The Gym

I joined a gym last week. My good Chinese friend LiLi told me about it because she started taking yoga classes there.

The gym is about a 15 minute walk from the university. I walk down a dirty, crowded street, past a poor area of town, and into a dingy building. The elevator is broken, so I climb up to the fourth floor in a dark, damp stair well. The lights are sound-activated and are off until I clap, stomp my feet, or cough.

When I reach the fourth floor, I slowly open the door and find, to my surprise, a completely normal-looking gym. It’s clean, has new equipment, and the people working out seem very western. American pop music is playing. I always breathe deeply and pretend that I’m back in America for just a few minutes. The contrast shocks me every time.

My first day, I had a complete exam, including body composition and strength tests. I found it fascinating, but I was surprised that I can have a nearly fluent conversation in Chinese about things like blood pressure, physical injuries, nutrition, and muscle mass. Using technical words like these is great for my Chinese. When I go to classes, it’s the same. We talk about breathing, body parts, direction words, and motion words.

Recently I had been feeling a little glum and tired; working out has been great for me. I have more energy, and when I get back from a full day of classes, it’s actually relaxing to go for a run or practice yoga.