I know it’s coming.

As the gym trainer and I conclude our tour of the facility and head back toward his office, the sales pitch is on the tip of his tongue. Like a magic trick, the long, carbon-copied forms and a pen with the gym’s logo on it appear out of thin air.

I brought this on myself, I think. I am shopping for a new gym, though I have a strict limit on what I’m going to pay. This whole routine just makes me — someone who doesn’t make big purchases lightly — a little queasy.

I don’t blame the gyms for this, by the way. They’re not non-profits, after all. But signing my name on the dotted line of a gym’s form always gives me the same heart palpitations as buying a car.

I think it’s the pressure that does it for me, and the feeling that I’m losing control of the whole situation. But then again, I really do need to work on my thighs.

The pitch usually starts with an overestimate and a little flattery, I’ve learned.

This is what we normally make people pay, but you’re special so we won’t charge you that.

So this brings down the enrollment fees and monthly dues to a somewhat reasonable price but still expensive for my meager journalist income.

Then there are the spa charges, nutritional supplements, pre-made meals and personal training fees, which hold the keys to my success.

If you get set up with a trainer, you could be lean and hot in five weeks!

Five weeks, he says! If I had a couple thousand dollars at my disposal, sure, I might shell it out. But not today, Mr. Gym Trainer.

Then comes the swag.

Here’s a free gym bag you’ll get if you sign up, and, uh-oh, what’s inside that gym bag but a free T-shirt, and look what’s clipped on to the shirt, oh look, it’s a free pedometer. That’s still not enough? Well, here’s a $25 gift card to Starbucks and a month of tanning and personal training sessions and a brand-new car. Still not good? Well, take my pen. Consider it a gift. Can we sign up any of your friends?

By this point, I’m loaded down in more exercise loot than I’ll ever use.

At best, I’ll wear my new Totally Buff Gym Fitness City T-shirt to bed, and my Totally Buff Gym Fitness City pedometer will sit in my car’s cup holder, where I chucked it after leaving Totally Buff Gym Fitness City, until I accidentally spill my free Starbucks coffee on it and eventually throw both out.

Then comes the kicker — the final blow to seal the deal.

Looky there, I just knocked $10 off the monthly fee. Can I sign you up or what?

By this point, my head is spinning, and I feel a little bad for potentially wasting this nice guy’s time. He glares at me with a strained smile. Sweat is streaking down the vein popping out of his head.

He is giving me his pen, after all.

So, despite knowing that I probably can’t afford this gym and I had just been had by the bells and whistles, I sign on the dotted line and hand him a check.

I’m an easy mark, I guess.

So for the next 365 days I belong to Totally Buff Gym Fitness City, and considering all the free personal training sessions and spa amenities I just procured in the negotiation, I should be totally buff in a matter of weeks. Five weeks, in fact.

If only this deal came with a warranty.

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The Californian published its first-ever gym review on Sunday, in time for any readers with New Year's resolutions to get in shape. Staff writers Mason Kelley, Danielle Belton and I worked out at many area fitness centers and wrote up what we thought of them. To see how your gym fared or to scope out other gyms, read "A new year, a new body."

What do you think of your current gym? Other gyms around town? What do you look for in a gym? Any tips on finding the perfect one?

Any general gym pet peeves or pleasures? I would love to hear them.