This one time I bought a Tony Little Gazelle because I couldn't afford a gym membership. Gazelles are cheap and fold up nicely, so I could slide it under my bed. They also promise a "total body workout." Your aunt in the Midwest probably bought one on HSN.
Later, I moved into a tiny studio apartment, but I certainly wasn't going to ditch my home gym. Sure, it was a task getting the Gazelle out from under the bed at an odd angle in such a small space every time I wanted to use it, but like they say no pain no gain.
Of course, once I'd get it out I'd have to place it just so in the middle of my room so it wouldn't knock over my lamp or hit a wall while I was Gazelling. To give you an idea of how small my apartment is, picture a microapartment, and then it's about 1/3 of that.
A lot of things go through your mind while on a Gazelle staring at a stark white wall in what is basically your adult dorm room. Many of these things have to do with life decisions. A few of them have to do with giving up. But like they say if you aren't crying while Gazelling you aren't really getting that "total body workout" you were promised.
Sometimes I would just leave it out for weeks, squeezing by it every time I needed to get out the door. I wouldn't even use it. A "total body workout' was just feet from my bed and I was like "eh." It became a totem to my own inertia.
Last year I joined a gym, and put the Gazelle out in my building's hallway, where it was almost immediately claimed and is likely Babadooking beneath someone else's bed at this very moment.
Anyway, did you know there are people in New York City that have basketball courts in their homes? Curbed found 7 of them. Look at all of that exposed brick.
It's important to point out that this one is not just a basketball court in a home in Manhattan... it's a basketball court housed inside of a little structure on the roof of a $16 million carriage house on West 12th Street.
