what you sign on for when you cut that tiny check.

let me just start by saying that i love the fitness place i've been going to: for starters, it's $20 a year.  A YEAR.  for finishers, it's $20 a year.  and for middlers, it offers classes early enough in the morning that i can go and get back in time before todd goes to work, so i don't have to figure out a childcare situation.

however, bargains aren't freebies.  which means there's usually some kind of compromise involved.

such as med balls that smell like hot dogs at best.

such as a playlist that includes a techno version of 'it's raining men.'

such as having to listen to al green and a joel osteen devotional during cool down.

such as not having an actual clock in the cycling 'classroom,' because the cycling 'classroom' is actually a small foyer off of a side entrance of a lutheran private school with some exercise bikes in it, so i have to keep track of the time by counting songs.  approximately 12 techno songs = 45 minutes of my life i can't buy back.  (cycling is the worst.)

all jokes aside, this place is actually kind of a godsend for me, since it only offers classes and i exercise best in a class setting (people to hold you accountable/subtly compete with) and at set times (no wussing out 20 minutes in), and also because twenty bucks a year is right in line with my set monthly budget for 'torture.'  i don't pay more than twenty bucks a year to get up at five a.m.  ask me for twenty-one dollars and i'm sleeping in, fools.