Working Out, Part Deux

Surprisingly, of all posts so far, the most popular one has been the one in reference to the gym. Maybe it's the cartoon-ish (and therefore somewhat Belgian) illustration (recycled, above), or the fact that my friends know how much I hate working out (and love eating), or just the fact that it is a familiar rip-off Adam Gopnik's much more amusing tales of swimming in the Paris Ritz-Carlton pool. Numerous concerned parties have inquired whether I've managed to find a gym and/or provided many helpful suggestions.

So I thought it would only be fair to provide an update. In the end, J and I decided to join the hard-selling Passage Fitness First, mainly because it is the closest gym to our new apartment. Last week, I even took a class there, the purpose of which I could not decipher from its enigmatic name, High/Low. And even though all the classes have English names, they are certainly not taught in English - something that I knew on one level but still managed not to be fully prepared for. Something else I wasn't prepared for: Belgian gym culture.

Whereas in the U.S., and particularly New York, everyone goes to the gym (probably because we're so self-obsessed and narcissistic), it becomes quite clear upon entering a gym here that it is only a subset of Belges who work out. Which might account for the teenager who taunted J through the window of the gym while he was doing some post-workout stretching/crunches the other day.

So far, the best part has been the aforementioned cours collectifs. Once you enter the studio where the classes are taught, you have irreversibly re-entered the 1980s. This particular class was taught by the likes of instructor I have never encountered in the U.S. - balding but proudly long-haired, skinny but macho, certainly not fit by any stretch of the imagination, last seen in a bad Gérard Dépardieu movie, in which he would have portrayed the much older man preying on G.D.'s teenage daughter. (He did kick my a** though, and I am still having trouble walking a few days later.)

Frites vs. Jogging

The image accompanying this post should provide some indication as to how I might vote on this matter. Having temporarily given up on finding a gym (thank you to those who provided helpful suggestions), I've decided to take advantage of the not-yet-freezing weather and run outside every once in a while. I've even found the perfect spot to do so - les Étangs d'Ixelles, or the Ixelles Ponds, which I've decided to stick to after getting lost a couple of times in the Bois de la Cambre (which J has likened to a fairytale forest).

The only problem is that at the foot of the Ponds lies the prototype of a Belgian frites stand - elegantly simple, wonderfully fragrant, smoke coming out of a lead pipe chimney - and surrounded by many a happy Belgian eating frites (and mayonnaise) with a little wooden fork out of a paper cone. So, for each lap I barely manage to finish, I am once again reminded of how I should be eating frites instead of running. Not exactly motivating.

Also, it does not appear that Begians have ever heard of (or might need) the Atkins diet. Everywhere I go, I see people chomping away on a baguette or shoveling down frites. With nary an obese person in sight.

Working Out Is Hard to Do

I hardly enjoy working out as much as, say, J does. And yet the incessant ingestion of frites, baguette sandwiches, and beer suggests that I should probably at least consider starting some semblance of a workout regimen.

The only problem is that it's not so easy to find a gym in Brussels. J and I went to check out Passage Fitness on Charleroi and were assaulted by a pandering, hyper-aggressive sales associate who demanded that we join that day, or else lose the discount on the initiation fee. Since we're not looking for a local Ballys-for-life, we said no.

I then went to Aspria Avenue Louise, which admittedly is a gorgeous gym - but it comes at a price: around €200 per person, per month. And that's excluding the ridonkulous €500 initiation fee. Since Brussels appears in most other regards to be a relatively modest city, I'm not sure who can afford such fees (although the crowd in the café gave some indication).

Finally, we went to Physical Golden Club (if nothing else, these places have great names) on Place du Châtelain, which was unassuming enough - but I couldn't get over the women's communal showers.

So if you know Brussels better than we do, feel free to send a shout out with recommendations.

Who Knew?

Falling under the category of news I would certainly remain oblivious to in the U.S.:
Croation federation fined for fans' racist behavior