January 14, 2006

I Sore

I don't spend much time in gyms. There's something about the competitive, exhibitionist sweatiness that runs violently contrary to all my most deeply ingrained inhibitions, as both a scrawny bookish type and a British person. But this term I was determined not to become the motionless slug that I usually am in the winter, so I enrolled in capoeira classes at the McGill gym. Yesterday was my first session.

Gyms are an intimidating social space for those of us not well-versed in their internal cultures (sorry, I can't help myself). There is a strongly institutionalised but completely unwritten set of rules that governs acceptable behaviour within gyms, and this makes going to a gym rather uncomfortable for people like me who haven't set foot in a locker room since the beginning of high school (except that my high school didn't actually have lockers, only thieves).

See, for instance, I assumed (quite naïvely, apparently) that openly flaunting nudity would be frowned upon. That's just the sort of background I have: the people I hang out with don't generally tend to walk around with their genitals wagging every which way. And, I mean, I understand that the locker room is a place where one goes to get changed, and thus naked; but this was far beyond what would be considered necessary just for the purposes of changing clothes. These guys weren't quite having penis fights, but it was pretty damn close.

Anyway, my class is fun but probably more continuous exercise than I have ever had in my life. I barely managed to walk home, and even now, sixteen hours later, am aching all over. Considering the class is an hour and a half, three days a week, by the end of the semester I am either going to be really really in shape, or really really dead.

Now, I must go lie in bed and not move for several hours.


At 14/1/06 13:03, Anonymous Anonymous said...

"penis fights"?!??!? HAHA!
And don't worry andrew, i am sure the pain will be reduced eventually.



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