As
I mentioned in previous blog posts, I subscribed to a gym the first month I got
here. Although I haven’t been nearly as diligent in going as I should have,
being able to work out a few times a week has definitely helped burn off some
of those plates of pasta that I seem to be constantly eating here. Working out
is obviously also a great way to alleviate stress and sometimes it’s nice to
take a break from trying to wear semi-dressy clothes out and about (which I
fail at anyways) and put on some running shorts and sneakers (a.k.a., my
natural state at UMW).
The
funny thing about the gym, however, is the clientele of Italians who frequent
there. Let me preface this by saying that I do not judge people in the gym; I
am no varsity athlete and I know that my workouts are not the stuff of legends
and so I do not think anyone should be criticized for how they decide to
exercise. HOWEVER…Italian women are not exactly exercising, so I feel perfectly
at ease demanding why would you come to
the gym dressed like you’re going to a club? I am not exaggerating. Most of
the Italian women who come to the gym are wearing full make-up, rings,
necklaces and hoop earrings. Their clothes vary from bedazzled sweatpants to a
white spandex tank top—yoga pant combination that almost always includes a
sparkly pink push-up bra. Their workouts typically involve walking at a very
slow pace (about as fast as you would walk while strolling down the street) for
thirty minutes, and then doing some lengthy stretches in front of a mirror,
perfectly positioned so that the men of the gym can observe you. This is, after
all, the reason why Italian women come to the gym. To be looked at.
The
men work out like normal people work out: with the goal of actually achieving some
form of exercise and exertion. However, they are also all extremely
self-conscious: when running on a treadmill beside an Italian man, you must run
with the understanding that throughout your entire workout, that man will be
watching your machine to see how fast you’re going, how long you’ve been
running and at what incline your treadmill is at. They will then try to match
you for speed but, ironically, they sometimes can’t keep up. This also occurs
on the elliptical (that wonderfully simple machine that confounded one Italian
man so extensively that he tried to use it moving completely backwards for a
solid five minutes and it took three trainers to explain to him how to do a
forward motion). Even if it is
satisfying knowing that your machine is at level 18 and theirs is at 6, it’s
still really distracting, trying to work out with someone watching you the
entire time.
Despite
the fact that the ideas of using a gym to exercise and minding your own
business have not yet reached this part of Italy, the gym is great. We’ve
become friends with some of the employees there and they recognize us and say
hi whenever we’re there. Our little group of Americans always ends up
regrouping in the locker-rooms at the end of the workout to trade stories about
what crazy tattoo-man did today in the weight room, or what yoga position bedazzled-pants
was practicing for over an hour.
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