(FORTUNE Small Business) – Dressed in fishnet stockings, a platinum-blond wig, and platform sneakers, Anthony Truly struts around the room, lifting a pair of patent-leather stiletto heels as if they were free weights. "A workout strong enough for a man but made for a woman!" whoops the loud and lean drag queen. Thirty women (and one man) follow his every move. "T.G.I.F.!" Truly announces. "Thank God I'm fabulous!"

No, this isn't La Cage Aux Folles. It's Abs, Thighs, and Gossip, a body-toning and story-swapping class at Crunch Fitness, a chain with clubs from Atlanta to San Francisco. Truly explains that his class, in New York, is fashioned after a girls' night out. "But don't let the glitz and glam fool you," he drawls. We weren't fooled: This class kicks butt.

If it's been a while since you've put on your sweats and sneaks, we want to warn you: This is not your grandmother's--or even Jane Fonda's--workout world. From New York to Nebraska, today's gyms feature a new breed of instructors (firefighters, acrobats, and gospel choirs), an assorted mix of equipment (indoor tees, Hula-Hoops, and TV-equipped treadmills), and such onsite stress-relief services as babysitting. Added together, the changes could signify no less than the democratization of the classic country club. And maybe a change in Americans' puritanical obsession--and chronic failure rate--when it comes to exercise. We just wanna have some fun.

"Gyms used to be workout clubs with a lot of no-neckers," says David Putensen, a manager at Prairie Life Center gyms in cities including Lincoln, Neb., and Overland Park, Kan. Putensen knows that while his no-neckers (guys with shoulders so developed they seem to reach their ears) want to see their biceps bulge, others--ranging in age from 2 to 80--are just stopping in for a dip in the pool. Downtown Chicago's workout wonderland, East Bank Club, is a 450,000-square-foot facility where some of the 10,000 members practice golf on an indoor driving range and take instruction from PGA professionals on staff. And while they're busy training to be like Tiger, East Bank will dry-clean their clothes, repair their shoes, or whip up a tasty low-fat meal for them to take home to the kids. With 24-hour-a-day schedules and Internet access available from every exercise machine, some gyms are a comprehensive home away from home. They're community centers, where we linger after we lengthen.

The most visible change at the new gym is probably the bigger, better crop of group fitness classes. They're more companionable alternatives to lonely long-distance running. Gym classes used to mean hopping around with leg-warmer-wearing women doing step routines. The new classes appeal to a wider audience, especially men, who were not inclined toward activities where they were pressed to demonstrate rhythm or grace or to remember that the left foot rises with the right hand.

The new exercise curriculum started with the still-popular Spinning classes, where a group of people ride stationary bikes, led by an instructor and a booming beat. Spinning classes quadrupled the number of group fitness offerings at gyms such as Bally Total Fitness and sparked such innovations as Stomp (which is like Spinning but on a StairMaster), says Jason Conviser, exercise physiologist at Bally. Meanwhile, gyms introduced more classes such as tai chi and yoga for the meditative types or for those people who want to follow Madonna's workout regimen.

Now the clubs have gone crazy with creativity. Take Crunch, which has 20 locations in metropolitan areas. The club (named for "a sound, a sit-up, and a movement") pioneered classes with entertainment elements, like drag queen Truly's Abs, Thighs, and Gossip. Other Crunch creations include Firefighter Training, taught by off-duty firefighters, and Recess, where participants indulge in school-kid favorites to burn calories: Hula-Hoops, trampolines, and jump ropes. The popularity of wacky workouts has forced so-called traditional classes to add spice. New York Sports Club souped up Spinning with a Tour de France motif; bikers celebrate at the end of the stationary ride with sparkling grape juice and cheese.

Fueling up with food doesn't end with brie on bicycles. Many clubs feature a more or less predictable menu of juice, nutritional powders, energy bars, and supplements. But Chicago's East Bank has a restaurant, grill, cafe, deli, and coffee bar. Crunch adds another element: Health freaks seated at the juice bar and sipping protein power shakes can see the silhouette of a person in the "peekaboo" showers. (Suzanne Somers's fleshy TV commercials for ThighMaster just couldn't cut it these days.)

If all this doesn't give gyms brand loyalty, the instructors often do. Some club members return week after week because they've bonded with their sleek-physiqued teachers. At Roberto's Latin Groove class at one New York Sports Club, girls go gaga for the Ricky Martin-esque instructor. Roberto knows he's hip-shaking hot stuff--more rock star than gym teacher. A few weeks ago two spandex-sporting women had an "incident," each trying to get a spot closer to Roberto on the floor. No one was injured, we're glad to report. But there was pushing, shoving, and elbowing involved. Hey, no one said these classes were easy.