Ha Ha!! I've realised the "gym" is totally online - I have but to log in to 'my locker' to unleash it's power. I can book classes online, get put on a "watch list" for classes that are already booked, and view my schedule. Also, when I book a class online, it sends me an email reminder which can be saved into my calendar. Too much nice!!! I get swept away by this discovery and start booking classes and putting myself on watchlists for that elusive and unreasonably popular 'anti-gravity' yoga. I get rather competitive and keep checking every few minutes to see how my watchlist is doing..... sucess! 1 spot pops up for the anti-gravity and I swoop in to book it!
Which is why, I'm now standing in front of a hammock suspended from the ceiling questioning my enthusiasm. Apparently, hanging upside down helps you look younger... something about blood rushing to the thyroid glands and such like. Personally, to me, this is just a fad that's taken a life of it's own, but I have to admit, as the class progresses, I start enjoying it... when I did regular yoga, I never did the head stands, but with the fabric taking all the weight and effort out of it, it's a piece of cake and I blithely hang upside down and even do the swinging giraffe. Surprisingly, the end where one snuggles into the hammock and wraps it around like a cocoon to bend and stretch before just laying there gently swaying in the dark, doesn't make me nauseous and I rather enjoy it.
Hot yoga, however, is a different ball of string. Again, the thrill of discovery of the virtual booking system has me in hot water. Almost literally. I take my cue from the others in the room and fetch a large towel and a glass of water. 50 minutes of yoga done far to quickly for my liking, with no correction for positions, broken up surya namaskars, and drops of sweat pit-patting on to my towel results in a mental note to self. Either go back to a proper yoga institute or try and regular temperature sweaty classes where you might lose some calories!
A new freshly laundered towel awaits, and this time I return from my shower to the appropriate locker to find all my belongings intact. That bit of normalcy propels me to check out my weight and as I toss my towel and step onto the offending piece of machinery that sent me to class despite myself, lo and behold! I seem to have shed another 1.4 kilos since my last check, bringing it to a grand total of 2.4 kilos in week 1. Clearly, sweat accounts for a lot more weight than I'd given it credit for :).
Guess I will be back on Sunday for another torturous session of Zumba.
Alice steps into the twilight zone
A session with my personal trainer Jake who tells me if I intend to walk on the treadmill, I may not as well bother (Gee thanks!), followed by a half hour of Zumba leave me legless. I head for the locker room and my favourite part, the shower and towel off. I return to find my sweaty stuff lying outside my locker, which is open .... and empty. Tilt head, teeny frown as brain tries to process the visual information. Did I not lock the locker when I left for my PT session? Admittedly I was in a rush, but.... I did take my clothes off to change when I got here. I distinctly remember neatly putting down watch, phone, poddy... even hanging up my shirt, but the locker is emptier than Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Bewilderment rules and I wonder if some good samaritan has taken all the stuff up to reception in an pre-emptive move at temptation to others? I can understand my phone and wallet being knocked, but who on earth would want my sandals? Or my pants??
Security and I have a confab and she thinks I might have mistaken my locker and we try my card on several others around it, but no luck. I'm pretty damn sure that I had the corner locker. She heads upstairs to inform the management and I hang around in my towel, contemplating what would happen if my stuff wasn't at reception. Hmmmmm. No phone. No keys. The only numbers I know by heart are non Singaporean. I guess I can go up and ask to use the net and try and email Prithi. Oh. No top either. One of the reception staff comes back and we go through the whole exercise again. Apparently it's happened before and it's always a case of mistaken locker. Still now joy and I'm truly at a loss to explain why someone would take my clothes, shoes and rucksack with salad. My body is tired and simply doesn't care anymore. I decide to get dressed and figure out how to get into my house... unfortunately, there are no 'XL's left and the 'L' I've picked doesn't want to cooperate. I finally manage to fight my way into it, don my sweaty tracks and sneakers and head upstairs.
I log in and send an email to PM and Rashmi to tell her I'm unlikely to be able to join the concall in 10 min. Luckily I find CF online and tell him of my bizarre dilemma and get PM's number. The very helpful young woman lends me her mobile and even says I can call overseas. Naturally, PM refuses to answer. Siiigh. It's now 8.17 pm and I'm wondering if there'd be anyone at work that could let me in to retrieve my spare keycard. I try PM a couple of more times, except I'm dialing my own mobile! Luckily, this happens when chirpy chickie comes to check on me, and she has the brilliant idea to call in the locker room while I'm wondering if I need to cancel cards and file a police report. I decide to head to the office anyway, and tell CF - I can always come back here if no one's left at work.... Chirpy chickie bounces back beaming.... there's a locker ringing downstairs. Hallelujah!
I follow her downstairs, and guess what.... it's the corner locker.... but the other corner!! Dear Lord. Senility has already come to claim me. A long day perhaps, and 90 minutes at the gym has completely scrambled my brain into puzzling why anyone would steal my shoes and my salad..... seriously...I need to get some sleep and some memory pills. My gratitude is heartfelt and my embarrassment complete. I am now officially one of those women who would lose her head if it wasn't attached to her neck! The "gym" experience has clearly sent me straight into the arms of the early onset of dementia.
Security and I have a confab and she thinks I might have mistaken my locker and we try my card on several others around it, but no luck. I'm pretty damn sure that I had the corner locker. She heads upstairs to inform the management and I hang around in my towel, contemplating what would happen if my stuff wasn't at reception. Hmmmmm. No phone. No keys. The only numbers I know by heart are non Singaporean. I guess I can go up and ask to use the net and try and email Prithi. Oh. No top either. One of the reception staff comes back and we go through the whole exercise again. Apparently it's happened before and it's always a case of mistaken locker. Still now joy and I'm truly at a loss to explain why someone would take my clothes, shoes and rucksack with salad. My body is tired and simply doesn't care anymore. I decide to get dressed and figure out how to get into my house... unfortunately, there are no 'XL's left and the 'L' I've picked doesn't want to cooperate. I finally manage to fight my way into it, don my sweaty tracks and sneakers and head upstairs.
I log in and send an email to PM and Rashmi to tell her I'm unlikely to be able to join the concall in 10 min. Luckily I find CF online and tell him of my bizarre dilemma and get PM's number. The very helpful young woman lends me her mobile and even says I can call overseas. Naturally, PM refuses to answer. Siiigh. It's now 8.17 pm and I'm wondering if there'd be anyone at work that could let me in to retrieve my spare keycard. I try PM a couple of more times, except I'm dialing my own mobile! Luckily, this happens when chirpy chickie comes to check on me, and she has the brilliant idea to call in the locker room while I'm wondering if I need to cancel cards and file a police report. I decide to head to the office anyway, and tell CF - I can always come back here if no one's left at work.... Chirpy chickie bounces back beaming.... there's a locker ringing downstairs. Hallelujah!
I follow her downstairs, and guess what.... it's the corner locker.... but the other corner!! Dear Lord. Senility has already come to claim me. A long day perhaps, and 90 minutes at the gym has completely scrambled my brain into puzzling why anyone would steal my shoes and my salad..... seriously...I need to get some sleep and some memory pills. My gratitude is heartfelt and my embarrassment complete. I am now officially one of those women who would lose her head if it wasn't attached to her neck! The "gym" experience has clearly sent me straight into the arms of the early onset of dementia.
Alice in Wonderland - say what?!
The mysterious world of the "gym" continues to fascinate me, and I enjoy slathering Heavenly Gingerlily all over my body. A well deserved hot shower before my calves join the litany of unexpected muscles that have been called into action after too many months. Not sure the additional 50 calories after the MTV Groove experience was such a good idea, but I felt like I needed something serious after that giggly session.
I move from Heavenly Gingerlily and cleanse and condition my hair with Heavenly Lily Pili. So much nicer. I'm tempted to us Heavenly Lily Pili on my torso, but a fear of encouraging lustrous hair tither gives me pause. I debate the risk of using the Heavenly shampoo and conditioner on my legs, but my fear is deep rooted and years of waxing has done little to allay that fear. I reluctantly refrain and rest content with Heavenly Lily Pili on my head. Yep. I just like to say it. Heavenly Lily Pili. Lily Pili. Lily Pili. Lily Pili. How marvelously silly.
As I dress for my departure, I read a notice about lockers for shoes. Hmmmm. This could be handy - give them a home instead of carting them back and forth every day. I can see them at the bottom of the lockers and my desire for them is inversely proportional to the number that's still left on offer. Still, bolone mein kya jata re kicks in and I inquire with the reception. A different chirpy chappie this time beams at me, "Of course we do". Naively, I respond with a "Great! I'd love one". "Would you like me to tell you the terms?". Alarm bells start somewhere at the back of my head. "Sure". "It's $25 down and then along with the fortnightly charges for the gym it another $15". "Are you serious - $30 a month for my shoes to live here? Oh my. It's ok, I'll just cart them around".
$25 + $15 every fortnight to rent a locker to house my shoes. a) No wonder they still have them available b) Are you fucking kidding me? c) Real estate prices in the CBD are ludicrous d) Guess I should be grateful for my otherwise exorbitant rent!
Alice in Wonderland - Torture MTV Groove style
I try to get in for a Anti Gravity Yoga class, but all of them (they had one at 7 and then another at 8.15 and that's just this evening) are booked right up to the weekend. Hmmmmmm..... naturally, now I'm dying to try one out. I suck it up and resign myself for another hour of torture. The backs of my thighs send me piteous messages. Wasn't an hour of Latin Fitness enough punishment for the double mushroom Swiss? Just give us a year... please, not two consecutive days.... I ignore them, but it's a struggle.
The class hasn't begun and the instructor chappie is Singaporean with the most ginormous butt I've seen on them. It's even bigger than mine and that's even before he mentions the fact. How is that even possible? He must be genetically modified. In the 3 years since I've moved, no one, but no one has a butt of any description in this country! How bizarre. Anyhow, we start the warm up which is peaceful, but my body stays taut anticipating the impending beating it will get. Big butt then goes off to fiddle with the music, constantly muttering to himself and doing little dance moves. Oooook. Is this normal? I look around, the other women seem sanguine, so I let it go, but I can feel a tiny frown knocking on my brow. He's back...
And he's talking about some steps. Dance steps. Step clap, pah, pah, pah.... Huh? One, two, pah, pah, pah. Excuse me? The others start following him. I keep my mouth from dropping into a gape and try and do the same. I thought this was a fitness class. Exercise, sweat. They just pump it up and you struggle to keep up. Clearly there was a misunderstanding. He does the first segment and we follow. I decide that the treadmill is my only option on a Tuesday since clearly I don't have a hope in hell at the anti gravity class. We do it with the music this time. By the third sequence, the silliness of it all gets to me and I find myself giggling, but I do the butt shaking and the hands. Steps, follow, try, try again, music, whole sequence... from the top! I never thought I'd find myself taking anything from the top with a five, six, seven, eight! but apparently I had been misinformed by destiny. We were never going to make Beyonce's back up dancers, but after several hilarious attempts, some even passable at the entire sequence, we completely botched the transition into a repeat and collectively lost the plot to spontaneous laughter. Big butt then did the whole thing with us flourish et al (he's just that sort) and demanded applause before informing us it was our turn. I swear, the woman next to me took a nervous pre performance gulp and we launched into it and jiggled our way through it twice most happily and applauded ourselves...
I'm not sure how I feel about this hour. Let's wait till next week and see....
The class hasn't begun and the instructor chappie is Singaporean with the most ginormous butt I've seen on them. It's even bigger than mine and that's even before he mentions the fact. How is that even possible? He must be genetically modified. In the 3 years since I've moved, no one, but no one has a butt of any description in this country! How bizarre. Anyhow, we start the warm up which is peaceful, but my body stays taut anticipating the impending beating it will get. Big butt then goes off to fiddle with the music, constantly muttering to himself and doing little dance moves. Oooook. Is this normal? I look around, the other women seem sanguine, so I let it go, but I can feel a tiny frown knocking on my brow. He's back...
And he's talking about some steps. Dance steps. Step clap, pah, pah, pah.... Huh? One, two, pah, pah, pah. Excuse me? The others start following him. I keep my mouth from dropping into a gape and try and do the same. I thought this was a fitness class. Exercise, sweat. They just pump it up and you struggle to keep up. Clearly there was a misunderstanding. He does the first segment and we follow. I decide that the treadmill is my only option on a Tuesday since clearly I don't have a hope in hell at the anti gravity class. We do it with the music this time. By the third sequence, the silliness of it all gets to me and I find myself giggling, but I do the butt shaking and the hands. Steps, follow, try, try again, music, whole sequence... from the top! I never thought I'd find myself taking anything from the top with a five, six, seven, eight! but apparently I had been misinformed by destiny. We were never going to make Beyonce's back up dancers, but after several hilarious attempts, some even passable at the entire sequence, we completely botched the transition into a repeat and collectively lost the plot to spontaneous laughter. Big butt then did the whole thing with us flourish et al (he's just that sort) and demanded applause before informing us it was our turn. I swear, the woman next to me took a nervous pre performance gulp and we launched into it and jiggled our way through it twice most happily and applauded ourselves...
I'm not sure how I feel about this hour. Let's wait till next week and see....
Alice in Wonderland
I don't know if it's eagerness or anxiety, but I'm early for my MTV Groove class at the "gym". I've changed into the XL clingy t-shirt (this time purple to match with my laces) and skulk around guiltily, unsure what one does in such a situation. At my pilates class, I catch up on the newest gossip on Branjelina and red carpet wow's. The floor I'm on, only has equipment and scary individuals doing really, really hard exercises, that elicit an odd combination of awe and disgust. I sidle towards the treadmills, pretending an interest, trying to decide between the static bikes and them. Luckily they have massive screens and a rather obvious start button and the woman next to the empty one is not running. Just a gentle walk, that I know I can keep up with so I take a deep breath and step on one for further investigations.
I gird my loins and jab at the orange START button. It does, slowly and gently. Ok. This is good. I find the section that alludes to speed, so I crank it up. So far so good, it's a gentle stride. I try the fabled number 6, and my thighs send up rude remarks, so I turn it down a notch. I get comfortable enough to keep the pace and check out what more is on the screen. I'd noticed one of the cyclists watching TV and I was intrigued. I find it and also realize there's a skype icon! No way!! You can chat with people on skype while you walk?? Too much nice!! Since I'm clearly a newbie sans headphones (my neighbour is plugged in), I make a mental note to ping people to log into skype for a demo at the very minimum.
The TV channels are mostly sport - golf if you can believe it (yawn), but I also do find a beautifully garish traditional Chinese soap with subtitles and get drawn in. So much more interesting than the 3 calories I've burnt so far... I can see folks gathering inside Studio 1 which is where I ought to be. They're early and I make a note to self to carry headphones next time and start checking for ways to stop this contraption 5 minutes before class begins. I'm only faintly worried at this time - what happens if I can't figure out how to stop it?!? I'm quite taken in by the rest of the technology on this machine - my memories of a treadmill are the ones where you had to start walking really, really heavily to get it to move! You've come a loooong way baby!
8 minutes before class, I'm debating what damage my credibility will suffer if I were to holler "HALP!!" in an effort to stop this machine, when my eyes rest of a large red panel button marked STOP. Aha. Maybe it is just that simple and I put my faith in the god of treadmills and go back to the soap where Missy and Huiyan are debating Ma Jiang's intentions verrry slowly. I'm at 48 calories and more people get into Studio 1. Time to crank it up and I start walking at 6 and manage to squeeze in 2 more calories before attempting the stop button and voila! It works. The machine slows down and comes to a complete halt.
My confidence wavers somewhat as does the floor when I step off it. Uh oh! I can feel the treadmill under my feet. I very gingerly step towards Studio 1 which thankfully is not that far away, but does involve negotiations with a single step. Success and my wobble across is not apparent, I think. Time for some new torture....
I gird my loins and jab at the orange START button. It does, slowly and gently. Ok. This is good. I find the section that alludes to speed, so I crank it up. So far so good, it's a gentle stride. I try the fabled number 6, and my thighs send up rude remarks, so I turn it down a notch. I get comfortable enough to keep the pace and check out what more is on the screen. I'd noticed one of the cyclists watching TV and I was intrigued. I find it and also realize there's a skype icon! No way!! You can chat with people on skype while you walk?? Too much nice!! Since I'm clearly a newbie sans headphones (my neighbour is plugged in), I make a mental note to ping people to log into skype for a demo at the very minimum.
The TV channels are mostly sport - golf if you can believe it (yawn), but I also do find a beautifully garish traditional Chinese soap with subtitles and get drawn in. So much more interesting than the 3 calories I've burnt so far... I can see folks gathering inside Studio 1 which is where I ought to be. They're early and I make a note to self to carry headphones next time and start checking for ways to stop this contraption 5 minutes before class begins. I'm only faintly worried at this time - what happens if I can't figure out how to stop it?!? I'm quite taken in by the rest of the technology on this machine - my memories of a treadmill are the ones where you had to start walking really, really heavily to get it to move! You've come a loooong way baby!
8 minutes before class, I'm debating what damage my credibility will suffer if I were to holler "HALP!!" in an effort to stop this machine, when my eyes rest of a large red panel button marked STOP. Aha. Maybe it is just that simple and I put my faith in the god of treadmills and go back to the soap where Missy and Huiyan are debating Ma Jiang's intentions verrry slowly. I'm at 48 calories and more people get into Studio 1. Time to crank it up and I start walking at 6 and manage to squeeze in 2 more calories before attempting the stop button and voila! It works. The machine slows down and comes to a complete halt.
My confidence wavers somewhat as does the floor when I step off it. Uh oh! I can feel the treadmill under my feet. I very gingerly step towards Studio 1 which thankfully is not that far away, but does involve negotiations with a single step. Success and my wobble across is not apparent, I think. Time for some new torture....
Gaamccha, my gaamccha...
Thankfully, the salad is delicious and I have bananas and oranges to tide me over till dinner. Don't suppose a dozen catch cakes topped by 4 dollops of the most sinfully luscious chocolate is a good idea at this particularly fraught point of time in my life. The sight of my newly presented gaamccha gives me some solace. Transported from Gariahaat, crisply starched, the checked blue gaamccha trimmed most becomingly with a dark red is a bhadralok of gaamcchas.
My first memory of a gamccha is that of it being red and attached to Kolkatar Didi (my maternal grandmother). Every time she was near the bathroom, it appeared and clung to her. She took it in with her for a bath, got it completely soaked, somehow magically wiped herself with it and then had it draped around her body or hair. I was fascinated. But somehow, it was just something that Didi had and used and that was that.
That is, until a few years ago, many years after that wonderful lady passed away that my mother was headed back for a visit and asked me what I wanted. "A gamccha" I squeaked. Huh? Where did that come from? She looked at me strangely. "A gamccha?" said my mother. "No, really, what do you want me to get for you?". " A gaamccha", I repeated. She started sniggering. I insisted, she giggled. I glared, she roared. "There so cheap and silly", she gasped. I shrugged. She gave me the look that implies you're a moron, but you're my daughter and I love you. I never got the gaamccha. But I secretly coveted it. I wasn't sure what exactly I'd do with it, given my preference for rough towels that scrape off water most satisfyingly (in case you're wondering, a gaamccha is just a length of cotton fabric, usually always in checks, used by true blue Bengali's as a towel type thingy. It's soft and wringable)
Tail end of last year, my banker and I trade holiday plans.. he's off to the Sunderbans and asks me what I'd like from Calcutta. Unbidden, my mouth opens, "A gaamccha", I declare. A moment of silence as he registers my voice and then he laughs. "A gaamccha?" "Yes.". "But why? Only you would come up with something that mad". This time, I have a plausible response....apart from the entirely legitimate, I want! "I thought I could use it when we go diving... between dives to dry off... they dry off really quick as well don't they?". He keeps shaking his head so I launch into red checks. "Well, they should be available all over Gariahaat". I hasten to insist that he doesn't go out of his way, feeling a tad foolish now the words are bouncing around the meeting room.
Come New Year and we catch up so I can get a desk calendar for 2014 and voila! There it is, complete with sticker for Rs.120 from Gariahat, my gaamccha!! I'm so thrilled, I trill my pleasure. He's amused and leaves me to it. The gaamccha is now draped over my sofa pretending to be a comfort blankie and keeps my skin from sticking to the sofa. A knight in shining armour even when dry :). One of these days, I'll even take it to the bath....
My first memory of a gamccha is that of it being red and attached to Kolkatar Didi (my maternal grandmother). Every time she was near the bathroom, it appeared and clung to her. She took it in with her for a bath, got it completely soaked, somehow magically wiped herself with it and then had it draped around her body or hair. I was fascinated. But somehow, it was just something that Didi had and used and that was that.
That is, until a few years ago, many years after that wonderful lady passed away that my mother was headed back for a visit and asked me what I wanted. "A gamccha" I squeaked. Huh? Where did that come from? She looked at me strangely. "A gamccha?" said my mother. "No, really, what do you want me to get for you?". " A gaamccha", I repeated. She started sniggering. I insisted, she giggled. I glared, she roared. "There so cheap and silly", she gasped. I shrugged. She gave me the look that implies you're a moron, but you're my daughter and I love you. I never got the gaamccha. But I secretly coveted it. I wasn't sure what exactly I'd do with it, given my preference for rough towels that scrape off water most satisfyingly (in case you're wondering, a gaamccha is just a length of cotton fabric, usually always in checks, used by true blue Bengali's as a towel type thingy. It's soft and wringable)
Tail end of last year, my banker and I trade holiday plans.. he's off to the Sunderbans and asks me what I'd like from Calcutta. Unbidden, my mouth opens, "A gaamccha", I declare. A moment of silence as he registers my voice and then he laughs. "A gaamccha?" "Yes.". "But why? Only you would come up with something that mad". This time, I have a plausible response....apart from the entirely legitimate, I want! "I thought I could use it when we go diving... between dives to dry off... they dry off really quick as well don't they?". He keeps shaking his head so I launch into red checks. "Well, they should be available all over Gariahaat". I hasten to insist that he doesn't go out of his way, feeling a tad foolish now the words are bouncing around the meeting room.
Come New Year and we catch up so I can get a desk calendar for 2014 and voila! There it is, complete with sticker for Rs.120 from Gariahat, my gaamccha!! I'm so thrilled, I trill my pleasure. He's amused and leaves me to it. The gaamccha is now draped over my sofa pretending to be a comfort blankie and keeps my skin from sticking to the sofa. A knight in shining armour even when dry :). One of these days, I'll even take it to the bath....
Give me death....
My life as I know it is officially over. Cereal, yoghurt, salad and fruits. That's going to have to be my life for the foreseeable future. The digital readout on the scales makes me think Jindal. CF casually tells me to use the treadmill at 6.5 to see the weight drop off in 2 months. 6.5 what??? Bloody gym bunny. I viciously jab at the beans of my lunch salad. I tell PM I'm depressed and she reminds me of the box of gelato I acquired last night, now languishing in my fridge and I groan. Bradley Cooper and the American Hustler is the reason for my double depression. A movie that has no clue what it wants to be and and tediously weaves it way through the last 10 minutes of what it's all about being compared to Good Fellas?? Really?!? A perfectly legitimate reason for all that gelato! Not to mention the catch cakes that were being sold next door.
Chirpy chappy at the gym had asked me what my goals were. Strike off to die happy from that list. His assessment of 3 times a week to get into shape in 3 months was a gross miscalculation. But then he hadn't realized the order of magnitude of the task any more than I had. There go my plans of canceling this most peculiar membership in a quarter.
Chirpy chappy at the gym had asked me what my goals were. Strike off to die happy from that list. His assessment of 3 times a week to get into shape in 3 months was a gross miscalculation. But then he hadn't realized the order of magnitude of the task any more than I had. There go my plans of canceling this most peculiar membership in a quarter.
My thighs and knees start to complain. Maybe I should just slather the gelato all over them instead.
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