The interesting thing about advertisements in Finland is that they’re actually true. There are no hidden fees, or fine print or special introductory offers. There’s no “catch”, if you will. Even still, when I saw a sign outside a gym in Helsinki advertising memberships for €19.99/month, I smelled a gimmick.
“I saw your sign outside,” I said to the woman behind the counter. “That price is for what, exactly?”
“The month,” she replied.
I smirked at Johann. “Yes but how many months?”
“As many as you want,” she said.
“The rate doesn’t change?” I asked.
“No,” she replied.
“What if I want to cancel?” I asked.
“That’s fine,” she said.
This is not at all what I expected. The last time I went gym shopping in New York, I priced memberships out at $140/month – and that was with a corporate discount. €20 seemed too good to be true, so I continued to act like it was.
“Well what’s the fee to join?” I asked.
“It’s 19.99,” she said.
As an upstanding Finn, Johann was properly disgusted by this news. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so much put off by the fee as impressed by how low it was. In other words, it was a turning point for both of us.
“And for the €19.99, I can use the gym as many times as I want?” I asked. “All of it?”
“Yes, sure,” she answered. “You can use… the whole gym.”
“And your hours?” I asked. “You’re called 24/7 Fitness but are you really?”
The woman glanced at Johann. “We’re open 24 hours a day,” she said to him, as if it was more of a feature for Johann than me.
“Good,” I said, turning to Johann. “Well that’s really good. It’s 20 bucks. Do you want one too?”
Johann did not want a gym membership mostly because he doesn’t like gyms, but also because he probably doesn’t want to join one with a crazy person.
“I don’t like this place,” he said. “Let’s go to another one. It’s €20 too, but it’s nice.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” I asked. “I don’t need a fancy gym with, like, towels or something.”
“It’s down the street,” Johann said. “Why don’t you go look at it.” Then, a propos of nothing, he added, “My coworkers go there.”
I haven’t met many of Johann’s coworkers, but apparently they’re the type of people who like working out in a place that looks like a cross between a coffee shop and a nightclub and that also sells high-end activewear on the side. I had a hard time believing this heavily branded, towel-inclusive gym was only €20, but I figured I might as well do my research.
“Let’s take it from the top,” I said to Johann as we walked through the front door.
“I’m interested in joining,” I told the woman behind the counter. “How much is a membership?”
“You can fill this form out,” she replied. “And I’ll get someone from customer service to help you.”
“OK,” I replied. “But I just want the cheapest membership. So can you quote me a price?”
“I cannot,” she said. “But someone will be with you in a few minutes.”
With that, she invited Johann and me to take a seat at the bar where we spent the better part of a half hour sampling various health foods and looking at cat memes, which is pretty much the exact opposite of what I was hoping to do at the gym. I was helping myself to a second cup of super berry muesli when I said to Johann, “This gym is clearly not working for me!”
“Well you might as well wait at this point,” he said.
“Yeah, I’ll wait,” I replied, raising my paper cup. “I have to finish my third breakfast.”
After nearly 45 minutes had passed, I went back to the woman at the desk. “I’m going to have to go,” I explained. “Do you have a rate card or something you can let me see?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Only someone from customer service can give you that information but they’re all busy.”
I sighed. This is what happens when a yoga instructor tries to sell tank tops in a coffee shop: he’s too busy to talk to customers.
“I’ll pass,” I said.
“Well we have your number,” the woman chirped, holding up my form. “We’ll call you!”
That was pretty much the last thing I wanted her to do and, in what will go down as one of my finest American moments, I reached over the counter and took the form out of her hand.
“Please don’t,” I said.
And then I went back to the $20 gym, where I verified they had treadmills and free weights before signing up for six months. Normally I wouldn’t even need a gym for that, but nowadays I do. Turns out there’s no less practical place to try to keep up an independent workout routine than a one-room apartment in the North Pole.
My new gym might be cheap, but they don’t skimp on security. Just to get into the building requires an access card, plus a fingerprint scan. To reach the gymnasium floor requires another swipe, as does accessing the women’s locker room. Naturally, I had problems with all that. And since no one was ever at the front desk during my visits (I can only assume they hid when they saw me coming) I proceeded to break into the gym every day for a week.
I would have continued doing so indefinitely but for the fact that I wanted consistent and immediate access to a room called the naisten pukuhuone – which I initially believed was just the women’s locker room. But, as it turns out, it’s a women’s gym. That’s right – the 24/7 Fitness has a gym within a gym just for ladies! And it’s not just some room with a few yoga mats and an old stairmaster either – but like a real, full gym! Obviously, there are no men lumbering around lousing the place up, but there also aren’t any of those annoying women who go to the gym just to meet men. It’s amazing!
In the naisten pukuhuone, women can work out with complete impunity. We can do pushups on our knees and squat with reckless abandon and no one will say boo about it. We can stretch without stares, run without racing and lift without the lookyloos. Here at the naisten pukuhuone, the motto is you do you. Like walking on the treadmill in your socks? Do it! Feeling a little cold? Well wear a full snowsuit! Want to have a full conversation about hats while doing a headstand? You’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last!
As a misfit on a mission, I, of course, loved the naisten pukuhuone. I was feeling right at home… on the occasions I could actually get through the door.
My personal theory for why I couldn’t get into the women’s gym was because I was registered as a male. I believed that because it seemed like the most ridiculous problem to have. And also because it happened to me once before. Since I was already on shaky ground with the front desk, I decided not to volunteer this information when I finally caught someone on duty.
“Well let’s just try a new card,” the woman said.
I shrugged as she recreated my ID and tested the door to the women’s gym.
“I think I’m registered as a man,” I said. “If you want to check that…”
I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she was out of ideas of her own. She looked up my record and then scrolled through the pages.
“Oh you are,” she said. “I’ve never seen that before.”
I smirked. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that, I’d be able to buy us all a gym membership. Towels and everything.
Curious why you are registered as a male? Or did I miss that sentence…?
It also sounds as if you made exactly the right choice, since you took what you needed not what someone else wanted you to have. Major difference. Good on you.
I do hope you got the male /female thing straightened out…
Oh you didn’t miss anything… Just a little clerical error… as asked by a woman who has never been prone to them, I assume :)
hah. My life is clerical errors, typos, missed connections–which is why I hoped you weren’t being taken for a man in drag (ducking) or because you have a name (which I like, by the way) that is not your standard recognizable female name.
Makes me wonder how many decidedly female women have spent their lives explaining exactly WHY mummy chose to call her Duncan or Barkley or Crispin…