(Editor’s Note : Earlier this month, we received word from Yelp.com that sometime CSTB contributor, baseball exec and tireless consumer advocate Randy L. of the Bronx, had been banned from the site for a second time, with his most recent reviews of NYC restaurants and merchants lost to the digital ether. However, with the assistance of a team of forensic specialists from M.I.T, we have successfully recovered one of Randy’s most recent essays, a March 30, 2013 critique of the elite NYC gym, Peak Performance – GC)

I’ll start this review by making it clear that I have never personally made use of Peak Performance’s facilities. Between my important work in the Bronx and my charitable efforts on behalf of Teach A Labrador To Read, I don’t have a lot of time for primping and preening in front of mirrors like some desperate male hustler. Don’t get me wrong, physical fitness is great — I wish someone would explain the concept to CC Sabathia — but much of what passes for self-improvement is really an all-too-predictable manifestation of terrified male insecurity.

All of that said, I have sincere respect and appreciation for the ownership and management of this gymnasium ; if any of them would like to try their hand at an internship with America’s Premier Sports Franchise, I’d certainly keep an open mind. Why am I so bullish on Peak Performance? I’d be violating a confidence (and possibly some right to privacy laws) if I told you the full story, so instead contemplate the following, purely hypothetical scenario (if you’ll humor me for a moment) :

Let’s imagine there’s a fabulously successful professional sports franchise, and despite cosmetic appearances that suggest a pair of genetic lottery winners are the club’s brain trust, the operation is actually being run by a man with the initials “R.L.” (an executive, I should stress, of the highest intellect and capacity for caring). This baseball executive has long suspected one of his most highly paid employees of dabbling in illegal performance enhancing substances, and with the assistance of a towel boy at an exclusive Manhattan health spa, has obtained crude, hidden-camera footage of said employee being injected in the buttocks.

(Also, there’s a video clip of him taking human growth hormone, too)

Most establishments upon learning of such nefarious video taping measures, would be susceptible to a bribe rather than destroying the evidence and having the towel boy deported. But not the spa in this story. Those guys know how to stand up for their customers, even the ones who have personal “trainers” that look like Wendi Richter with a zucchini in her pants (not that you were staring).

Though I am sure the executive (who must remain as nameless as he is brilliant and handsome) regrets being unable to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement with this gym (or shall we say, “wellness center?) at least there’s someone in this G-d forsaken world with an ounce of integrity left.