The 19th Street Gym Debacle
It was the year that I would turn 38. My agent had sold The Sweater Book after something like six years of working on it and over 30 rejection letters. I had stopped drinking. Things were looking up. It was time to make the biggest change of all.
There had been a promotion on the Manhunt website; come down for a free week at the 19th Street Gym. I went in and was introduced to the owner. I told him I was 37, I weighed 205 pounds and I wanted to weigh what I did when I was 18 (145 pounds), by my birthday in July. He walked me around, introduced me to a trainer named Ray and asked him if it was possible to meet my goal; Ray said yes and then he remarked on my calves (I was wearing cargo shorts). The owner offered me the services of a trainer named Adam, for one week, and I said yes. At the end of one week, the owner passed me in the weight room and said "How was your first week, Stephen? Are we going to have you ready for your 38th birthday in July?" He remembered my name and those details. This was the place for me. I gave them thousands of dollars for a membership and the trainer.
It was March.
On my birthday in July I went dancing at the Roxy with my family of friends.
I wore poom-poom shorts and a tiny little sleeveless shirt.
I weighed 165 pounds.
I stayed at the 19th Street Gym for seven years.
During my time at the gym, I got to know the owner, the trainers, other members, the desk and janitorial staff... I knew which machines needed a little maintenance and which stationary bikes never worked. I did photos for the gym (free of charge, of course, because I loved that place and wanted to promote it) and I did photos of some of my friends from the gym. I bought my friends memberships at the gym so that I could train them and help them get in shape. That place was my home. For seven years.
In November, 2009, Pat and I suited up and headed down to Chelsea. As we approached the gym, we saw that the lights were off, the gate was down and locked and the janitor sat on the bench in front of the gym, telling us and anyone else that the gym would be re-opened the next day. That was the only information he was willing to tell.
The gym did not re-open the next day. It did not re-open the day after that or the day after that. It did not re-open the following week or the following month. Finally, in December, we bought Pat a membership at NYSC, which is the other gym I attend (having been given a membership by my best friend, Hunter, so that we could train together). We had a new home, now. During the months of December and January, the three of us trained together, getting to know the staff in this new place, the members in this new place, the machines and the routines... in this new place. We had a new home, now.
We heard through the grapevine that what happened at the 19th Street Gym was simple. The owner hadn't paid the rent in so many months that the owner of the building arrived one afternoon, had some cross words with the manager, then came down into the workout area and announced that everyone had five minutes to remove their belongings from their lockers and get out. Once the building was empty, the lights were extinguished, the door locked, the gate pulled and padlocked. It remained dark from that moment forward. Members who had paid by credit card contacted their CC company and told the story and got refunds. Members like Pat and I who had paid by cash or check were SOL. Pat and I both had just under a year left on our memberships -- 1400 dollars cut in half, lit on fire and flushed down the toilet. Heartsickening. Then came the fees to join the new gym -- close to two grand.
That's life.
Last week I got a phone call from Complete Body and Spa, inviting me to visit their location on 19th Street. They saw that I had been a member of the previous gym in that location and wanted to give me an opportunity to join their facility.
With bitterness and anger tempered with nostalgia and sadness, I entered the doors of my former home to find that the floor of the entrance upstairs had been replaced, the walls given a new coat of paint, the juice bar had been spruced up and was open for business. I was introduced to the manageress, a lovely young woman with a delightful accent that sounded French; she was friendly, professional and savvy as she pitched me the idea of joining their gym. She took me on a tour of the facility so that I could see the changes that had been made... among those changes was NOT staff members. Well, not exactly; you see, there were new faces... there were also old faces. Several of the former employees, my friends that I had seen every day, had been rehired, including the manager of the 19th Street gym and the head trainer/manager of trainers. That made me happy - that my friends had jobs, once more. They are great people and deserve the opportunity to work. As the kindly Frenchwoman showed me around, I saw some change... new cardio equipment (it's about time!), new huge televisions, a clean up of the locker room, and a new aerobics section in the process of being built. The rest of the equipment was the same... all my favourite workout machines, machines that I don't have at NYSC, machines that do things to my body that I love... there they were, all my old friends.
I almost started to cry.
I had come home.
I was introduced to the (very friendly) new owner. He was nice, seemed savvy, very professional.
It was good to be home.
Back upstairs in the lobby I was given the pitch. Rejoin for eight hundred dollars a year, no initiation fee, today and (because I was a returning member) I would get three months free. Fifteen months for eight bills. Lots of classes, spa amenities, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, you read right. Blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening shortly after the word rejoin.
Rejoin?
RE JOIN?
My husband and I were devoted members of this gym and we had almost a year left on our memberships. We lost nearly 1500 dollars when it closed down because of unethical business practices. We spent nearly 2000 dollars to join a new gym. Now they wanted us to spend more money re joining the gym that had the same (nearly) equipment, the same (nearly) staff... It was like I was being asked to buy back my car after the police reclaimed it from the man who stole it from my driveway.
And what I can't figure out is this...
Opening a new gym in New York is just about as risky as opening a new restaurant. There are gyms on every corner and all of them have specials, deals, money saving offers. Many of those gyms have trouble staying open. Mid-City gym has memberships that cost under 400 dollars a year. NYSC has memberships that make it possible for you to work out anywhere in the city that you happen to be. Club H has a facility so gorgeous it's like being in a combination gay bar - day spa. Equinox has classes so sexy you feel like you are in an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. So here is a gym opening up with one shiny new floor in the lobby, a paint job in the lobby, a wipe down with Pine Sol in the locker and some new cardio equipment, but entirely old weight lifting equipment. It is not a new gym. It is an old gym that has been dusted off; and that old gym is not honouring the old memberships.
It's an important word to me: honour.
They bought the gym, including the database with members' numbers and names: members to whom they refuse to show honour. Why do I want to join an establishment that doesn't honour me? Tch.
And ps, it's bad business.
You're a new gym. You need members. If you honour the old memberships, you at least have members - members who were devoted to the old gym and will probably be devoted to the gym again, and who will sign those renewal papers when the time comes, and who will bring in new members. It seems like a no brainer to me... Honour your family, treat them like family, get them to work for you to make your business bigger and better. Soon you will have lots of members, and happy ones.
But no.
Complete Body and Spa on 19th Street has chosen to ignore me and Pat and treat us like strangers.
My mama taught me not to talk to strangers.
I'll miss my old home - but that's what happens when you move on. You pack your things, you call the movers, you move into your new home and, as you leave your old home for the last time, you look around and say
Goodbye.
There had been a promotion on the Manhunt website; come down for a free week at the 19th Street Gym. I went in and was introduced to the owner. I told him I was 37, I weighed 205 pounds and I wanted to weigh what I did when I was 18 (145 pounds), by my birthday in July. He walked me around, introduced me to a trainer named Ray and asked him if it was possible to meet my goal; Ray said yes and then he remarked on my calves (I was wearing cargo shorts). The owner offered me the services of a trainer named Adam, for one week, and I said yes. At the end of one week, the owner passed me in the weight room and said "How was your first week, Stephen? Are we going to have you ready for your 38th birthday in July?" He remembered my name and those details. This was the place for me. I gave them thousands of dollars for a membership and the trainer.
It was March.
On my birthday in July I went dancing at the Roxy with my family of friends.
I wore poom-poom shorts and a tiny little sleeveless shirt.
I weighed 165 pounds.
I stayed at the 19th Street Gym for seven years.
During my time at the gym, I got to know the owner, the trainers, other members, the desk and janitorial staff... I knew which machines needed a little maintenance and which stationary bikes never worked. I did photos for the gym (free of charge, of course, because I loved that place and wanted to promote it) and I did photos of some of my friends from the gym. I bought my friends memberships at the gym so that I could train them and help them get in shape. That place was my home. For seven years.
In November, 2009, Pat and I suited up and headed down to Chelsea. As we approached the gym, we saw that the lights were off, the gate was down and locked and the janitor sat on the bench in front of the gym, telling us and anyone else that the gym would be re-opened the next day. That was the only information he was willing to tell.
The gym did not re-open the next day. It did not re-open the day after that or the day after that. It did not re-open the following week or the following month. Finally, in December, we bought Pat a membership at NYSC, which is the other gym I attend (having been given a membership by my best friend, Hunter, so that we could train together). We had a new home, now. During the months of December and January, the three of us trained together, getting to know the staff in this new place, the members in this new place, the machines and the routines... in this new place. We had a new home, now.
We heard through the grapevine that what happened at the 19th Street Gym was simple. The owner hadn't paid the rent in so many months that the owner of the building arrived one afternoon, had some cross words with the manager, then came down into the workout area and announced that everyone had five minutes to remove their belongings from their lockers and get out. Once the building was empty, the lights were extinguished, the door locked, the gate pulled and padlocked. It remained dark from that moment forward. Members who had paid by credit card contacted their CC company and told the story and got refunds. Members like Pat and I who had paid by cash or check were SOL. Pat and I both had just under a year left on our memberships -- 1400 dollars cut in half, lit on fire and flushed down the toilet. Heartsickening. Then came the fees to join the new gym -- close to two grand.
That's life.
Last week I got a phone call from Complete Body and Spa, inviting me to visit their location on 19th Street. They saw that I had been a member of the previous gym in that location and wanted to give me an opportunity to join their facility.
With bitterness and anger tempered with nostalgia and sadness, I entered the doors of my former home to find that the floor of the entrance upstairs had been replaced, the walls given a new coat of paint, the juice bar had been spruced up and was open for business. I was introduced to the manageress, a lovely young woman with a delightful accent that sounded French; she was friendly, professional and savvy as she pitched me the idea of joining their gym. She took me on a tour of the facility so that I could see the changes that had been made... among those changes was NOT staff members. Well, not exactly; you see, there were new faces... there were also old faces. Several of the former employees, my friends that I had seen every day, had been rehired, including the manager of the 19th Street gym and the head trainer/manager of trainers. That made me happy - that my friends had jobs, once more. They are great people and deserve the opportunity to work. As the kindly Frenchwoman showed me around, I saw some change... new cardio equipment (it's about time!), new huge televisions, a clean up of the locker room, and a new aerobics section in the process of being built. The rest of the equipment was the same... all my favourite workout machines, machines that I don't have at NYSC, machines that do things to my body that I love... there they were, all my old friends.
I almost started to cry.
I had come home.
I was introduced to the (very friendly) new owner. He was nice, seemed savvy, very professional.
It was good to be home.
Back upstairs in the lobby I was given the pitch. Rejoin for eight hundred dollars a year, no initiation fee, today and (because I was a returning member) I would get three months free. Fifteen months for eight bills. Lots of classes, spa amenities, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, you read right. Blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening shortly after the word rejoin.
Rejoin?
RE JOIN?
My husband and I were devoted members of this gym and we had almost a year left on our memberships. We lost nearly 1500 dollars when it closed down because of unethical business practices. We spent nearly 2000 dollars to join a new gym. Now they wanted us to spend more money re joining the gym that had the same (nearly) equipment, the same (nearly) staff... It was like I was being asked to buy back my car after the police reclaimed it from the man who stole it from my driveway.
And what I can't figure out is this...
Opening a new gym in New York is just about as risky as opening a new restaurant. There are gyms on every corner and all of them have specials, deals, money saving offers. Many of those gyms have trouble staying open. Mid-City gym has memberships that cost under 400 dollars a year. NYSC has memberships that make it possible for you to work out anywhere in the city that you happen to be. Club H has a facility so gorgeous it's like being in a combination gay bar - day spa. Equinox has classes so sexy you feel like you are in an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. So here is a gym opening up with one shiny new floor in the lobby, a paint job in the lobby, a wipe down with Pine Sol in the locker and some new cardio equipment, but entirely old weight lifting equipment. It is not a new gym. It is an old gym that has been dusted off; and that old gym is not honouring the old memberships.
It's an important word to me: honour.
They bought the gym, including the database with members' numbers and names: members to whom they refuse to show honour. Why do I want to join an establishment that doesn't honour me? Tch.
And ps, it's bad business.
You're a new gym. You need members. If you honour the old memberships, you at least have members - members who were devoted to the old gym and will probably be devoted to the gym again, and who will sign those renewal papers when the time comes, and who will bring in new members. It seems like a no brainer to me... Honour your family, treat them like family, get them to work for you to make your business bigger and better. Soon you will have lots of members, and happy ones.
But no.
Complete Body and Spa on 19th Street has chosen to ignore me and Pat and treat us like strangers.
My mama taught me not to talk to strangers.
I'll miss my old home - but that's what happens when you move on. You pack your things, you call the movers, you move into your new home and, as you leave your old home for the last time, you look around and say
Goodbye.
posted by StephenMosher at 6:01 AM
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