When you purchase a gym membership, something magical happens. You’re allowed into a world of wonders. Machines, mirrors, lights, TVs, pools, therapists, towels, no toddlers, and a general sense of happy people. I don’t blame you for feeling like you’re in an amusement park, minus the toddlers.  You purchase matching shoes, socks, shorts, and  tops—your hair tie matches. You step onto one of the machines, and a motor hums underneath you. With a violent pull, the belt flings you toward the end of the machine and launches you through the air into a pile of dirty towels. As someone helps you up, they mumble some nonsense that you need to…