Working out like a French woman

As someone who would rather sit among a pile of pillows eating ice-cream than exercise ANY DAY, I've naturally struggled with the modern phenomenon of "regular exercise".  I generally get into some sort of fad or other and then tire of it about 12 months later, disappointed by the results - exercise most definitely does not make you thin - and bored with the routine.

So, moving onto another fad, I signed up for a personal trainer in December.  I decided that perhaps if I had someone come-to-my-door and wake-me-up in the morning, then maybe I'd actually manage to stick to it.  And I have.

Part of the this was motivated by my trainer who suggested the notion that one "might want to workout like a Frenchwoman".  This, she implied, means never missing a class...ever....  

She told me (and I'm not sure how I feel about this) that many women work hard, play hard, drink hard, eat hard and exercise like maniacs, but that they don't keep it up.  French women on the other hand, work light, play light, drink light, eat light and always exercise (lightly) and keep it up.  

I don't know if any of this is particularly true (a good friend of mine, for example, does all of the above but then eats the entire cheese plate after she's had more than 3 glasses of wine), but in any case, I decided I would try the "always exercise, but lightly" idea.  

So now, twice or three times a week, you'll find me in the park lightly doing crunches, TRX squats, burpies, sprints, lunges and other death defying deeds...lightly.  

Z Listers

I was a little surprised to be the only woman in the small and shabby hotel gym today in Auckland.  I was also a little perplexed as to why the Jacuzzi was so full of men who all obviously knew each other. 

Had I mistaken the men's changing room for the gym?  I stepped outside to check.  No.  It definitely said  "hotel gym and pool".  Odd.  

So I decided to ignore them and set myself to running and crying along with sob stories on CNN.  

Afterwards I thought again how unusual it is for people to know each other in a business hotel.  Seriously, when last did you go with your colleagues or clients to the basement hotel gym?

So I asked Reception what the story was with all these sporty guests.  He paused and blinked for a moment and said, 

"Have you heard of the All Blacks?"

o

Occupy Pilates

Unlike any other sport I've dabbled in, I must say I really enjoy pilates. I look forward to my weekly sessions, where I get to sway back and forth on the "reformer", to the voice of the instructor: 1-2-3 puuuush.

I particularly enjoy the fact that the studio I go to is so small and tucked away in Wan Chai. I know nobody there, and appreciate the freedom anonymity and two hours of peaceful meditative exercise does to my general mental and physical health.

Not for long, though. Last week, as I unsuspectingly squeaked out of my class on my slip-proof 5-toe socks, I suddenly found myself in the midst of a French Banker Congregation. Only they'd swapped their Westins and blue suits for aforementioned socks and graying shorts (thank goodness they spared me leggings).

It took me a very long half-a-second to register that a) this is the first time I've seen that many men here and b) I don't think I've ever seen T's friends standing around in socks (have I already mentioned the toes?) and shorts before. It felt like a bit of an Allie McBeal moment, when she imagines all the lawyers naked in the court room, only there was no waking up from this daydream/nightmare.

Turns out that T has been promoting the wonders of pilates at Le Banque, claiming that it can cure back ache and get rid of paunches in 10 sessions. The fact that T has never actually been to a pilates class and has no intention of ever doing so, is something that this loyal fan base seem to have generously overlooked. Sigh.

I'm considering getting a facial next week. I hope to goodness I don't have to sit anywhere next to a bunch of traders with cucumbers on their eyelids. I couldn't take it.

Vibrate and stretch

You know how it feels when you think you're onto something, and then you find out you're not? Well that's how I'm feeling now. I tried Pilates reformer and PowerPlate classes last week and both were wonderfully effortless. Both seemed to involve lounging around on a mat or vibrating pedestal, wearing socks instead of sports shoes and having a small massage afterwards.

Everyone talks about how fantastic these exercises are and how they are famed for turning hippos into giraffes. So I was thrilled to find how easy they were, and so pleased to have discovered an exercise which doesn't actually involve any..well..exercise.

Now I know why they call the first classes "introductory".

This week was a killer.

I went back to PowerPlate class today, imagining I would again be concentrating most of my efforts on lying on my back while my bum gets massaged. But instead I found myself being ordered to squat, jump and clap (yes, clap) and then land back on the vibrating plate. Not only did I feel like I was dying of exhaustion, I was also worried I might fall off the machine entirely - so, a lethal combination of pain and fear. This was followed by a rather humiliating move which involved me clinging onto the "plate" for dear life as I suspended my legs up to the side while balancing a ball between them. Not good.

Pilates has so far been going a bit better, as the movements are slower and I get to take breaks. Yes, on the PowerPlate, you don't get to break for the entire 30 minutes session. My one small victory against instant death this afternoon was discretely sitting on the large ball I was supposed to be squeezing between my knees (while standing on my tip toes and feeling the teeth-rattling vibrations through my head). Never has a stolen moment of reprieve felt so good.

So, tomorrow it's session three of Pilates. Fingers crossed that introductory period isn't over there too.

Virtuosity

I woke up two days with ago with the epiphany that if I don't do some sort of physical exercise, I might just morph into a ball of plasticine. Thanks to extreme laziness, I have been known to rely rather heavily on personal trainers. But, given that personal trainers are as, if not more, expensive than New York, I've joined the rest of humanity at the "public" gym to worship the gods of fitness. Read thinness.

My temple of choice was Pure gym, which the-hippest-coolest-innest-gym in town. I walk into the crowded entrance. Big bowl of green apples-that-are-not-meant-for-eating-as-why-would-you-need-more-calories-to-work-off? Techno thumping and lots of white people looking flushed-yet-composed. I sign up for a free trial (no way am I paying for this without seeing if my will power can stand it) with the guy in the undersized red t-shirt behind the counter, who I could have sworn is wearing eye make-up. And there I am, ready for action. That was easy.

I traipse upstairs and find myself in what seems to be a night out with machines. The music is LOUD. And the place is PACKED. Men with huge biceps compete for space in front of the mirrors as they swing their dumbells. Girls with tiny bums hang off of bars, while others check that their cleavages are low enough in the mirror. I feel like a deer in the headlights. I wish the lights were lower. I work my way apologetically from machine to machine and end up on the mats doing some puny push ups.

Despite all odds, I managed an hour (no I wasn't counting). And left feeling rather pleased with myself. I lifted my chin up in distain as I walked past the happy-smoking-drinking-people in the bar downstairs. I had that holier-than-thou feeling and could feel my aura glowing. Went home, had a saintly salad for dinner and am going back today. Ahh those good intentions.

Maybe I can get a new gym outfit. Something to make Stella proud.

By the way, I read an article yesterday that said maybe people would go to the gym more if they had to pay each time they didn't go rather than vice versa.

Take a look if you've run out of anything interesting to read and are starting to think the job ads in the Economist are an acceptable source of entertainment: http://adage.com/cmostrategy/article?article_id=145091