Gym Bunny

As part of my campaign to Do Differently, and part of her campaign of Great Reduction, my friend Carmel and I joined a gym. I loathe gyms. I have always made fun of people who go to gyms, including my own friends, often to their faces. I am as surprised as anyone I have friends.

But now, I am a gym bunny just like those I mock. I am, in many ways, ashamed of myself. I work my social life around making it to the gym for particular classes. I bought a gym bag and a workout clothes. I own a water bottle.

I’ve never owned such things before. I played competitive sand volleyball until a few years ago, but that requires very little gear really, a towel, some insect repellent, beer money, etc... So when I was home for Christmas, I enlisted my sister-in-law to put together a gym bag for me. I had no idea it was such a costly exercise. Then again, I had no idea how much stuff actually went in a gym bag. I had to double my toiletries, make up, lotions, potions and such, in order to get ready for work after my ‘workout’. After the signup fee, the first month’s fee, that was a whole lot of outlay I hadn’t planned on just to go swimming and get bendy in yoga.

When Carmel and I went to tour the gym, I had agreed without thinking about it first. Had I stopped drafting long enough to really process what she said, I’d be writing about a whole different campaign. Since she got me at a weak moment, I went to have a look.

I was seduced by the pool and joined immediately.

It is no ordinary pool. There is nothing athletic or traditional about this pool. I sincerely doubt this pool is even from the same species. I suspect it is more closely related to the Spa Weekend Getaway Pool. The room is blue, aqua blue, with beautiful tile work and painted murals of the sea. There is mood lighting and it is generally a quiet peaceful space. For you see, in a non-traditional twist of beautiful environmental consciousness, it is a saltwater pool. Water is taken from Dublin bay, which would be the Irish Sea, filtered and cleaned, heated and then pumped into the pool. And it is amazing to wade into first thing in the morning. My skin loves salt water, so when I finish my swim, I am as soft and silky as if I’d spent hours and tons of cash on treatments in the spa. I’m saving a fortune.

Not that I spend a great deal of time or money in spas. But still. I don’t have to now.

In addition to the pool, they also feature a plunge pool (eh...), a sauna (hmmm...), a Turkish bath (interesting), and a caldarium (seriously?). Owing to my swimming injury this morning, I tried them all. I now know what it felt like to be an ancient Roman, a Turk and a Finn.

A caldarium is part of the old Roman bath system, a dry heated room with benches. After the caldarium, one would enter the fridgedarium, and then proceed thru all the different types of rooms before dressing and heading back out into the white city. Caldariums are quite boring unless there is an actual assassination plot being hatched or the beginnings of modern democracy being hammered out. No wonder they tried to take over the world. Without intrigue, it’s just a hot room with uncomfortably warm tiles scoring red lines on your butt.

I preferred the sauna immediately when I entered. I like steam. It’s good for the sinuses. But my favourite of the three would definitely be the Turkish bath. Hot, steamy, humid and slightly fragrant, it could knock the toxins out of the worst drug addict in no time. (Calling Amy Winehouse!) Sitting there for 3 minutes, I had more sweat on me than playing sand volleyball in the height of the Texas summer. But no mosquitoes or fire ants. Bonus. But 3 minutes was about all either of us could take, so we headed to the Bubbles, which is the true reward for getting out of bed early.

Beside the pool, the entire length of the 25 metres is a special feature called the water jet wall, which is affectionately known as The Bubbles. 3 separate areas lined with water jets strategically placed to massage various muscle groups. Stand at the far end, it works the neck, shoulders, and thighs. Sit in the middle section, it works the lower back, calves and feet. Lie down in the front section, it gives you a full body massage.

That is a glorious way to greet the morning.

We’ve decided to swim three mornings a week, take yoga one day a week and then she’ll head to the women’s gym and I’ll head to the spin studio. So far, she’s on track and I’ve yet to hit the spin studio. The woman that teaches the class is the same woman who taught our Thai Chi/Yoga/Pilates class over the weekend. She is less affectionately knows a Mean Mommy.

I’ve taken Pilates for a few years now, but never Yoga. It is something I have been wanting to do after pulling a muscle in Pilates, which made me realize I was nowhere near bendy enough for Advanced Pilates. Having said that, I know this much, at least, about Yoga:

1- It is not a competitive sport.
2- The phrase ‘Feel the Burn!’ should never be used.
3- Profuse sweating in the warm-up is a bad sign.

I’ve never worked so hard. There was nothing relaxing about it. In fact, I’ve never been more uncomfortable doing Pilates in my life. I realized a little too late that choosing a spot next to the glass wall looking out onto the treadmills/stair steppers/elliptical machines was probably the worst position to have taken. When she had us get into the Happy Baby pose all I could focus on was the fact that guy running on the treadmill was getting quite the intimate view of me without having to take me to dinner first.

I’ll be at the back of the room next time.