Thursday, December 07, 2006

Caught With My (Yoga) Pants Down

Dear Sports Center at Chelsea Piers,

It's time for us to have a little talk. We've been together now since 1999, and you know me pretty well. You've been suspicious for awhile now -- I've lost weight, I have a new spring in my step, and we're smack in the middle of a seven-year itch. So I just want to get it out in the open: Yes, Chelsea Piers, I'm cheating.

CP, I'll always love you the best, you know that. My affair with Equinox is just a locationship -- not a relationship. They don't have a sushi bar, or a climbing wall, or a full-size track and a sundeck. Obviously, you're superior in every way.

And yet, I think it's time for us to reevaluate our commitment. Because despite all your great qualities, you're just TOO HIGH MAINTENANCE. I'd say "It's not you, it's me," but let's face it, that's not true. I've dumped more than five figures into you over the past seven years, I've endured grueling daily commutes to Manhattan's absolute farthest western reaches, ALL FOR YOU. And yet you still refuse to give an inch: You're not getting any closer to the F train, and I finally realize, you never will. I've opened my wallet and heart to you, and what have I gotten in return? Nothing but a world of grief from the M14 bus.

Baby, don't be mad! Don't be that way! We can still be friends. I'm not going to cut off your alimony just yet, and I'll come see you on the weekends when I have hours to spare on unreliable public transportation to the West Side Highway and need a climbing fix. Really, I'm gonna miss you more than you know, and Equinox will never inspire me that you have.

But I need a little somethin' on the side. Somewhere that doesn't make me WORK so hard. Somewhere that accepts me just as I am -- that is, in close proximity to the F train.

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