with some kind of membership representative first. You know these people: they look jacked on the juice, are super-excited about everything, and have the cunning ability to back you into a corner to sign up for a two membership because they "like you so much, I'll give you my friends and family discount." I don't like these people. I know exactly what I want in a gym and I don't need you to force your gym down my throat thankyouverymuch.

When I presented my one-day pass at the front desk they immediately call up a membership representative. The guy who shows up could not have fit the profile any better. He wore a skin tight t-shirt and had pecs like balloons. He shook my hand right, flashed a coverboy smile, and instantly started dropping words like "bro" and "dude." For some reason Rocky Balboa saying "Yo Adrian!" flashed into my head, and it stuck. I was calling him "Yo Adrian!" in my head for the rest of the day.

He took me on a tour of the facility, which I have to admit was pretty nice. Although I always find the locker room portion so friggin awkward. Here we are, two fully dressed guys (me still in my jacket from outside), walking into a room full of bucknakedness. And me, charged with the role of attentive potential member, have to look around examining the place's details like the ample rows of lockers and the old men who walk around without a towel. Ew.

At the end of the tour we sat down at Yo Adrian!'s desk and he gave me the run down of what membership costs. I immediately thought: all you did was walk me around the place and you're already talking money. Jeez. Fortunately, a while back I discovered the trump card to get you essentially out of any uncomfortable situation, just say the words "I have to talk to my wife about this." Bam. It's over. No one can come back to that.

After that I quickly changed into my running clothes and hopped on a treadmill. During the whole run I felt like I was cheating. It felt so artificial and cheap, as if I was used to eating Kobe steaks and then suddenly someone slipped me a hamburger. I didn't like it, but I knew that it was pretty much my only option for winter running.

Afterwards I took a shower and headed back to work. The whole ordeal lasted 90 minutes (including Yo Adrian!'s spiel), which I could probably get down to 60 minutes and fit conveniently within my lunch time. Ha, after all these years of thinking it was impossible, here I am seriously figuring out how to get my runs in during lunch.

That evening I go home and actually do talk about it with my wife. Turns out her office has a killer deal with another gym--one that has locations close to my office AND her office AND our apartment. So we opted for that one instead, which meant I had to let down Yo Adrian!--not easy.

Yo Adrian! started calling me the next day. First he called during a lunch with clients, then he called a second time while I was in a meeting--how he managed to call me twice when I wasn't available is beyond statistical probability. I tried calling him back, but he had left for the day and this gym didn't have a voicemail system. So I wrote him a Dear John (Dear Yo Adrian!?) email telling him that another gym worked out better for me and Wifey; it wasn't his fault, it was our's. He was great and the time we had together was really special. It's just that we like this other place better, and yes it's cheaper, but we hoped someday he would be able to forgive us for our weakness and price conscientious.