Getting Physical

Personal fitness is where you find it.

by

This may sound like an infomercial, but Memphis has gotten a boost in the health and welfare department recently from Planet Fitness, a company that went public about a year ago. 

Gyms of all sizes and descriptions are nothing new, of course. What sets Planet Fitness apart, with its five locations in greater Memphis, are three things: it’s cheap, at $10 a month; it’s aimed at people who don’t have a gym membership; and it’s the right idea at the right time for a city that is always in the Top Ten in various lists of America’s Fattest Cities and in weight-related health problems that cost everyone big bucks, directly and indirectly. 

For my (not much) money, it meets the need better than government or nonprofits or its hard-sell competitors. Government is in the fitness business through community centers, school gyms and playing fields, “visionary” non-starters like the Fairgrounds Sportsplex, and trendy transportation alternatives such as 200 miles of bike lanes. 

Swimming pools, golf courses, and tennis courts are expensive to build and maintain, so the city has been closing them and/or farming them out to conservancies and private operators. Nonprofits have tried to help, notably the YMCA and the Kroc Center at the Fairgrounds. Dues at those are at least $300 a year for an individual and more for a family. They offer something for everyone — a lap pool, play pool, snack bar, basketball courts, aerobics classes, meeting rooms. This is no knock on either of them. When I was a fiend for racquetball, basketball, and swimming, I joined both of them. 

Planet Fitness moves into shopping centers with vacant space, is open around the clock, and hasn’t cost the city or philanthropists a dime. The emphasis is on individual responsibility. The theme is “no judgment” about body type. Members pay just $10 a month plus $30 to join. Ever the skeptic, I thought this was a teaser rate that would go up after a few months, like my phone bill. It did not. 

“We’re opening the market, much larger than the competition, where they’re all going after the 20 percent [of people] who have gym memberships,” CEO Chris Rondeau has said. “We’re going after the 80 percent that doesn’t have a gym membership.” 

Finding a fitness routine that sticks is a tricky thing. In the house? No way. I never touch the barbells upstairs or the stationary bike in the garage. Going downtown or out east or over to the Kroc Center means getting in the car. To play tennis or team sports you need partners. 

For me, the perfect spot is not too close but not too far away so I can walk or bike to it. I hardly know anyone there, which is a plus because if I did, I would talk to them. Instead I nod at the staff and regulars, do my 30 minutes, and am back home in less than an hour. The place is obsessively clean and a cross-section of Memphis, mostly black and some white, a few huge guys that look like they could line up for the Tigers, some women who look like bodybuilders, oldies like me, and a lot of fatties. Just a bunch of anonymous people minding their own business. 

My membership costs $20 a month because I can use it at clubs in other cities. When you see one Planet Fitness you have pretty much seen them all. Television monitors and music videos if you want them, but not so obtrusive that they cannot be ignored. Lots of windows and light. A “lunk alarm” that goes off if someone drops a weight. Employees always wiping off this, vacuuming that. A few snacks for sale, and a bucket of free Tootsie Rolls at the front desk. 

Planet Fitness is doing well and doing good. The stock (PLNT) came public in 2015 at $16 and is now $19, an 18 percent return. 

I don’t own it. 

I joined in January in a fit of New Year’s fever. Two months earlier I had a small stroke, so my usual sports were off limits. My goal was modest and specific — one chin-up, which is harder than it sounds. Darned if that “20 days to make a habit” thing isn’t true. It took three months, steadily lowering the level of assistance from 70 pounds to 10 pounds on “my” adjustable machine off in the corner. Six months later I could do five. I don’t have muscles — never have and never will — but I feel stronger. I have A Place To Go. And I almost always resist the Tootsie Rolls.