Well well, the evil billionaire chief of Equinox gyms is holding a big Trump fundraiser, and now Equinox customers are threatening a boycott. Allow me, the smart guy, to tell you when you should have started boycotting Equinox “gym”: the very day that you began your fitness journey.
Equinox gym is bad. I fully agree with you there, outraged Equinox gym members. Where I part ways with you is that you should have known that Equinox gym was bad the very moment you walked inside its doors and felt its luxurious, clean, air-conditioned, neon-lit boutique hotel atmosphere beckoning you like the devil himself. You should have known the moment you went to sign up for membership and saw the line, “Equinox isn’t a gym. It’s a club.”
Sure is. A club for assholes.
Equinox is billed as a “Luxury Fitness Club.” Let me stop you right there—and wrestle you to the ground. Luxury is an antonym of fitness. Luxury is about being cocooned at all times in a layer of comfort. Fitness is about pain—body wracked with pain—mind overtaken by pain—lungs bursting in pain—muscles seizing in pain—soul melting in pain—vision clouding with pain—world melding with pain, until you live in pain world. Location: NOT Equinox, a “luxury” “club” to do “toning” “classes” with “other members of the bourgeoisie.”
What exactly did you think that a membership at Equinox, with its yoga rooms and Pilates studio and on-site spa and locker rooms with all types of proprietary lotions would get you? Fit? No. What it will get you is sucked into a pit of dissipation and profligacy from which you will likely never recover. Though your muscles may grow, your morals will shrink. No matter how large your biceps (useless showoff muscle that typifies the Equinox approach) grow, your soul will only shrivel and get weaker as it is bombarded by the soft, soft enticements of a space that is too nice and too clean and too good smelling and not enough unexplainable blood spots. In a battle to the death, I will take a skinny rat-faced urchin from a cheap and dirty basement gym over the most sculpted male model from Equinox, because that urchin knows what it is to suffer, and because I have secretly armed him with an ice pick to ensure I win my bet.
You thought that you could have it both ways. You thought that you could live a righteous life while at the same time wallowing in the decadence of the Equinox lifestyle, which prizes aesthetic beauty above all, and places little to no value on simple, folksy things like You Ain’t Leaving Til You Do 100 Jump Burpees No Matter How Woozy It Makes You. Your embrace of the coddled Equinox philosophy has withered you spiritually. On the outside you have a “beach body,” but on the inside you are a mere jellyfish, vulnerable to pokes from those who have trained themselves to gain fitness using nothing more than human will, a steep hill, a large rock, and obstinacy that often slips into outright stupidity.
Don’t act surprised that Equinox has bad politics. Equinox is bad politics. It is capitalism’s fitness club. And like capitalism it shall inevitably crumble from within. Cancel your Equinox membership. Leave behind your spa. Cut your air conditioning, throw away your lotion, abandon your clean locker room, and let all of your expensive exercise machines rust into nothingness. Find your own path of pain, and failure, and sweatiness that is stank. You may be ugly, and unpopular, and uncouth. But you will be fit. Or on the path to fitness, at least, depending on your workout schedule. And even if nobody cares—you will know. And your soul will be pure. And even if your soul isn’t that pure, because you had some other darkness in your past, like you did murders or whatever, you will still save some serious cash by not paying for Equinox. So.