Curves for Men
Okay, so I go to Curves. I know, I know, they're the Dominos Pizza of the fitness world, and Gary Heavin (come on, now, surely he didn't get born with that name?) funds antiabortion forces with 10% of his profits... But that works out to four cents of my money a month, and I give more than that to pro-choice activist groups, not to mention having been active in the movement for ages. So I'm not quitting, make of that what you will.
Meanwhile, I've given some thought to what it is that is so damn appealing about Curves. I've only been a member for a month, now, almost. But I haven't missed one single workout, and I haven't had to struggle for it, either. And before I joined, from the little I vaguely KNEW about it, it sounded pretty rigidly fascist: go around a circuit of machines, in the exact order prescribed, for the exact length of time prescribed, doing the exact range of motions prescribed. Plus a lot of rah rah, sis boom bah cheerleading which generally makes me ill.
But. But its appeal may in fact BE that lack of a need for independent thought. To be honest, after work, the last thing I want to do is consider in depth HOW I want to exercise. It's exhausting, and I'm exhausted, and stressed. Curves requires absolutely no thought at all. You listen to a tape played over some pounding soundtrack purchased from late night TV for three easy payments of 29.99 -- the fifties, the sixties, the seventies, eighties, and nineties. The recording tells you when to start, stop, check your pulse, change stations, etc. There are no decisions to make, except perhaps which machine to start with.
It's relaxing. It removes stress magically. It only takes 30 minutes. It's really that last thing. As a teacher, I can get there by 4 PM, and be home by 5 PM. That rocks. It removes all the toxins of stress and tension and anxiety, it makes me loose and relaxed and endorphin-filled, and it does it all in a Taylorized fashion that is efficient and fits into our sped up, downsized world. There are no lockers or showers, just two curtained changing booths and cubbyholes for your gym bag.
Anyway, the franchised mushroom growth of this niche-filling gym fascinates me. I can easily imagine that men might like something equally easy (and cheap) as a fitness routine.
And voila, I was told today by the franchise owner at the Curves I go to (because I asked her) that there IS such a thing. There is a Curves for men.
It's in Chicago, apparently. Instead of being called "Curves," which men don't want, it's called "Cuts," which is appropriately muscle-focused and MALE. Instead of being a circular arrangement, it's a horseshoe (connotations of racing? Of luck? Of an escape route?). Instead of facing inwards, towards the other women working out, the machine stations on this horseshoe shaped circuit face OUTWARD, the better to avoid any guy LOOKING at any other guy. Instead, there are TVs around the perimeter, overhead. Instead of a gentle stretching routine at the end of the timed circuit... there are punching bags.
I couldn't MAKE this shit up; it's really true -- well, actually I am taking it on faith, not having been to one or read an article about it myself. But I trust the woman who told me about it. I think the gendered implications are hilarious, myself.
maeve66
Meanwhile, I've given some thought to what it is that is so damn appealing about Curves. I've only been a member for a month, now, almost. But I haven't missed one single workout, and I haven't had to struggle for it, either. And before I joined, from the little I vaguely KNEW about it, it sounded pretty rigidly fascist: go around a circuit of machines, in the exact order prescribed, for the exact length of time prescribed, doing the exact range of motions prescribed. Plus a lot of rah rah, sis boom bah cheerleading which generally makes me ill.
But. But its appeal may in fact BE that lack of a need for independent thought. To be honest, after work, the last thing I want to do is consider in depth HOW I want to exercise. It's exhausting, and I'm exhausted, and stressed. Curves requires absolutely no thought at all. You listen to a tape played over some pounding soundtrack purchased from late night TV for three easy payments of 29.99 -- the fifties, the sixties, the seventies, eighties, and nineties. The recording tells you when to start, stop, check your pulse, change stations, etc. There are no decisions to make, except perhaps which machine to start with.
It's relaxing. It removes stress magically. It only takes 30 minutes. It's really that last thing. As a teacher, I can get there by 4 PM, and be home by 5 PM. That rocks. It removes all the toxins of stress and tension and anxiety, it makes me loose and relaxed and endorphin-filled, and it does it all in a Taylorized fashion that is efficient and fits into our sped up, downsized world. There are no lockers or showers, just two curtained changing booths and cubbyholes for your gym bag.
Anyway, the franchised mushroom growth of this niche-filling gym fascinates me. I can easily imagine that men might like something equally easy (and cheap) as a fitness routine.
And voila, I was told today by the franchise owner at the Curves I go to (because I asked her) that there IS such a thing. There is a Curves for men.
It's in Chicago, apparently. Instead of being called "Curves," which men don't want, it's called "Cuts," which is appropriately muscle-focused and MALE. Instead of being a circular arrangement, it's a horseshoe (connotations of racing? Of luck? Of an escape route?). Instead of facing inwards, towards the other women working out, the machine stations on this horseshoe shaped circuit face OUTWARD, the better to avoid any guy LOOKING at any other guy. Instead, there are TVs around the perimeter, overhead. Instead of a gentle stretching routine at the end of the timed circuit... there are punching bags.
I couldn't MAKE this shit up; it's really true -- well, actually I am taking it on faith, not having been to one or read an article about it myself. But I trust the woman who told me about it. I think the gendered implications are hilarious, myself.
maeve66