C a r o l y n D a u g h t e r s

In Highlands, the most recent of my temporary Denver-area homes, my gym of choice was 24 Hour Fitness. Any hour of the day the huge aerobic area is packed with hair-sprayed Lulu Lemon-wearing 20-50-somethings, and the huge weight equipment area is packed with neatly coifed Clark Kentish financial analyst types. It’s like the gym version of Whole Foods.

Now that I’m living in RINO — Denver’s River North area — it takes me 40 minutes by bike to get to that gym, so I’ve been hitting the Glenarm Rec Center just a mile down the road.

It’s not glamorous. They’ve got 4 bikes, 4 treadmills, 4 circa-1982 ellipticals, and a weight room the size of my kitchen. The small size, however, doesn’t pose any major problems since it’s usually just me, three guys who look like they should be called Bubba, and a lavender-haired lady who can never quite figure out the hip extension machine. She told me her name is Nane.

“Your name is Name?” I asked.

“No, honey, Nane,” she said. “N-a-n-e.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, honey.”

Then I showed Nane how to use the machine, and I’m pretty sure I injured my hip. (For purposes of disclosure, this is usually what happens when I attempt to demonstrate how to use gym equipment.)

I miss the variety of machines at 24 Hour. And the elliptical machines’ ability to move backward as well as forward. And the absence of screeching anytime the treadmill goes faster than 4 mph. And the Body Pump classes. But it’s hard to justify an 80-minute roundtrip on the bike.

Rocky’s gym wasn’t fancy, and he was pretty buff, right? Anyway, it’s more of a priority that I see than be seen. And that I get a kickass workout. I guess that’s probably a priority too.