May 2007 Archives

I need to switch gyms. The one I go to now is becoming more and more annoying as the months go by. Classes being canceled without notice, losing good instructors, changing the schedule every month, etc. The last straw was a Virtual Aerobics class I mistakenly went to a couple of weeks ago.

This debacle was a Step class taken by two instructors: an on-screen one and a real, living person. The on-screen instructor turned out to be a DVD of 6-8 people in early 90s exercise-wear all working out in this industrial area with stage lighting, dry ice and tribal drummers. Very dramatic and very United Colours of Benetton, except that I could not actually see the moves for all the concrete blocks and exposed pipes placed here and there for supposed effect.

While this was going on, the real-life instructor also felt it necessary to walk around, getting in our way, wrongly repeating the on-screen instructions, often crucial seconds too late, and thus satisfactorily irritating us all. To add further insult to potentially actual injury, I could not see what I was doing because the lights had been turned off. This was so we would (this is not a joke) "feel more confident exercising in the dark".

I don't want to be a part of this place anymore!

So I have to find a new gym. I think about a few places but end up calling Les Mills because I think I can get a free trial there. Also, it is the only other gym nearest to me, and let's face it, I am too lazy to walk very far to do my workout.

The phone is answered by a voice-recording of a very enthusiastic individual, "HEY THERE! WELCOME to Les Mills!". I jump in fright and yank the receiver from my ear. I don't feel welcome. I feel scared. I'm already envisaging a future trainer, all hearty and Jolly Hockeysticks-like, urging me on to do "just ten more!".

I just want to exercise. In the normal fashion. I don't want to be jollied along or plunged into darkness or turn up to find the class has been canceled altogether. It can't be that hard, can it?

In the summertime, I like the ride home from Palmy to Wellington well enough.

During winter's twilight hours, however, we cannot pass by the small towns between the two cities fast enough. Glimpses inside the town's only pub, the single dairy or fish and chip shop - all gloomily empty - put a cold, dull feeling in my heart. Nobody on the half-lit streets, and houses merely dark scattered shapes with only the occasional square of light hinting at homes, kitchens, people.

It's always a relief to come round that last bend and see the friendly winking lights in the harbour. It is reassuring to think about the thousands of different lives all being lived in such close quarters: narrow streets, crammed trolley buses, multi-leveled carparks, office buildings and apartment blocks, many squares of light all set close together, each one a sign of a whole life.

I walked out of the office late this afternoon, breathing in the cold and looking at the twinkling city lights, thinking how much it was just the best time of the whole day, that blissful feeling of release from work into a long evening of slow time with loved friends and all things good for the soul.

I like this cold too. I like the need for layers of turtlenecks and jumpers, for scarves and gloves and soft, soft merino.

This weekend, I am buying a bookcase. Time to give my precious books a proper home.