Exercise and Torture

Since our move to Paris six weeks ago, I have managed to do some pretty unbelievable things.

I mean besides eat Herculaen amounts of butter, bread, and cheese.

For instance, I have participated in two "exercise" classes that have ostensibly involved absolutely no exercise whatsoever (as I am accustomed to it anyway). Additionally, I have had two massages that were entirely non-relaxing. They were, in fact, quite painful.

Regarding the exercise: there is an American Church in Paris and they have a huge and newly renovated gymansium attached to it (this seemed slightly strange to me, though I am admittedly not a church-goer and maybe this is de rigeur. Do you go shoot hoops after confession? I might have missed this part of church). They offer all sorts of classes at this church, and many are in the gym. I found a flyer for something called "Adult Gymnastics" and I was pretty excited. I used to be a competitive gymnast, and the idea of somersaulting around sounded pretty fun to me. Especially because the class was to be given in French, and I could learn as I tumbled. Oh, I just love multi-tasking!

I called the phone number listed and had a Franglish conversation with the most lovely woman about whether or not I could try the class. She did say that many of the particiupants were not "really young," but that hardly seemed to be a deterrant as I was not looking to turn cartwheels with teenagers.

You know how I feel about teenagers.

So I show up to the class and let me say, first of all, that the group could not have been nicer or more welcoming to me. Every single stereotype about French people being rude to Americans was tossed out the window, for these were some really kind people.

I will also say that, save for one woman who was about 10-12 years older than me, I was the youngest participant by 25-45 years. This information is not to suggest that people of any age cannot be spry and athletic. Of course there are many people far older than me who are in much better shape. It was just fairly obvious from the get-go that "gymnastics," as I knew it, would not be occurring with this bunch.

The class consisted of a LOT of breathing, some mild stretching, and a few grapevine like sashays across the floor. This grapevine business proved to be the climax of physical exertion, and we promptly went back to breathing and stretching by way of cooling down.

It was not a bad way to pass an hour, actually. However, I was really looking for some vigorous exercise. Or at least something that would elevate my heart rate.

When I was leaving, I was asked by several of the women if I would be back. I politely said "probably" (you try saying no to a group of the most welcoming faces you have encountered in a foreign counry--it is none too easy).

As I made my way to the door, I was assured by one woman that the next class would be REALLY different, because it would be taught by another instructor. My ears perked up; maybe it would entail actual exercise? I must have looked elated because she was nodding away, saying, "Yes, it would be really different." She paused and added in a very somber tone: "But don't worry, it is still very hard!"

If it were free, I may have gone back simply for the socializing aspect of the enterprise. But considering that I do not want to actually turn into a pat of butter, I knew I had to find something else. So I had to eventually buck up and say no.

My next foray into the physical realm was to try a yoga class in my arrondissement. I selected an "Intermediate" class and went over to the studio, excited to really exert myself.

It must be that people who participate in group "exercise" in France are really friendly. Because, there were three of us in the class, and again, the other two women students and the male instructor were among the smiliest people living in Paris.

In terms of exercise, it is becoming obvious that I need to manage my expectations. It was an hour and fifteen minutes, and we had six shivasanas (the time in Yoga where you lie down and meditate), and a lot of breathing with our eyes closed. We did three sun salutations and vinyasas and then went back to lying on the floor.

Again, it was hardly a bad way to pass the time, but I think I burned more calories in my sleep last night.

As far as the massages: I am not being strictly indulgent, actually. Although, let's face it, I have no problem being indulgent. But I have acquired some sort of upper back/neck issue since being here. When I found a Chinese massage parlor approximately 100 feet from my building, I thought it was a "sign" that I needed to try it out.

Never mind that I live in a major metropolis and there are businesses of every kind, all within a five-minute radius of my door. I prefer to say this was definitely a sign. Just ask my brother (he is big into signs).

I went in there and was immediately offered slippers and tea. Candles burned all aound and three women came up and started petting me and asking me how I was.

I have not felt so loved and pampered any time in recent memory.

Anyway, the main-boss type woman convinced me that one massage would not be enough and I needed more. Since each massage is 40 Euro, I tried to beg off on the sales pitch, even though there were framed photographs of this woman all over the "waiting room" with important looking people, so I figured she had some modicum of credibility. Eventually she offered me a deal: 6 massages for 100 Euro.

Now, I don't know about you and your book, but in my book I call that a bargain.

What I did not know was that "massage" was wildly euphemistic. What actually happens is I am kneaded to the point of crying out in pain as a small Asian woman/GI Jane straddles me and argues in Chinese with the woman performing torture on the client/victim one curtained cubicle over.

The actual massage is infinitely less soothing than the whole tea and slippers welcoming ritual.

On the upside, all that painful kneading had me sweating buckets, and my heart going full guns, so maybe it is canceling out the need for proper exercise.

My next foray is to take a dance class. Will keep you posted on how that goes.