Canandaigua YMCA
And so another Wednesday (February 21, 2007) comes and goes, meaning yet another visit to the dreaded Canandaigua YMCA.
I try to go Monday, Wednesday and Friday, just like I did the PT-gym.
Still haven’t been tossed out, and doubt I ever will be.
Unlike the PT-gym, it isn’t a medical-facility, so protecting patient-confidentiality isn’t an issue.
The Y has various rules, but no prohibition against writing a blog.
There also isn’t a prohibition against cameras, although I don’t think I’d stride in there with my D100.
Most of the rules pertain to nasty language and intimidation.
If Jack told someone to “suck up, old man,” they’d probably toss him out of the building.
And all his noisy remonstrations about lovingly-lobbed rotten-tomatoes would fall flat.
Every time we go (and Linda is staying home in case the postmaster calls — daughter is about to have a baby) the same people are there.
There is the wiry little dude in the Willie Nelson bandana, and Amazon-woman, all sweaty and reeking of rippling muscles.
“These people must live here,” Linda said.
Amazon-woman is an employee, but then there is the skinny, 40-ish graying pug that reaches for the ceiling with five-pound dumbbells while blasting the elliptical, and rages at the rowing-machine trying to destroy it.
I make fun of these people, but they won’t become wards of the state. I don’t think bandana smokes either — although he’s trying to project a Marlboro-Man image and rides a Harley.
We determined it’s best to arrive around 11 a.m. Apparently earlier is a crunch.
I’ve always been leery of joining the Y. It goes back to a negative experience I had in Erlton during early childhood.
When I was about six or seven, my parents insisted I go to a YMCA daycamp at the nearby American-Legion. The Y didn’t have a facility yet, so the daycamp was at the Legion-Hall.
The Legion-Hall was rather frightening, at the end of a dark cul-de-sac in the deep woods. It also was a tap-room; totally frightening to one from my sheltered background.
The daycamp was held at picnic-tables in the woods, and consisted mostly of games and pursuits I wasn’t interested in.
Seeing this, the leaders tried intimidation — things sure are different nowadays. I was threatened with abandonment in the woods.
There also was the issue of it’s name. It’s called the “Young-Mens-Christian-Association.” ZEALOT ALERT!
Already too many negative experiences at the hands of Christians.
So I always stayed away from joining the Y. Joined the Rochester YMCA at Transit, because Transit was paying for it.
I also had been persuaded by a really nice bus-driver named Dan (I forget his last name — he was an Elvis-fan).
I went for about a year, and even swam in their pool once.
But I was never really comfortable there — too many macho equipment-crunchers, many of whom were bus-drivers who liked to score points.
The Canandaigua YMCA is kind of the same way — the users at the PT-gym were hardly using the equipment at all; whereas the Y-users are blasting away.
But the Y has better equipment; the PT-gym’s treadmill was an antique, and wouldn't monitor heart-rate — the Y’s will.
And unlike the Rochester-Y I don’t know any users at the Canandaigua-Y.
I try to go Monday, Wednesday and Friday, just like I did the PT-gym.
Still haven’t been tossed out, and doubt I ever will be.
Unlike the PT-gym, it isn’t a medical-facility, so protecting patient-confidentiality isn’t an issue.
The Y has various rules, but no prohibition against writing a blog.
There also isn’t a prohibition against cameras, although I don’t think I’d stride in there with my D100.
Most of the rules pertain to nasty language and intimidation.
If Jack told someone to “suck up, old man,” they’d probably toss him out of the building.
And all his noisy remonstrations about lovingly-lobbed rotten-tomatoes would fall flat.
Every time we go (and Linda is staying home in case the postmaster calls — daughter is about to have a baby) the same people are there.
There is the wiry little dude in the Willie Nelson bandana, and Amazon-woman, all sweaty and reeking of rippling muscles.
“These people must live here,” Linda said.
Amazon-woman is an employee, but then there is the skinny, 40-ish graying pug that reaches for the ceiling with five-pound dumbbells while blasting the elliptical, and rages at the rowing-machine trying to destroy it.
I make fun of these people, but they won’t become wards of the state. I don’t think bandana smokes either — although he’s trying to project a Marlboro-Man image and rides a Harley.
We determined it’s best to arrive around 11 a.m. Apparently earlier is a crunch.
I’ve always been leery of joining the Y. It goes back to a negative experience I had in Erlton during early childhood.
When I was about six or seven, my parents insisted I go to a YMCA daycamp at the nearby American-Legion. The Y didn’t have a facility yet, so the daycamp was at the Legion-Hall.
The Legion-Hall was rather frightening, at the end of a dark cul-de-sac in the deep woods. It also was a tap-room; totally frightening to one from my sheltered background.
The daycamp was held at picnic-tables in the woods, and consisted mostly of games and pursuits I wasn’t interested in.
Seeing this, the leaders tried intimidation — things sure are different nowadays. I was threatened with abandonment in the woods.
There also was the issue of it’s name. It’s called the “Young-Mens-Christian-Association.” ZEALOT ALERT!
Already too many negative experiences at the hands of Christians.
So I always stayed away from joining the Y. Joined the Rochester YMCA at Transit, because Transit was paying for it.
I also had been persuaded by a really nice bus-driver named Dan (I forget his last name — he was an Elvis-fan).
I went for about a year, and even swam in their pool once.
But I was never really comfortable there — too many macho equipment-crunchers, many of whom were bus-drivers who liked to score points.
The Canandaigua YMCA is kind of the same way — the users at the PT-gym were hardly using the equipment at all; whereas the Y-users are blasting away.
But the Y has better equipment; the PT-gym’s treadmill was an antique, and wouldn't monitor heart-rate — the Y’s will.
And unlike the Rochester-Y I don’t know any users at the Canandaigua-Y.
Jack is my younger brother.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:50 AM
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