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Through the Lens of a Newcomer: Finding fitness that fits

Sooke PocketNews Posted on by

–by G.K. Sydney (photos and column)

So….settling into a new town is a big thing. It requires a house, new friends, and new activities. We seemed to have acquired most of the above by the time we began to call Sooke home, but I realized after awhile that I was a bit short on the “activities” end of things. Consequently, I took myself on a quest to find just the right exercise routine and that turned into a bit of a story. Read on.

First stop, SEAPARC. Yep, lots of activities here and I embraced several of them right away. But something was still missing. Yoga – alright. Off I went again and found, to my delight, a great place and fabulous instructors. Doing okay so far. I was even able to find a group that went out on a boat once a week for some exercise and a lot of fun. Fantastic. But still, I thought, I can do more. So one more trip around town took me to a great gym not far from home.

Hmm, this was encouraging. I went into the gym and learned about a class V-Fit. This meant, apparently, “varied fitness,” which I took to mean “ suitable for various levels of fitness”. This was great because, well, I hadn’t lifted a weight in what seemed like several centuries. Also, I hated anything resembling a push-up or a lunge, a sit-up or even sweating, for that matter. Therefore, I thought, if I did V-Fit, I could stop the exercises whenever I wanted and, additionally, if I started to sweat, I could just hang out in the ladies’ locker room for awhile until that particular madness passed.  Alright, this too was looking good.

And so I went to V-Fit class. I descended into a dark padded room that looked like twenty year old jocks might have lived there. Hmm, this was an excellent workout setting but a lot different from my nice yoga studio with the mellow music and scented candles. Oh well. At least I had my new outfit on, cool pants, proper top and matching new runners. And, oh yeah, dangly earrings. What the heck, outfitted like that, this would have to be okay, right? Right.

As I rounded a corner into class, I suddenly spotted a huge man about forty years old – and no one else. Hmm, now what, oops, too late, he saw me. Oh oh.

“Hi”, he said “I’m Dave. Welcome to the class. (What class?) Let’s get going. Oh, by the way, you can call me Dave, but by the end of this session, you’ll be probably be calling me what everybody else does.”

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“Dave Ihateyou.”

Oh great.

The above picture is not actually Dave, but you get the idea? Generic photo, of a very fit man, CC0, Wikimedia.org.

And so Dave Ihateyou’s “class” began. He had me running from side to side of the room, then pounding a medicine ball (do you know what those things weigh?) as hard as I could into the floor….

“Just pretend it’s someone you hate!” he boomed.  Hmm, I wonder who that would be right now, Dave? After that it was something called box lunges, high hops, spine twists and ankle beaters (Whaaaat?) and then the killer words, “Ok, now that you’re warmed up, let’s get to work.”

Omigod.

It was relentless. There were crazy contraptions called TRX’s (or something) which yanked your shoulder blades into all sorts of unnatural positions, a huge rope that weighed about a hundred pounds that I had to beat on the floor over and over again while Dave yelled, “Faster, faster!,” and then that damn medicine ball again. This time, apparently, it was supposed to be hurled at the wall as hard as possible while doing a sit-up! 14 reps. Sets of three.

Go!

What kind of torture was this?

Finally Dave informed me that I was supposed to do five circuits, but today I could get away with three. “Three, is that okay?” I asked, as if I could possibly do more. Yep, he said. See you on Wednesday.

Sure.

Well, needless to say, while Dave Ihateyou was an excellent instructor in a great gym, both a nice surprise in a small town, it was all too much for me. It seemed like we basically had an equation here. Very good teacher, perfect facility, pathetic student. Hmm, easy to see where the problem is here.

A week later, when I could walk again, I hobbled back to my other classes. I finally decided that my quest for physical activity would be complete when I informed my husband that my “extra” effort would be powerwalking with him.

“Oh” he said, rather weakly. “Isn’t that nice.”

And so now I’m truly settled in my house, my new town and my very satisfying new routines. And when I occasionally see Dave around town, he always seems to have this funny twinkle in his eye as we give each other a friendly wave.

I wonder what that means?

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