Looks like the Canandaigua YMCA it will be......
Yesterday afternoon (Wednesday, January 24, 2007), hooked up with two other errands in the Canandaigua area, we reconnoitered the Canandaigua YMCA.
We had to park in a tiny, cramped parking-lot behind the building; a parking-lot from the ‘50s. Belknap’s F250 would have needed two spots, and docking it would have been near impossible.
We then had to walk around the entire building, because what we thought was the entrance was marked as an emergency-exit — gongs will clang, sirens will whoop, the Fire-Department will be called, and various traumatic dramas will ensue.
While circumnavigating the building, I noticed the cornerstone said 1959, which seemed fitting, as the building was straight from the ‘50s — Springer Junior-High revisited — a low, flat-roofed brick building, with misted aluminum-framed windows, and a big white fluorescent-lighted sign on top with red-and-black lettering.
At the official entrance we were greeted by a nice receptionist that seemed older than us.
“We’d like to consider your exercise-equipment,” we said.
The receptionist was otherwise occupied, but directed us to the Nautilus-room.
It looked somewhat intimidating, and Bono was loudly serenading all-and-sundry: “BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM!”
There were at least five treadmills — only two in use — plus five recumbent bicycles; three in use.
Two girls were blasting furiously away on the recumbents; plus the treadmills could monitor heart-rate; by comparison the PT-gym’s treadmill is an old clunker, and can’t monitor heart-rate.
A young kid was earnestly cranking the bicep-machine.
Back at the receptionist-desk, the lady consented to show us around: first the vast gym with its basketball-court and running-track above, and then the pool (beastly humid, and at least 80°).
“I’d have to circle that track at least a ‘hundered’ times,” I said.
“22 and 1/3rd laps equals a mile,” she said.
Walking back, my wife asked “What if we’re seniors?”
“Well, I didn’t know you were seniors,” the lady said. “Senior-membership is substantially discounted.”
“We may not look like seniors,” I said; “but are.......” (Cue Bluster-King.)
So the two of us will cost half what it was at the PT-gym.
Plus the Y has much better equipment, and more of it.
What I really need is a treadmill and a recumbent.
They also have at least five step-machines, although they’re more like running than climbing steps. (A thick-legged girl was pumping away.)
And that’s just the Nautilus-room. There is a separate cardiovascular room with more machines.
I belonged to the Y in Rochester; Transit paid half my membership.
A bus-driver who has since died (he was older than me) used to show off on the bicep-machine. Another driver tried to max-out the quad-machine.
I also got to listen in the locker-room to frustrated fathers complaining about their teenage daughters. “I’m tempted to swat her one.” “Don’t!”
We had to park in a tiny, cramped parking-lot behind the building; a parking-lot from the ‘50s. Belknap’s F250 would have needed two spots, and docking it would have been near impossible.
We then had to walk around the entire building, because what we thought was the entrance was marked as an emergency-exit — gongs will clang, sirens will whoop, the Fire-Department will be called, and various traumatic dramas will ensue.
While circumnavigating the building, I noticed the cornerstone said 1959, which seemed fitting, as the building was straight from the ‘50s — Springer Junior-High revisited — a low, flat-roofed brick building, with misted aluminum-framed windows, and a big white fluorescent-lighted sign on top with red-and-black lettering.
At the official entrance we were greeted by a nice receptionist that seemed older than us.
“We’d like to consider your exercise-equipment,” we said.
The receptionist was otherwise occupied, but directed us to the Nautilus-room.
It looked somewhat intimidating, and Bono was loudly serenading all-and-sundry: “BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM; BA-BOOM!”
There were at least five treadmills — only two in use — plus five recumbent bicycles; three in use.
Two girls were blasting furiously away on the recumbents; plus the treadmills could monitor heart-rate; by comparison the PT-gym’s treadmill is an old clunker, and can’t monitor heart-rate.
A young kid was earnestly cranking the bicep-machine.
Back at the receptionist-desk, the lady consented to show us around: first the vast gym with its basketball-court and running-track above, and then the pool (beastly humid, and at least 80°).
“I’d have to circle that track at least a ‘hundered’ times,” I said.
“22 and 1/3rd laps equals a mile,” she said.
Walking back, my wife asked “What if we’re seniors?”
“Well, I didn’t know you were seniors,” the lady said. “Senior-membership is substantially discounted.”
“We may not look like seniors,” I said; “but are.......” (Cue Bluster-King.)
So the two of us will cost half what it was at the PT-gym.
Plus the Y has much better equipment, and more of it.
What I really need is a treadmill and a recumbent.
They also have at least five step-machines, although they’re more like running than climbing steps. (A thick-legged girl was pumping away.)
And that’s just the Nautilus-room. There is a separate cardiovascular room with more machines.
I belonged to the Y in Rochester; Transit paid half my membership.
A bus-driver who has since died (he was older than me) used to show off on the bicep-machine. Another driver tried to max-out the quad-machine.
I also got to listen in the locker-room to frustrated fathers complaining about their teenage daughters. “I’m tempted to swat her one.” “Don’t!”
posted by BobbaLew at 7:46 AM
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