False Advertising! I Went To Planet Fitness And There Were No Ripped Astronauts.
I have a bone to pick with Planet Fitness. When I signed up for a membership, I envisioned a gym that would transport me to another world, a place where sexy extraterrestrials floated around, spotting me as I bench-pressed. Instead, what I found was a tacky, purple nightmare with a bunch of obnoxious college stoners. The only thing on another planet was Kevin (also known as K-money) on the stairmaster when he realized that the stairs could move, “OOOH SHIT.” Where was the crater shaped climbing wall? The meteorite medicine balls? The occasional twinky mars rover to offer unsolicited workout tips?
It’s not like we don’t have excellent benchmarks for themed experiences. Take the Rainforest Cafe, for example. The moment you step inside, you’re immersed in a tropical paradise, complete with animatronic monkeys and a ptsd-triggering thunderstorm every half hour. But at Planet Fitness? The only thing swinging from the ceiling was a loose light fixture and the only soundscape is the occasional grunts from one balding man attempting a new personal record and the goddamn lunk alarm. It’s called PLANET Fitness, goddamnit. To those who say they’d have to charge more to fully embody space themes, I raise you stick-on-stars. They’re like $8 for a pack of 300.
Imagine my disappointment when I realized that my vision of a workout led by an elite team of space hotties was, in fact, just a room of fifteen people trying to figure out how to work the leg press. Not one astrophysics PhD in sight. You can’t promise me an “out of this world fitness experience” and then deliver “cardio in a cube.” If I wanted to sweat it out in a basic gym with no cosmic flair, I could’ve easily joined any local YMCA. But I came to Planet Fitness for an adventure. I want to feel like I’m training to save the universe, not just trying to save myself from the freshman-15.
Planet Fitness needs to step up its game. Until then, I’ll stick to places where the advertising matches the experience—like Rainforest Cafe, where I know I can always count on an elephant and a Mai Tai, or Medieval Times where I can certainly expect to contract an incurable disease from a Turkey leg.
