Out & About #884 | Pound Cake with Black Sesame Cream, Yoga Mats + One Week of LA Fitness

"Don't you have a lot of yoga mats?"
"They're not here." I responded, matter-of-factly. "And I need one for class."
"You have a big one in Vancouver."
"I brought my orange one over."
"No, there's one more, probably tucked away somewhere."

After discovering the utter lack of mats at LA Fitness, I took matters into my own hands. Being utterly convinced that a budget mat with fast, free shipping would suffice for the grimy gym studio floors, I resorted to Amazon. And then, in the absence of a carrying strap, I DIYed my own variation with thin elastic cord.

​Composed of supposedly eco-friendly TPE material, the surface was smooth, unlike my bumpy Gaiam one (that I had left at the sleepy polar bear's) and proclaimed to be nonslip. The mat arrived within twenty-four hours, from which point ensued a thorough sanitization process: once with soapy water and another with tea tree oil and water. It was with relief that the mat did not emerge reeking of rubber or cheap plastic.

However, it was nevertheless, subpar for its price. After a short while in bird dog position, a dent formed where my knee was. It persisted for the duration of my workout, like cheap memory foam. The surface was decent and indeed nonslip, but gripped toes excessively during dynamic movements, causing my toe to bend underneath instead of assisting it along its path. The foamy texture further caused insulation of heat, rather than its dissipation. My POPFLEX version, albeit far pricier, was just so much better. (That said, both mats susceptible to streaking and surface discolouration, regardless of usage count.)

​Leading up to the sleepy polar bear's birthday, I have begun my preparations accordingly. Reservations have already been confirmed, up to three weeks in advance. A last-minute present also wound its way to me, for it is difficult to resist stationery necessities at clearance price points.

Meals of the week comprise of: Steamed Pork with Pickled Radish + Gai Lan/Kale, Tomato Minced Pork with Sweet Bell Peppers over Macaroni, and Myungdong Shabu Shabu takeout of Wang Mandu, Bibimbap, and Kimchi Jeon.

​The roster also includes Homemade 杏仁蜜棗茶 to the rescue for parchedness and perpetually sore throats.

​Tuesday would mark my third visit to LA Fitness - the first to take place on a weekday evening, supposedly the most dreadful time to be in a gym. Truthfully, the equipment floor wasn't as chaotic as I had anticipated. Then again, I only cared for the Stairmaster, and rarely did the machine become monopolized. Turnout rates were relatively high, as most turned to the treadmill or elliptical for their joint-friendly cardio fix.

​Having purposely arrived earlier than my 5:45 PM Zumba session, I navigated over to the group fitness studio to conduct my standard cardio warmup series. There were a handful of other occupants: two older ladies stretching on yoga mats, and two women doing weighted lunges and bridges.

I learned that, while the facility offered an open Wi-Fi network, the bandwidth was largely incompetent of streaming YouTube videos for real-time workouts. The same observation unfortunately applied to Spotify streaming and sending media as well. Photos would sometimes make it through on the equipment floor, but even text messages failed to send in the group fitness studio and locker room.

Transitioning into a series of previously learned cardio dance sequences, I ended up utilizing the studio space until Zumba-ready participants filed in. They were mostly middle-aged ladies, seemingly regular attendees, and began declaring their territory with water bottles on the floor. At first, I was confused as to why anyone would obstruct my path with their personal belongings. Later on, a lady informed me that "lines" were formed for each Zumba class, and hinting that I should either mark my spot with clarity or evacuate the premises entirely.
"Sure, I'll take this spot." I responded, utterly disinterested in marking out territory. From my perspective, it made no difference where I stood, as long as I could view the instructor's movements.

Class started about seven minutes late. When the instructor finally strode in, she was greeted with a round of cheers. A quick gaze about me informed of a fuller class than Saturday morning's, as well as a group of frequent attendees, all above the age of thirty and some likely into their fifties and sixties. With regard to coordination and form, they were, admittedly, no better than the "backup dancers" in Golfy's dance videos. The setlist comprised of a mix of Latin, Afropop, Bollywood, and even modern pop/hip hop - two of which featured Megan Thee Stallion. In spite of the energizing nature of the compilation, the instructor's movements seemed lacklustre and barely discernible, albeit on beat. It was unknown whether her moves had been moderated to suit the pace and demographic of the class; to combat the sluggishness, I opted to up the intensity by expanding the range and adding bounce to my steps.
It dawned upon me that the same instructor would lead Thursday's pilates class - the pivotal occurence that would determine my membership-commencing intentions.

​After twenty-five minutes of self-guided cardio dance and roughly fifty minutes of Zumba, it was time to tackle the toe-clipping trap machine.

I started at a relatively quick pace, as to maximize the warmed-up state of my lower body. Rapidly reaching the 700 mark, I continued onwards, straightening my spine and regulating my breathing to prolong endurance. Glancing to my left, other users had begun to hunch over the support bars while they continued. I identified with their pain, but was also mindful of poor posture resulting in pains and injury.

Slowly but surely, I climbed to the 1000 mark, then the 1500 mark. Could I make it? As ankle pain began to creep in, I slowed the machine to manage the strain, taking care to slowly articulate the movement from the toe to the ankle, then to the calve to the knee, and lastly to the thighs and quad. Neighbouring users came and went, with most lasting no more than fifteen minutes. For the final 100-150 steps, the pace was quickened yet again. Before I realized, I had reached my goal.

1811 steps in twenty-seven minutes - not a bad sight at all!

Thoroughly fatigued and more red-faced than alcohol could ever succeed in rendering my complexion, I braved the stench of the gym floor and bolted for the lockers after some brief cooldown stretches.
A crippling headache caught up with me once home; combatting presumed dehydration with ample fluids, I proceeded to spend the rest of my night awaking to find the bathroom. These trips contributed to lack of restful sleep trickling into the next day's early morning commute into Midtown.

​Often questioning the value of my in-office presence, I'd avert it altogether if possible. COVID fears have tapered off, prompting most workers to return to their desk on a more regular basis. In-person training has also returned.

​Timbits accompanied these sessions. I steered clear of the disgustingly sweet Birthday Cake this time, instead diving for Old-Fashioned Plain (my favourite!), Chocolate Glazed, and Honey Dip. Timeless are these flavours, and for good reason.

Lunchtime, otherwise known as my long-awaited respite from supervised desk attendance, was met with sore legs and a stiff, tired brain. Tender muscles inhibited lengthy walks about the district; I merely trekked up and down the intersection, trying my best to avoid being pelted with dirt and debris amidst the gusty, overcast conditions.

​I confirmed consistency between online and in-store prices at Staples, further documenting their product assortment compared to Amazon for future reference.

​Heading to the new Dollarama, I descended down the steep concrete stairwell in search of budget yoga mat alternatives. Five dollars was extremely reasonable, though not necessarily worth pursuing on the basis of longevity. Reaching ground level once more required climbing up two and a half flights of stairs, the equivalent of twenty four-steps. (Frankly, it was twenty-four more steps in my daily routine that I didn't need at the moment.)

The final two stops of the day included Stock T.C and Timmies. An Iced Latte (at a whopping five dollars!), Parisian Flan slice, and Madeleine would be procured at the first stop. The bill totalled $11.87.

A Honey Dip Donut and Chocolate Chip Muffin at my second stop was comparatively more economic, at just one third of the price.

​My adventure concluded around the 1:30 PM mark, when dusty gusts grew coupled with droplets. Shortly after 3 PM came solid precipitation: our dear friend, snow.

​Alas, the skies cleared just twenty minutes later, revealing azure above our heads once more.

​Acquisitions from Stock T.C would be revealed later that evening. The Parisian Flan was creamier than that of Le Génie and also notably richer. Its thin crust and tall edges had grown damp over the course of the day, either due to moisture penetration by the custard or remaining enclosed within the same compartment as the Madeleine. The pastry was deemed passable by the household, yet not an item to be overly fond of, given its satiating qualities.

​Priced at a mere loonie, the Madeleine, while devoid of its delectable plumpness and signature hump, was fragrant and delicious, and moist with the inclusion of honey.

Exercise was eliminated from the day's schedule on the basis of sore lower limbs and sleep deprivation - a rare occurrence, but nonetheless vital component of recovery (as much as I refrain from periods of stagnancy).

​Sunday Baking's catalog of pound cake recipes is seemingly ceaseless. After my Condensed Milk Pound Cake phase, I turned towards my next venture: a variation that was entirely oil-less, butter-less, and flour-less.

Over the past couple years, I've devised my own array of concoctions from Lemon to Lavender to Mint Chocolate, often adapting Sunday's formulas in favour of the desired outcome. That said, I admit to lagging behind in pound cake experimentation specifically, for the cake is forever versatile and worthy of research and development.

Baking with rice flour is an innovative approach to gluten-free alternatives. Though initially hesitant towards the ingredient, her Injeolmi Snowballs proved me wrong. I opted to take a leap of faith, extending the ingredient's usage to the delicate, tender properties of pound cake.
Admittedly, it was shocking to find a cake without fat. To compensate for oil/butter and their associated moistness, Sunday utilizes heavy cream, which can viewed as a 2-in-1 element of fat and liquid.

​Yet, the cake emerges on the drier side, and is distinctly devoid of the potent, buttery aromas commonly associated with baking. A whipped cream topping is not optional in this execution, as it serves to compensate for low fat content in the cake itself.
Instead of adhering to mere vanilla, a heaping tablespoon of black sesame paste and liberal squeeze of sweetened condensed milk are whipped into the topping. A small amount of gelatin is also used to stabilize the mixture.

​Results are delectable, especially once sprinkled comprehensively with freshly toasted, crunchy black sesame seeds.

The following afternoon sees further dehydration in the cake, along with transfer of moisture from the whipped cream to its uppermost layer. Fragrant as always, I have few remarks towards the black sesame topping. However, I can declare far less affection for this pound cake than the supple Condensed Milk version.

​A batch of blue sky bran muffins are compiled simultaneously, though ultimately end up charred due to insufficient attention and a high starting oven temperature. Of course, the muffins could be salvaged: blackened bits were sanded away using a polished bread knife. Several dried cranberries were, regrettably, surrendered along the way.

On Wednesday afternoon, my double-sided Burgundy LOLË mat arrived - a day earlier than anticipated!

The purchase had been made through Costco, with shipping and delivery included in its price. At just $1.10 more than the wretched Amazon disaster, this mat was grippy (without stickiness), sleek, plush underneath the back, and included its own carrying/stretching strap.

When I strode into LA Fitness' Mat Pilates class the following evening, I came to realize its popularity: four other LOLË mats were spotted beside other attendees, three of which identical to my own. Durability (and accessibility) was confirmed. Unlike the past Sunday's yoga session , there were few Gaiam mats spotted.

​Taking place at the late hour of 7 PM, I sincerely hoped that the instructor would not be tardy. Unfortunately, she was just as delayed as Tuesday evening's low-effort Zumba session. The class would commence five minutes behind schedule, comprise of a five-minute warm-up, thirty minutes of arguably effect exercise, and a lengthy ten-minute cooldown.

Expectations towards Mat Pilates were generally low, but a faint spark of hope had been ignited when a staggering number of Merrithew-branded pilates rings were discovered in the equipment bin at the back.

​The class progressed extremely quickly with absolutely no form reminders. Backing tracks were upbeat, similar to Pop Pilates, but reps were few and sequence transitions were far too speedy for proper activation. It was fast-paced, but lacked focus. Instead of a slow, sustained burn with imagery for body alignment, I found myself rushing from one move to another as the instructor began to count down on the rep count. Modifications were announced only for conducting a side plank, but there were still no reminders for the correct placement of elbows, relaxation of the shoulder and neck, nor engagement of the oblique for maximum efficacy.

Several classical pilates moves had been called out: Bird Dog, Rainbow Leg Lifts, Rolling like a Ball, and Scissors. That said, all (except for Rolling like a Ball) were hurried in nature, especially the Rainbow Leg Lifts, which were taking place too fast to summon the core and stabilize the pelvis. In my peripheral were a handful of middle-aged ladies scrambling through the moves with crunched spines and young women bending in and out squats and lunges with poor posture and poor pilates form.

The class was insufficient for my needs, so I opted to remain in the studio to stream additional exercise videos. However, the gym's atrociously slow Wi-Fi and cleaning lady's pending sweeping operations had me seeing myself out grudgingly instead. Naturally, I departed with a sense of inadequacy, along with slight frustration to parking at the far end of the asphalt lot due to high weekday evening turnout.

​It is with full comprehension that such group fitness classes are intended to supplement routines of the standard gym crowd, rather than those dedicated to pilates practice. This format often causes them to be of intermediate difficulty and low endurance, though little to no form reminders was not the appropriate way to approach those lacking fundamental knowledge of an exercise. With Thursday evening's class being the sole Mat Pilates offering of LA Fitness' Vega location, it was apparent that I'd, once again, be returning to the drawing board for my pilates fix.

​On a drizzly Friday morning, I peeled myself away from the covers to transport myself into Toronto once more. At the very least, I had the option of an express regional train into the city, which spared me the hell of 401 congestion and freakish TTC mayhem.

Since Junny's the "blanc" tour last year, I hadn't stepped foot into the Union Station concourses. Decathlon and LCBO had opened to the public at that point, but the connecting pathways between the York and Bay Concourses were still very much under construction. More shiny walkways have opened since them, with a handful more vendors on their way - The Alley and Hazukido being two of them.

​Another new addition to the transit hub was a Union Station Map - possibly the most requested installation by the less direction-saavy. Frankly, I had found my way through years upon years of redevelopment and boarded accessways without issues - generally speaking, it's merely a matter of looking at signage.

​Before maneuvering to my first ever First Aid training session, I made a beeline for Balzac's within the UP Express terminal. It was unthinkably busy, with both customer service representatives and security present to handle passenger volumes. The seating area for the coffee outpost was also packed; the assortment of baked goods appeared flourishing, but would soon be depleted within two hours.

​I took to a Chocolate Banana Muffin, then continued my way. Moist, gratifying, and brimming with crunchy bits of chocolate to offset a phenomenally plush crumble, I enjoyed majority of the specimen during our twenty-minute break period before continuing with pre-lunch CPR chest compressions on open-mouthed mannequins.

"Excuse me! We have an unresponsive casualty. Could you please call 911 and get an AED. Do you understand?"

The course covered a variety of topics from ABCs (Airway, Breathing, and (Blood) Circulation), casualty positions ("Recovery", "Supine", and "Semi-sitting"), gauze and bandaging requirements (dry for chest injuries, moist with plastic shield for abdomen, and along the length of the injury for horizontal/vertical cuts), CPR and AED usage protocol, and the importance of surveying the scene first for potential hazards - to oneself or those in one's immediate surroundings - before proceeding.

​Tests were conducted via Google Forms instead of pen and paper, allowing the revision process to be quicker and absolutely touchless. Then, at quarter to three, I boarded the westward train in an impossibly sleepy state.

​In the evening, my denim beret-donning Birthday Buddy would join me during exercise time. While I continued with a supposedly rigorous pilates routine, she observed from afar. Between her vintage-candle-hand-cream-slathered digits were crochet needles, and on her lap a scarf in progress. Its uncanny resemblance to ground beef and frozen mixed veggies was undeniable.

Supper was sourced from Meet Noodles. Akin to Yunshang Rice Noodle, our broths were characterized with monosodium glutamate. In terms of toppings though, Meet Noodles was evidently more stingy, with only four pieces of pig's trotters and less than five pieces of beef in our respective bowls. One overdone marinated egg had been split between the bowls.
BOGO Baked Garlic Bread was admittedly tasty, albeit sodden after the grueling, Uber-inflicted 80-minute wait.

​As for the Taro and Sago in Coconut Milk (椰汁香芋西米露), we hadn't the foggiest idea as why - or how - parsley had found its way in. The dessert could be depicted as an abundance of sago, minimal coconut milk, and viscous dollops of taro paste.

The meal, though underwhelming, was compensated by fruity bubbly beverages and laughter-filled conversation on every possible topic under the sun (as well as almost every possible tangent).

​Despite returning at the late hour of 2 AM, I managed an early awakening. These conditions enabled participation in LA Fitness' 9:45 AM Zumba class, and I hesitated no further.

​Locating parking was considerably painless compared to Thursday evening at 6:45 PM. Familiar routines were performed within the class: majority of songs overlapped with the previous week's, but the instructor's enthusiasm and my overall familiarity made it enjoyable, though less intense.
Stairmaster training was omitted on the basis of a pre-existing soreness in glute med.

​The next day, I returned for 11 AM Zumba and 12 PM Yoga, only to discover that both had been reinstated to their originally scheduled classes of Kickbox Cardio and Mat Pilates. Both sessions would be held by the consistently tardy instructor from Tuesday evening's Zumba and Thursday evening's Mat Pilates class. Admittedly, I was skeptical of the outcome(s).

​Schedule changes hadn't been posted on the door, nor updated on the online schedule. The swap had only occurred to me when we commenced the warm-up: a punch-based sequence with squats. A handful of attendees overlapped with Tuesday evening's class, some looking utterly confused - probably as perplexed as I had been, though I carried on without hesitation. After all, exercise was exercise - to me, anyway. Many participants were visibly struggling to exert a consistent amount of force over the duration of the class, with four blatantly surrendering and strolling out midway.

Instead of having punch "numbers" called out, sport-specific jargon was dropped in favour of common vocabulary, such as "jab", "cross", "hook", and "upper cut". The initiative rendered the class more inclusive, rather than the elite vibe of LifeTime. We progressed onto other punch combinations, as well as some shuffling, ducking, and even a brief "cardio" session involving plank jacks and jumping jacks. Thankfully, there were no burpees. In hindsight, I'd consider the entire class to be a cardio workout.

Kickbox Cardio was a welcome change from normal routine, inciting comprehensive engagement of the upper body for powerful punches, as well as core for quick retraction and defense. Prior experiences at HUF and occasional viewing of Reps to the Rhythm's boxing-inspired videos had readied me adequately for this class. I was also appreciative of the music choice, in which brisk, 8-count beats allowed me to move to the song without needing to count reps. In addition, given that the combos would be repeated, there was ample time to review one's form from the mirrors at the front and left side of the studio.

​Fifteen minutes after the conclusion of Kickbox Cardio was Mat Pilates. The warmup would adopt a near identical format to Thursday evening's class, however the movements would be more controlled this time around. Modifications for advancing side planks and glute bridges were also given: threading the needle for the former and raised hands holding the fitness ring for the latter. I furthered this by slipping the fitness ring over my thighs for glute med training. Most of the class had roughly tossed aside their rings out of exhaustion from core work, though I had gracefully set it aside before moving onto the next exercise, as one would in a structured pilates class.

Scissors (with and without hands), flutters, and cross-body toe touches were also included as part of the Sunday workout, appended with lying leg circles in both directions and options to enter pilates stance. Form reminders were still few to none, however it was interesting to note the drastic differences in pace and organization. Despite adhering a near-identical routine, these two factors transformed a rushed, ineffective sequence to one encouraging proper muscle activation and mind-body connection.

At the end of the class, I remained on my mat, stretching and attempting a bird dog with the supporting hand pressing against the fitness ring. During this time, it was overhead that the instructor would be moving to Vaughan in September, thus reducing the number of classes taught. Her reputation and long-standing position at the gym was undeniable, and only became more apparent in the fifteen minutes that would follow.

The instructor strode over to me and asked, "How do you like it so far? Did you get a chance to try all the classes?"
I was stunned that she had remembered our discussion about my one-week pass. "Today is my last day. It ends today."
Her eyes widened, partially in surprise and partially in pity, then expressed that she would "talk to the front" to request an additional one-week pass for me to try more classes, with her present to teach.
Recalling that every guest was limited to one 7-day pass and one 3-day pass per year, I voiced my concerns, to which she dismissed and led me to the front.
At first, I was regarded with disdain, informed of system limitations, then pressured about purchasing membership. It was in this moment that the instructor and manager came to my rescue: "I'll override it."
And, with that, I was bestowed another week of trial - albeit with my name spelled incorrectly and not capitalized.

​The sleepy polar bear, who happened to have mid-day availability and also not eaten yet, was summoned for a late lunch. I proposed Basil Box, which was situated just two minutes from LA Fitness, across the Mississauga-Oakville boundary of Dundas Street.

I hadn't stepped foot in the franchise for a few years now, and its interior caught me by complete surprise. The menu had changed drastically, expanding to include Kids' Meal options, Small and Regular sizes for boxes, and fusion items such as poutine and steamed baos. Also catching my eye were promotional posters for Satay Seasoned Fried Eggs, an ice cream collaboration line with Wong's Ice Cream, and a dessert spread of Thai Tea Panna Cotta and more. Instead of heading directly to the cashier for a Build-Your-Own Box, I halted at the counter, gradually absorbing the new changes and formatting my next decision.

Similar to Chipotle, the menu saw introductions of High Fibre, Low Fat, Low Calorie, and Keto compilations - all of which could be customized at no additional cost. Above the counter were images of each of the Signature Boxes; on the back was a listing of ingredients, enabling easy swaps in a timely manner (none of the "What does it come with?" back and forth business).

​My pick lay with a High Fibre Signature Box with a base of Brown Rice and Spring Mix salad, half-half protein selection of Lemongrass Chicken and Braised Beef, and all toppings with the exception of red chilis. The server behind the counter caught onto my dietary preferences quickly: after confirming that neither protein was spicy, he predicted that I'd be adding all toppings to the bowl with the exception of the fiery one. And he was right.

Steamed Baos came in sets of two, with each duo priced at a whopping $12.95. Mix-and-match options were not possible. While the sleepy polar bear and I had initially agreed on sampling Thai Meatball and Lemongrass Chicken & Braised Beef, I proposed sticking with the former on the basis on curiosity. A Chiang Mai Trail Mix was appended to the bill for two dollars more.

​Naturally, I couldn't resist procurement of Thai Tea either. The choice was justified in the face of unexpected herby undertones in the Signature Box.

The boxes were smaller than I recalled, which could be owed to the transition from biodegradable square containers to significantly less studry wax-lined paper containers. It was nonetheless delicious and hearty, with charred bits of sweet potato, pickled carrow slaw, and flavourful bites of chicken and beef.

On the other hand, the Steamed Baos proved quite dismal. They were filled nearly identical components to my Signature Box, only deviating with the inclusion of microscopic meatballs. Although a tad tacky with nothing really "Thai" about them, the meatballs were decent. The baos themselves were thin and damp instead of plush and fluffy; Yum's Kitchen still does it better, in my opinion.

Neither straws nor stirring sticks were provided for the mixing of our beverages. We struggled to swirl and sip through the square openings on the lid with the cups near capacity. Eventually, I could withstand the loss of functionality no longer and sauntered over to the TasteT House kiosk for straws.
I returned gleefully, only to have the sleepy polar bear jeering at my solution. "You're just going to walk away with two straws? And not give them business?!"
"I will - don't worry!" I chuckled while ripping away the paper packaging.
"For real? You're going to buy?" came a dubious reply.
I cast a quick glance at the menu from our bar stools. "Why not? It looks okay."

​A being true to her words, an extravagantly-priced Grapefruit Lychee Tea with Coconut Jelly was taken to go. The drink was $7.45 for a large size, ringing in well over eight dollars after tax. Four Seasons tea as a base is always an interesting choice, though I cannot declare much affection for the overall lack of zesty/sweet flavours. The vivid drink included a generous portion of coconut jelly; the pieces were about half the size of typical ones, shaped like squares instead of rectangles.

Before departing, I brought up the Korean Banana Milk ice cream. Samples were not provided, so our sole option was purchashing a pint to take home.

Adopting shockingly saturated Superkid yellow visuals, I braced myself for synthetic-ness. My predictions came true, for the rapidly dissolving solution was sticky, sweet, and most definitely crafted of artificial banana flavouring. Without realizing, my face began to clench in contemplation of the creation. Hm.
The verdict was positive, but mildly so. I proposed it best served between two thin Rice Krispies slabs - or any rice cracker-cookie concoction, really - and sprinkled with flaky salt to combat the sweetness.

​For the remainder of the day, I was deep in consideration. Early morning gym ventures eliminate all opportunities to sleep in, yet also enable day drinking and uninterrupted chores until sunddown.

​For the remainder of the day, I was deep in consideration. Early morning gym ventures eliminate all opportunities to sleep in, yet also enable day drinking and uninterrupted chores until sundown.

Unlike with LifeTime, I didn't feel a sense of hollowness after my classes at LA Fitness. Commuting wasn't tragic either, as I was neither required to cross a highway interchange during peak hours nor fight endlessly for parking. Most importantly, I felt respected as a guest (and potential member). Some of the standard gym dilemmas applied, of course, in that showers were always up to fifteen minutes away and my workout schedule wasn't entirely fluid. That said, the classes took place during reasonable times of the week (weekday evenings after 5 PM and weekend mornings) and could be incorporated into one's routine with minimal hassle.

​I opened up a new Workbook and did what I do best: Excel-ed it out. Annual fees and a first payment of two prepaid months were fitted into the equation, yielding a monthly commitment similar to my existing phone bill and an annual commitment slightly less than automobile insurance. Assuming twelve months of commitment and an average of 2-4 visits per week (or 8-15 visits per month), analysis results revealed that the price per visit would lie within the range of $4.50 to $9.00. These numbers were, in fact, quite reasonable, for even single drop-in classes at the City of Mississauga's countless community centres ring in at around $8-$10 per visit for residents.

​Alas, time will tell for my ultimate decision.