Elitorial-Get off your butt and out of the gym

Imagine the following all-too-familiar scene at the Payne Whitney Gym or your hometown fitness center. A trim young woman climbs onto the Stairmaster, opens the latest issue of Vogue, and begins to bounce up and down in place. She wears, of all things, little spandex leggings and a thong leotard, an d occasionally examines herself in one of many omnipresent mirrors. A male acquaintance approaches and strikes up a conversation. He oh-so-casually plays with the sleeve of his fitted t-shirt to reveal his bulging biceps and protruding veins; she tries to disguise her unattractive panting, and hopes that her jouncing doesn't shower him with sweat.

All around the gym, men and women are fixed to immobile machines, flexing and grunting in ways that would seem obscene in any other context. Meanwhile, it's a beautiful sunny day outside the confines of the flourescent-lit gym.

Trapped somewhere among the weights, benches, and buttfloss is a genuine spirit of athleticism, struggling to free itself from stationary bikes and lateral pull-down devices. Whatever happened to the old-fashioned notion of physical exertion as a fun, endorphin-releasing activity? When did it become a vain and masochistic endeavor, designed to produce a specific body type or burn a certain number of calories? And how can it be comfortable to have a permanent wedgie as you work out?

Someone unfamiliar with the fitness center concept would take one look at the place and assume it was some kind of new-age torture chamber. Victims, forced to execute futile repetitive motions with slabs of iron resisting their efforts, endure harsh physical punishment. They are subject to bouts on the fright-cycle, the dread-mill, and the stair-nightmare. All that's missing is an Iron Maiden (although who knows what the future of a bench press can bring.)

I'm not suggesting that only stereotypical image-obsessed gym bunnies and muscleheads (as my gym-phobic mother calls them) frequent weight rooms. Competitive athletes depend on the extra strength and conditioning to stay on top, and many other people need the facilities to do physical therapy or to keep fit and preserve their peace of mind. I'll be the first to say it sucks to be out of shape, and I've even been known to show my face in the gym once in a while.

A gym workout, however, undermines the benefits of athleticism in at least these three ways:

1. It's indoors. I'll admit that even if you jog outdoors instead of on the treadmill, you will end up back where you started. To never have moved, however, is an entirely different story. We spend so many hours in class, staying in one place with one group of people, that working out should be a time to get out. Here's your chance to explore the city, bump into people you don't usually see, and--as clichéd as it sounds--benefit from the great outdoors.The endorphin-high of sucking dank air on the "dread-mill" cannot compare to that of a half-hour jog along St. Ronan Street in the crisp fall breeze. (To those of you who are confined to indoor pools, courts, and tracks because of our ridiculous East Coast weather, I apologize.)

2. It doesn't apply to real athletic ability. The cardiovascular machines and the weights will get your heart in shape and build muscles. They are useful for cross-training, but exercising exclusively in the gym serves no real athletic end. Stationary bikes are just not constructed the way mobile ones are, and no amount of peddling on a Lifecycle is going to simulate the feeling of biking up an actual mountain. As for the Stairmaster, I can't think of one sport that involves reading a magazine while wagging your butt from side to side. And as far as lifting goes, it doesn't make sense to spend hours bulking or toning to obtain some aesthetic goal for your body, when you could spend the time getting in shape in a more meaningful way, say playing IMs for your college or teaching kids to swim. Is there nothing better to do than to make sure you have nice--but unused--triceps?

3. It's anti-climactic. So you've finished your 40 minutes on the treadmill, you're covered in sweat, and your legs feel the burn. According to the handy monitor, you've also burned 547 calories and travelled 4.5 miles. Great, but is a bunch of numbers all the satisfaction you need? I guarantee that it would be far more gratifying to run up East Rock or bike up West Rock and see the city before you, instead of looking for digital reassurance.

Clearly we can't always skate around New Haven or bike up and down mountains, thanks to time and weather constraints. But once in a while, head to the IM fields, try a new sport, explore a neighborhood or see what a real bike feels like. And for my sake, leave your thong at home.

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