Being who I am, I was simply not happy with the arrangements. I suppose I wanted to avoid bumping into a colleague in the steam room. Or maybe it’s all the students that annoy me. Any excuse will do to avoid exercising, in other words. And I moved from the West End to the city centre, so its Oakfield Avenue location just didn’t seem that handy anymore.
So, I tried to find a gym closer to my flat. And that’s when I realised that health clubs make me sad. I took a tour of LA Fitness in the Radisson on Argyle Street. There were too many people there, all looking like the kind of people who say things like, “I work hard, but I also like to play hard.” There were dozens of machines packed into one dismal, grey open planned room, a dimly lit tiny pool room, and an overcrowded room for their spin class.
I suppose I’d been expecting facilities like the ones at Greens in Finnieston. Now, that is a gym. Well, okay, the time I went there I pretty much skipped the gym and went to the spa for a pedicure. But they let me use the pool, which was nice, and the Jacuzzi and steam room. And best of all, I got to use the changing rooms. These are not changing rooms for mere mortals. These are the heavenly wood paneled and frosted class filled changing rooms of the gods, complete with individual showers. No communal bathing at Greens, oh no.
But that points out the problems with my chosen mode of transportation, my feet. I am

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