It's spring time in North Africa, and much like spring time everywhere, this means that everyone wants to be outside. ("It's been a long, cold, lonely winter, little darlin' it seems like years since it's been here...here comes the sun....and it's alright"). Yesterday afternoon I spent three hours pretending to study in the Belvedere Park while I was really watching every living child in Tunis parade about in adorable matching outfits. Millions of small people were running around, giggling and slapping siblings, blowing bubbles, tossing balloons and drinking Fanta. I don't blame them, who doesn't want to run outside in the spring?! For me this time of year has always meant lacing up the shoes and hitting the pavement, running outside preferably along the Charles ("along with lovers, muggers and thieves ... love that dirty water, Boston you're my home!"). Why is it that I forget what a luxury running outside is, until I find myself once again in places where running outside is completely unacceptable? ("Nobody left to run with anymore, nobody left to do the crazy things we used to do before, nobody left to run with anymore"). No one runs outside here. I've never seen it. Two male friends, one is Spanish and the other Turkish, tried a few times and kids threw rocks at them. ("But...everybody's got a mountain to climb... don't get discourage if the sun don't shine... gotta keep on rollin' gotta keep on trying!").
Upon completing my exams last week, I celebrated by joining a gym. There is a nice, two level fitness center approximately 8 nanoseconds from the front door of my apartment. I have never before lived in such close proximity to everything convenient! I can fax transcripts, dye my hair, purchase a vacuum, haggle for fresh fruits and vegetables all without walking more than 50 yard from chez moi! ("What you want, baby I got it, and what you need, you know I got it ..all I'm asking is for a little respect..just a little bit"). Glorious. Back to my gym, it costs about 22 dollars a month. While this is more expensive than running at the Hillcrest Rec. Center in St.Paul, and a lot more expensive than running outside, my new gym offers me the chance to exercise and simultaneously not be bothered in the streets. The second floor of my gym is for women only. It's quite interesting as the gym is frequented by veiled women as well as the lyra-clad, and teenagers and grandmothers attend the same aerobics class taught by a sixty-something year-old woman who has the ass of a twenty-year old. ("We are family, I got all my sisters with me!")
While it is great that I have a gym, there are a few elements of non-awesomeness. For example, there is a 20 minute limit on the tread mills, of which there are only 4. What exactly can you do in 20 minutes? Nothing. Ah! (Cue bad ass music: "I'm a sailor peg and I lost my leg, climbing up the top sails...I'm shipping up to Boston"). To add insult to the time-limit injury most women walk on the treadmills at a pace at which I would not be found grocery shopping. ("Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you!"). There are bikes, but you cannot program them and the resistance is akin to sitting on the ground lifting feet slightly off ground and air peddling. Not exactly a work out. I should not complain, as I am ridiculously lucky to live so close to a gym where lots of normal Tunisian women work out. Luckily I've found a solution: go to the gym at 7 pm when all Tunisian women are at home, and have treadmill to myself for over an hour! ("Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me a-away!")
When running I often feel nostalgia for previous moments of great running experiences. ("Give me one moment in time, when I was more than I thought I could be, when all of my dreams were a heartbeat a-way and the answers were all up to me!" Yes, Whitney is on my running mixes. Because I love her.). The summer I lived in Vermont I was in great shape, one the athletic facilities at Middlebury College are insane, two, because I so badly needed the physical release after hours of studying, and three, you share the gym with men. And, men are good competition. Not that I am ever trying to run as fast or bench press the same amount of weight. But well, sweating next to men makes me rethink stopping at 3 miles, and I find myself saying "I can do another rep. of my girlie 10 lb. weights." ("Pressure, pushing down on me....It's the terror of knowing what this world is about watching some good friends screaming 'Let me out' …This is our last dance this is ourselves Under Pressure"). Pressure is good. Also, I like the camaraderie, we study together, we sweat together, we're not the same but equals.
Ah, so unlike my Tunisian gym, where I'm annoyed that we, the women, have the shitty equipment, the run down treadmills and bikes that don't work and zero free weights. I am still working up my courage to venture into the men's world to see if I can borrow weights. I'll really have to blast the Dropkick Murphys for that excursion! For the moment, I have found that the best course of action is to take out my aggression on the rubber-asphalt. As I mouth the words to songs that would be seen as less than culturally appropriate. ("This bed is on fire with passionate love, the neighbors complain about the noises above, but she only comes when she's on top...messed around with gender roles, dye my eyes and call me pretty-eeee!")("Well I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when, I've been drinking bourbon, whiskey, scotch and gin. Gonna get high man I'm gonna get loose, Need me a triple shot of that juice!") ("I'll never be your beast of burden, all I want is you to make love to me...!)
While packing for my "trip" here, I stupidly neglected to bring my running shoes as they take up too much room. Therefore I had to purchase a very seventh-grade-boy pair of black and red knockoff Nikes at the second hand market. I also failed to bring any proper running clothes. Again the second hand market to my rescue! I paid 3 dollars for an excellent warm-up pants, that dry in about two minutes and go nicely with my yellow-sparkly Minnesota University est. 1975 t-shirt! Yet, thank God, I did not forget to bring my running mixes. I don't think I could find the Allman Brothers in the second hard market. And the miles would be so long and lonely without them.
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