The Gym

I was never a health club person.
For me, one of the joys of exercise is being outdoors. A good run through the park involves more than muscles and sweat, it includes seeing trees recently leafed out in spring, squirrels chasing one another in the woods, noticing whether the creek is up or down after rain or drought, maybe greeting a neighbor. Biking opens the experience even more, with miles of country road to explore, steep inclines to challenge those quads, and the whoosh of wind in my ears on speedy downhill rides. I also dance and practice yoga, and though they are done indoors they involve the mind and spirit in ways I wouldn’t expect in a gym. By comparison, running or pedaling in place seems manufactured.

But something has shifted. I have discovered The Gym.

In the category of “when a door closes, a window opens,” a shoulder injury limited my activity last winter, slamming the door shut on my customary dance class, yoga and running. The window opened when my sweetie invited me to try the pool at his gym – swimming being one activity that is safe for most injuries. After some hesitation (it’s not like stepping outdoors in running shoes and going – you have to fish around through summer gear to find swim goggles and a bathing suit, drive to the gym, figure out their Byzantine system of guests and free passes, etc.) I decided to give it a try.

I felt like an outsider visiting a foreign land. I walked through a maze of treadmills and elliptical machines, took a brief tour of weight-lifting contraptions and peeked into a room full of stationery bicycles for “spinning” classes, where apparently members pedal away while a teacher urges them on, changing the settings on the bicycles to simulate hills and flat areas. I found my way to the locker room and figured out the protocol of choosing a locker (any locker), then hoped my street clothes would still be there when I returned from the pool (I had no lock).

The pool is tiny, four lanes, but not at all crowded. We enjoyed a brief swim, maybe four laps in all, and lots of lolling around in the water. We raced once. My shoulder seemed all right, in fact it seemed to loosen up as I moved it and I felt relief from the constant pain I’d been experiencing. Then I sat in the “spa,” a giant hot tub with swirling jets and super hot water. That alone was worth the price of admission. Which, as it happens, was free, since I was a temporary guest.

And there were other things. Contrary to my preconceived notion that everyone in a gym would be in spandex wrapped over hyper-tight, super-defined muscles, this is a place where all shapes and sizes, all ages and races and socio-economic levels mix. Granted, most people are plugged into iPods while they run or pedal in place. But there is occasional friendly interaction in the pool, the spa, the locker room, and it’s sweet to see friends come to the gym together, chattering away as they get into workout gear. People seem to really be there for their health, they are doing something positive for themselves, and it feels good to be around that sort of effort.

I decided I’d go again. This time I swam longer. I felt I could stay for hours. My body, so starved for physical activity, was ecstatic, endorphins finally flowing again. I swam five lengths, then sat in the spa, then plunged into the cooler pool, invigorated, and swam five more. In the locker room, I helped one of the other members puzzle out her new combination lock, despite the fact that she spoke little English.

Since those first couple of visits, I’ve become a convert. I joined The Gym. This process was not so great – more like buying a car, with the staff throwing out specials and deals and instead of telling me what it costs each month, writing down the sum on a piece of paper as if it were a Great Secret, and sliding it across the desk for me to consider. Here’s the Secret: I wound up joining for a $25 initiation fee and $34.99 a month. More affordable than I would have imagined, pre-Gym Epiphany. Rates vary from gym to gym, of course – this is LA Fitness, in Silver Spring – and, as it turns out, from week to week, season to season, person to person etc.

But now that I’m a member, with a little card I can scan for entry into the sanctuary of good health, all that bargaining and car-dealing is behind me.

When I’m organized and have the time, I go to The Gym with a book to read while I work out on the elliptical machine (kinder on my still-healing shoulder than the treadmill). I don’t have to worry if it’s unseasonably cold, or raining, or dark. I don’t have to make it to The Gym in time for class, I can go whenever it suits me. I can sweat on the elliptical, then rinse off and go in the pool. I’ve worked up to 20 laps, sometimes more, not much by an athlete’s standards but enough to get my blood flowing. And then I get to sit in the spa, position my shoulder at the jets and breathe a loud sigh as I feel the tension flow out into the water.

The whole experience is like visiting a little oasis that is All About Me. I love the actual workout, feeling my heart rate increase, feeling my muscles stretch and come alive. I like to look at the inspirational photos of athletes on the walls, staring out of smooth, taut faces, challenging me to challenge myself. I love the order of the locker room – the efficient little lock I now use, the neat lines of wooden lockers, the convenience of hair driers, the option of a sauna or spa, the satisfaction when I remember all the accoutrements of post-workout routine (shampoo, lotion, hair product, clean underwear) and the efficiency of routine. Visiting the oasis is like a little gift to myself, all in the space of an hour or so.

My shoulder is feeling better. I think it's the swimming, and maybe the spa. Healing: just one of the many benefits of my newfound favorite thing.

Country Dog

Nala the city dog went country this weekend. For the first time she got to run beyond the confines of a small, fenced yard, and I got to walk her without a leash.

Sounds simple, and great, but from the front porch of our Takoma Park colonial, the prospect of Nala off leash was daunting. This is a dog who, when she slips the leash, gleefully runs away, moving like a souped up gazelle, all muscle and motion, joyfully speeding in and out of neighbors’ yards and scaring all of us with an abandon that shows her ignorance of moving vehicles. She has gotten into the middle of a six-lane highway and we felt lucky to have gotten her back. The country place we visit is far enough from any big roads to feel safe, but I couldn’t be sure that a taste of freedom might not tempt her to mindlessly run until she was exhausted, and then not be able to find her way back.

I didn’t give her enough credit.
Nala is nothing if not loyal, and she stuck pretty close to me in her initial hours here at Misty Mountain, a sweet little spot in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. By day two, she was comfortably mingling with new friends at a party on the deck, and I’m sure had no idea where I was.

Having dogs in the country is an entirely different enterprise than it is in the city. No one goes around picking up their poop, for example. They come along for the ride when it’s time to go to the grocery store, or the beer store, or to pick up seed at the farm supply place. They do not go in these places. They wait in the vehicle patiently – or not.

Country dogs don’t wear leashes, though they do have collars and tags. They are in and out of the house all day. They have their own lives.

Nala’s country life included:
Running free through acres of woods
Swimming in the pond
Riding to the general store
Chasing a wild turkey
Carrying a dead rabbit around in her mouth – killed, I am guessing, by the resident cat
Flopping, exhausted, at my feet.

And although I suspect she would have come by all this naturally, Nala has a compadre at Misty Mountain. Daisy, the resident dog, is a chocolate lab puppy and the first dog I’ve seen out-energize Nala. (That's her in the photo, before she met Nala.) She joyfully bounded around, showing Nala her favorite runs and leaping into the pond – while Nala watched from the shore.

Our city girl’s experience with water had been limited to tentatively dipping her paws into the very shallow Sligo Creek. Curious about not only Daisy’s swimming, but the humans splashing around, she put her paws in, then backed off. One of us gave her a push off the dock and she plopped in, surfaced and swam the short distance to shore, unconvinced she’d like to do it again.

Two days of running with Daisy and watching her plunge in and out of the pond, and that began to change. On Sunday, Nala ventured in a few inches, drank some of the water and backed out. Next time, she went in up to her chest. Finally, she swam into deep water – and, as if encouraging her new friend, Daisy got in, swimming so close their sides were touching. Then the two of them got out, shook off, and ran.

Country dogs.