I like to think of myself as a pretty health conscious person. I work out regularly, I try to eat right, I get enough sleep, I try to drink lots of water, etc. I can't say that my motivation is physical appearance, I've always been rather skinny; I just like to think that I'll live to 100 with my health and sanity intact and there's really only one way to do that-- take care of yourself. In any case, I'm familiar with gym culture in the United States. The men who groan loudly and then slam weights on the floor, the stinky people, the super hot people looking for a date, the old people with the walking farts on the treadmill....I thought I'd seen it all.
Going to the gym- any gym- in Rio is a sociological experiment I encourage anyone to undertake. As I've eluded before, Rio (as a beach city) has a bit of the L.A. arrogance and a lot of the West Coast preoccupation with appearance. In sum, cariocas (people who live in Rio) love the gym, adore the gym, worship at the altar of all that is gym.
My first day at the gym near my house was, in my mind, very typical. I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, pulled my hair back, put on an old t-shirt, running shorts and sneakers and walked a few blocks to go workout. I arrived at the gym, passed through the turnstiles and immediately realized I'd made a mistake. On the line of treadmills that flank the entrance into the gym were some of the best dressed and most attractive women I've ever seen. At 9am, these women were in full makeup, their hair was loose and flowing, and they were wearing the most ridiculously hot workout clothes ever. I was officially the schmuck of the gym that morning.
I thought perhaps it was merely the women at the front (the kind that want to be seen "working out" from passersby) that looked so amazing. Wrong. During my workout, I was slowly transported to a veritable 1980s Land of workout gear and musical selections. "Lets Get Physical" by Olivia Newton John actually came on over the surround sound speakers. Women were wearing neon colors, high-top sneakers and tube socks....yes, TUBE SOCKS. But nothing could compare to the spandex. Oh, the spandex. I saw colors, cuts and prints beyond my wildest imagination. Leopard print, calf-length pants with a bright orange halter top, white socks to the knee and shiny green kicks? Absolutely acceptable. A one-piece spandex suit with a print mimicking Impressionist brush strokes with a huge bow on the butt? Fashion forward and fabulous! I was clearly out of my league.
While I was dazzled by the fashionable hard-bodies that continually entered, I was less impressed with the "workout ethic" around me. People were not working out. They were doing everything EXCEPT working out. And forget sweating. Why mess up my hair and makeup? That's just crazy talk. And talk they did. Women leisurely strolling at a 1.0 on the treadmill (while I waited to use it), casually chatted with their girlfriends on the neighboring treadmill.
"...so I said to her, why don't you just leave him? You're still young! You need to be happy."
"That is so true. I was telling my sister the same thing the other day. Her husband is just so...."
Men laying on the weight benches with their feet propped up recapped the recent soccer game with their spotter buddies.
"....absolute shit! Seriously man, I don't know what he was thinking."
"No, no, no. He had no choice. I mean, if I were him, I would've..."
It was a an impenetrable wall of mindless chatter all around me. People SAT on machines, people STOOD by the water fountains, people LEANED on the stair rail....it was insane! I thought I could simply power through it all. I trucked through my whole routine but, inevitably, someone would suck me into a mindless conversation as I (very unsexily) sweated my brains out.
Running on the treadmill: (looking at the TV in front of us) Do you really think that the U.S. economy will be able to recover after this downturn? I think America is on the way down. Don't you?
Working my tricepts: Where are you from? Santa Catarina? No, wait. Don't tell me....Argentina?
Doing crunches: You are so lucky you are young! Look at all the fat on my ass! Seriously, look at it. I used to have a nice little ass like you when I was 20-something...
AGHHHH!!!! Leave me alone! I just want to wear myself out in peace! I want to be free to get sweaty, look ugly and have no one pay attention to me, damnit!! Is that too much to ask?
Yes.
So, I've slowly and reluctantly found myself adapting to my strange surroundings. I have indeed purchased spandex. Quite a bit, actually. And I wear makeup....(sigh)...but only powder and concealer...ok, some mascara too. Oh the shame! And....I talk to people. I chat with the guy who first showed me around, I chat with the front desk girls, I chat with the women in the cool-down room. It's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous. But what can you do? When in Spandexland, one can only slap on a headband, pick out that annoying wedgie, be on guard for camel-toe and keep singing along to the 80s pop music.
Until next time...
