ROBIN WRITES: Keeping the Planet Fit
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By Robin Garrison Leach
I like to support causes I believe in; there are so many worthy ones, and the least I can do is contribute what I can to help.
I think it started with the Jerry Lewis telethons for Muscular Dystrophy each Labor Day weekend. I watched as a teen, sprawled on the couch, while live entertainment mingled with sad stories.
Jerry begged me to CALL NOW, and I vowed to be a giver when I grew up.
All my adult life, I’ve rounded up my totals at stores to help various causes, given to many important charities, and donated blood.
There’s joy in knowing I can make a difference. And as long as the cause is legit, I feel proud of myself for my caring nature.
So, it stands to reason that I have chosen to give money, every month, to a place right here in town. It’s not necessarily a charity, but I consider it that, since it’s business that benefits others. And that’s a noble cause.
I am a card-carrying member of Planet Fitness. It has been accepting monthly contributions from me for quite a while.
And because I’ve only taken advantage of my membership once or twice, I have chosen to consider myself a part of what keeps the gym open for other, more worthy members.
At first, I joined Planet Fitness for selfish reasons. I thought I needed muscle strengthening. Cardiovascular training. Fat burning. Other healthy things. For some reason, I foolishly believed I would go there several times a week.
I paid a great introductory rate, stopped by, and oohed and ah-ed at the machines, the atmosphere, and the empowering essence of the very air inside the cavernous, metal-centric layout.
Friendly children only a few years older than my grandchildren showed me around, proudly pointing here and there: lockers, changing rooms, exercise charts, QR codes, sectioned rotation areas.
I followed behind, nodding often and trying to remember as frantically as my brain was able. I didn’t want to appear old (although I’m sure my tour guide intuited it), so I didn’t ask any questions. I’d been to a gym before. I could figure it out.
On that first visit, I chose a gleaming gray bicycle, climbed aboard, and pedaled to nowhere for an indeterminate amount of time at an unimpressive speed. Once I began to feel tired/sweaty (soon), I pulled my legs from the straps of the pedals and studied the readout on the machine.
I’d traveled a measly mile or so, on flat ground, with wheels that spun with the ease of a marble on oil. Not impressive.
But it was comforting to know I could still whirl my legs and hold onto a handlebar. It reminded me of riding my bike as a girl…except it wasn’t fun.
I wrangled my leg from the fork of the frame and hop-skipped onto stable ground. My behind was achy from the seat, and my thighs muscles whimpered.
Now, I know exercise is beneficial to my health. My heart needs to beat faster now and then, because it’s probably becoming a tired metronome whose rhythm has been unchanged for years.
If only I enjoyed it. Craved it like cookies. Looked forward to it like an afternoon nap.
So, I have chosen to consider my monthly fee—which is thankfully small—as a charitable donation that helps keep the facility open for other more motivated exercisers. The cost each month also leaves the door open that I MAY go again SOMEDAY.
Until that day comes, as I drive by using only slight foot flexing and a limp grip of lazy hands, I smile to know my money is going to someone else’s good use.
Nothing feels better. Except that afternoon nap.
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■ Robin is a freelance columnist who lives and writes in Quincy, Illinois. Contact her at [email protected].
