Day 60: Anthropological Field Journal, Day 8

Due to my continued lack of Internet connection while on vacation, I was unable to publish this post on its original date.  It is from Monday, November 29.

This is my final day "observing" the society that is my temporary gym.  So far, I have learned many lessons:  do not wear red shirts, do not talk to people, do not listen to music while working out.  Today, I feel like I have finally acculturated a bit to this new and strange place. 

I woke up late today, and realized it would be different today when I pulled in the parking lot and I was parking amongst dozens of high-end minivans and SUVs—favorite vehicle selections for women of this area.  I check in and change, the wafting sounds of the Greek gymnasia briefly entering my ears.  This pleasantness is, of course, destroyed as soon as I push open the door between the locker room and work out area, which says "NO STREET CLOTHES BEYOND THIS POINT."  I have been bemused by this sign all week, as I think about who in their right mind would wear street clothes to do any kind of serious work out (sorry if there are those of you out there, I am not trying to be insensitive, it is just that I sweat so much when I work out I am not sure what I would do with the clothes when I was done).  

As I walk over to the weights, a woman comes out of the lady's locker room.  She is in her 40s, dressed in some kind of designer workout wear, with her hair done up like she is ready to go down the catwalk at a Miss America pageant.  She is wearing heavy make-up, has several heavy bracelets, and bears a ring on her finger that is so large it has to weigh her down (actually, it probably helps with the workout by making her work harder—the more weight the harder you have to work!).  She immediately spies two friends on treadmills and runs over to chat with them.  I wonder as I pass her whether her face (or at least her make-up) will melt off after she starts working out. 

I finally get to the weights, where there are two relatively fit men, both in their upper 30s, talking.  As I start my workout, they continue to talk.  Periodically, one of them will exert a massive amount of effort to lift some obscene about of weight for about 15 seconds, then they take a five minute break.  Between each break, they take turns querying each other with what could only be described as "manly questions." 

Workout Man #1:  "Hey, so how much would it cost me to get a decent Hummer--a real one, not the H3 or anything."

Workout Man #2:  "Well, you could probably get something for 38-32 loaded or unloaded."  (They speak someone in code, but I think this means that if you want it loaded, you will pay $38,000 and if you don't, you will pay $32,000.  Frankly, if you get that package that allows you to drive the Hummer underwater, I would pay the extra $6,000.)

Workout Man #1:  "Whoa, that isn't bad."

[At this point, both men work out for a minute or so, then return to the same spot they were previously talking.]

Workout Man #2:  "Man, have you seen these new police issue firearms that are coming out?  I was in Vegas last week, and while I was getting off the freeway four cops jump out of a car and surround this truck, man I thought I was going to get shot."

Workout Man #1:  "You were in the truck!?"

Workout Man #2:  "No, man, I was on the off-ramp.  It was another truck, but man, I thought they were going to start shooting.  Nothing happened though, it was awesome."

[Again, the men break from talking, work out for about 30 seconds, then come back and start talking again.]

About 20 minutes into my workout I am fortunate to have something else distract me.  I see a man walking towards me, who clearly looks like he is on vacation.  He has a pair of denim shorts, an untucked Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and sneakers on (I was surprised he didn't have flip-flops on).  In his hand he has a huge coffee in one of those traveller's mugs that doesn't spill.  He walks up to me, looking slightly disoriented and confused.  I wonder if he really intended to visit the tanning salon, which is one floor down from where he is, but I say nothing. 

I continue my workout, and when I am done with a machine, he says in a not rude but not nice way, "Are you using this?" He points to the machine that I have just finished using.  

"Nope, all done," I tell him.  He proceeds to set the machine to its lowest level and begins "working out."  I can't help myself watch him over the next fifteen or so minutes, wandering aimlessly around the weight machines and free weights, exerting more energy lugging his coffee around than he does poking about the weights, but never breaking a sweat.

I, on the other hand, am drenched and still have to do my cardio.  I head over to the stair climber.  As I walk, I overhear the woman with the make-up—who still hasn't gotten any exercise done, say to her friends, "Well, I have to go, see you later."  She then walks back into the lady's locker room without ever having done any exercise whatsoever.  I start climbing stairs. 

When I am done, I take my earphones off and set them on the stair climber, wipe my face dry, and head for the locker room.  I dress and get ready for the day, and then realize that I have forgotten my earphones on the stair climber.  I again brave the obnoxious music and push the door open.  I take two steps when a red-shirt (this is what I now call the "trainers" who are supposed to "help" me with questions and exercises) accosts me:  "Sir, you cannot enter this area of the gym in street clothes."

"Oh, don't worry, I just forgot something up here and wanted to grab it," I respond.

He again admonishes me that I really can't work out in my street clothes.  As he does this, the Hawaiian shirt man comes walking by, his neck craned up is he drains every last drop of his coffee into his mouth.  I realize that you can actually work out for 45 minutes, and never break a sweat, as this guy is perfectly dry as he heads for the showers.  The irony of this guy walking by as I am being denied access to my earphones is lost on the red-shirt. 

I finally convince the red-shirt that I am not going to work out, and under his watchful eye, I get my earphones and head for the door for the last time.  As I do so, I think about the lessons learned, the final observations, I can take from my experience.  Some may call it haughty, others culturally imperialistic, but this is what I have learned:  some societies are just better than others.  In this case, my society is a whole lot better than the one I have been studying for the last week.  All I can say is good bye and good riddance!  I just hope I don't go through any culture shock when I return to my own gym on Wednesday!

UPDATE:  I did, in fact, return to my regular gym on Wednesday and I am happy to report that I did not experience any culture shock.  I was received with open arms by all of the ultra-buff people that I work out with.  I suppose it is because they think of me as a good mascot.  I mean, what better way to keep them working out by showing what they can become if they stop.