In this issue
April 9, 2014

Jonathan Tobin: Why Did Kerry Lie About Israeli Blame?

Samuel G. Freedman: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Jessica Ivins: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Kim Giles: Asking for help is not weakness

Kathy Kristof and Barbara Hoch Marcus: 7 Great Growth Israeli Stocks

Matthew Mientka: How Beans, Peas, And Chickpeas Cleanse Bad Cholesterol and Lowers Risk of Heart Disease

Sabrina Bachai: 5 At-Home Treatments For Headaches

The Kosher Gourmet by Daniel Neman Have yourself a matzo ball: The secrets bubby never told you and recipes she could have never imagined

April 8, 2014

Lori Nawyn: At Your Wit's End and Back: Finding Peace

Susan B. Garland and Rachel L. Sheedy: Strategies Married Couples Can Use to Boost Benefits

David Muhlbaum: Smart Tax Deductions Non-Itemizers Can Claim

Jill Weisenberger, M.S., R.D.N., C.D.E : Before You Lose Your Mental Edge

Dana Dovey: Coffee Drinkers Rejoice! Your Cup Of Joe Can Prevent Death From Liver Disease

Chris Weller: Electric 'Thinking Cap' Puts Your Brain Power Into High Gear

The Kosher Gourmet by Marlene Parrish A gift of hazelnuts keeps giving --- for a variety of nutty recipes: Entree, side, soup, dessert

April 4, 2014

Rabbi David Gutterman: The Word for Nothing Means Everything

Charles Krauthammer: Kerry's folly, Chapter 3

Amy Peterson: A life of love: How to build lasting relationships with your children

John Ericson: Older Women: Save Your Heart, Prevent Stroke Don't Drink Diet

John Ericson: Why 50 million Americans will still have spring allergies after taking meds

Cameron Huddleston: Best and Worst Buys of April 2014

Stacy Rapacon: Great Mutual Funds for Young Investors

Sarah Boesveld: Teacher keeps promise to mail thousands of former students letters written by their past selves

The Kosher Gourmet by Sharon Thompson Anyone can make a salad, you say. But can they make a great salad? (SECRETS, TESTED TECHNIQUES + 4 RECIPES, INCLUDING DRESSINGS)

April 2, 2014

Paul Greenberg: Death and joy in the spring

Dan Barry: Should South Carolina Jews be forced to maintain this chimney built by Germans serving the Nazis?

Mayra Bitsko: Save me! An alien took over my child's personality

Frank Clayton: Get happy: 20 scientifically proven happiness activities

Susan Scutti: It's Genetic! Obesity and the 'Carb Breakdown' Gene

Lecia Bushak: Why Hand Sanitizer May Actually Harm Your Health

Stacy Rapacon: Great Funds You Can Own for $500 or Less

Cameron Huddleston: 7 Ways to Save on Home Decor

The Kosher Gourmet by Steve Petusevsky Exploring ingredients as edible-stuffed containers (TWO RECIPES + TIPS & TECHINQUES)

Jewish World Review May 30, 2008 / 25 Iyar 5768

Old gym leaves pungent legacy

By Lori Borgman

Lori Borgman
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http://www.JewishWorldReview.com | Ludwig, who mans the front desk and broke the news, wore a pale blue shirt and lavender tie. What you wear is important when you pay your last respects. The rest of us wore workout pants and old T-shirts. There's no accounting for taste at the neighborhood gym.

The gym with the leaky roof and faulty air conditioning was shutting its doors. Not exactly a shocker, but still, this was it, the last day.

Everyone had on a long face and spoke in a whispered hush — in the weight room, the spin room, on every elliptical trainer and treadmill. The gym had the feel of a funeral home. All that was missing was a big spray of gladiolus.

Even the magazines on the reading stand drooped their covers in mourning: Good Housekeeping, Elle, Ebony, Self, Running, Poker, Golf and Arthritis Today.

Closing the gym was like watching a chunk of community be chiseled away and drift toward the sea. The gym had been part of the landscape for more than 20 years.

It was a place where business deals were sealed on racquetball courts and white-haired men came early in the morning to exchange news, sit at a table and read the paper. It was a gym where everyone said hello.

It was a gym where, at one time, racquetball players could have a cold pitcher of beer and bowl of popcorn on the bench outside the court, waiting for them when the game was over.

It was a place where people shared their lives — separated shoulders, broken elbows, foot injuries, knee injuries and "I'll pass your daughter's resume along to a friend."

It was even a gym where you could be fat. One of the trainers might take a friendly swipe in the newsletter, writing, "I can't believe how long some of you have been coming to this gym and your body shape hasn't changed a bit," but never with malice.

You could be 20 pounds overweight, join a Zumba class and have a good time.

A slug of new franchise gyms with helium balloons and membership specials now ring the neighborhood. The one I visited had big television screens hanging from the ceiling, blasting music videos. Each cardio machine has an HDTV attached to it, the kind with the wide screen that makes everyone on "The Today Show" look like a pudgy little troll.

They dress up at the big box gyms — workout pants with colored stripes down the legs and matching spandex tops. The consultant says if I join there are 300 other gyms in the chain nationwide that I can go to. Why would I want to drive cross country to go to the gym? I liked going two blocks from home.

I can be a platinum, gold or silver member at the new gym. What kind of member did I want to be? Lethargic. That's the type of member I want to be. The type that comes and goes when she wants. The kind that can come with bed hair at 6 a.m., look like a slouch, and mix with others who slouch.

The old gym still has the sign up, but the parking lot is empty. As I was leaving that last day, one of the cardio rooms suddenly went dark. A woman on a treadmill yelled, "Hey, turn the lights back on!"

You said it, sister.

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JWR contributor Lori Borgman is the author of , most recently, "Pass the Faith, Please" (Click HERE to purchase. Sales help fund JWR.) and I Was a Better Mother Before I Had Kids To comment, please click here. To visit her website click here.


© 2008, Lori Borgman