Gym musings

I realise this is probably not a Madrid, or even Spain-specific post.. but... here goes.

I really like my gym, for the most part. It's an easy walk from home through pretty gardens and our generally lovely neighbourhood, and it has a lot of machines and free weights and barbells, dumbbells so you never really have to wait for anything for too long. The staff are pleasant and smiley and know I don't speak Spanish so make an effort to say 'hello' to me which I think is sweet. I usually get there early, and it still smells of the vacuuming and sanitiser that's been liberally applied to every (I hope) surface - because towels are not compulsory. WHAT THE HELL!? How are towels not compulsory? They're not even suggested! So many sweaty dudes are dripping all over every surface and some days I feel like slapping a dude upside the head and pointing to all the man funk he's left behind. Unless I am sleeping with you, I really do not want your sweat on my body. I thought this was a fairly universal concept; apparently I can be wrong on such things. Yesterday, I had to go ask the front desk for some sanitiser and wipes so I could clean up a puddle - I kid not, dear reader - a puddle of sweat that some inconsiderate mid-20s wannabe lothario had left behind. It took a lot of gesticulating and using broken Spanglish to get my message across, but eventually the tiniest gym bunny you'll ever see (really, she's delightful, I'd put her at around 5ft tall, a size 0 and most of it muscle, she's worked hard for every gram of it too, I'd bet on it) followed me with more paper towel that I thought was necessary and even she, who works around sweat all day looked disgusted. She thoroughly wiped down the bench for me and smiled, and I went to work doing my rows. This brings me to the topic of today's rant (yes, I actually have one):

People Who Need A Smack At the Gym

1. The sweaty dude who shuns towels
You know this guy I'm sure. He's sweating it up all over the place, dripping like he's a goddamn water fountain, spraying sweat all over the cardio machines and leaving pools of it on the benches and weight machines. Apparently towels are bad for his health, because he never even has one with him, let alone uses one. Or possibly worse - I'm not sure which is worse, to be honest - he has a towel, and it lays neatly folded at his feet, which creates this urge within you to yell USE IT! IT IS NOT DECORATIVE! ARRRGHHHH!! We have a couple of these that I've noticed at my gym, and they are driving me crazy. If I could somehow pre-empt their movements, I would make sure I was always a machine ahead. Sadly, I seem to arrive thirty minutes after them, and they've already slicked up all the surfaces I wish to touch with their man funk. Perhaps they think it's a statement of how hard they've worked? Or their virility? Or perhaps their mothers need a kick too because they're completely bloody oblivious.

2. The guy who thinks the gym is a pickup zone
I can honestly say, I have never ever gone to the gym with any intention or desire to be hit on. I really just want to get in there, work as hard as I can motivate myself to do, burn as much as I can muster, lift as heavy as I can manage, hit fatigue and go home. Most days I don't even brush my hair before I go (but I always brush my teeth before I go! Shout out to Jayvan Ruddick-Collins who knows my minty-fresh breath on gym mornings!), my clothes *barely* match and the latest ovulation pimple is on full display for the world to see. I don't even make eye contact with other gym-goers most days, because I'm really not that fucking interested in what Muscles McGee over here slamming weights is doing. If I look in the mirrors, it's not so I can flip my hair over my shoulder and smile brilliantly at any nearby males, it so I can make sure my dodgy shoulder isn't rotating forward, or my back is straight, or I'm squatting deep enough. Some mornings I see myself for the first time that day when I'm correcting my form and I think "geez what the hell is going on with your hair this morning?!" - but then I get back to working out, because that is what I'm here for. So it irritates to me to no end, that the last week I have had to deal with a couple of numpties who somehow believe my mere presence at the gym means I'm interested in them.

Guy A: So I'm running flat out on the treadmill (current cardio is High Intensity Interval Training, so when I say flat out, I mean FLAT OUT), my earbuds jammed firmly in my skull, listening to Galvanize (omg how good is that song!), and this dude who honestly looks like I could be his mother, is working on the machines behind me. Groovy. I've got big mirrors in front of me, so I'm checking my form and trying to breath properly and hit the treadmill lightly and make sure my knees aren't all wonky, and next thing I know, Chuckles here is coming over because APPARENTLY if you look in his direction (e.g. behind myself) it's an invitation. Then he's on the treadmill next to me, I see him check my speed so of course he has to match it, despite being pint-sized and having no hope in hell of hitting the speed I can with my long legs (thank you genetics) - he's one of those guys, who just has to be bigger, better. Can't let "a girl" be better than him. Eesh. Anyway, next thing he's grinning at me in the mirrors, trying to get my attention. Naturally, I turned up the volume on Galvanize and continued doing what I was doing, paying him no attention. He damn nearly killed himself trying to keep up the speed and eventually had to give up and get off the treadmill and slink to the back of the room. Really?! REALLY?! WHILE I'M RUNNING?! You think now is a good time?!

Guy B: This one just blew my mind. Again, on the treadmill, doing my HIIT, and this idiot actually came up to the mirrors next to me, did that head-raise nod "how you doin'?" thing and then lifted his shirt and pointed to his abs. I just.. I can't.. I don't even have words enough in Spanglish to tell him what a fucking idiot he made of himself. I actually snort-laughed (which screwed up my breathing for my running - so thank you for that, asshole) and almost missed a step I thought it was so ludicrous. You know how you sometimes meet someone and think "I wonder why they're single?" - I will never wonder why this idgit is single. Good Lord.

Guy C:  The follower.  He actually followed me around the gym.  Stopped what he was doing when he saw me come in, and followed me from machine to machine.  When I left, I checked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to continue the trend, and follow me home.  Creepy. *shiver*

3. The girl who thinks the gym is a pickup zone
HER. I HATE HER. She's making life difficult for the rest of us who are just trying to bloody well work-out and not have to deal with idiots as mentioned above. She's got her perfectly coiffed, long hair (as long as mine, the one I'm thinking of in particular) out. I mean.. not tied back/up/away. It's all flowing tresses beautifully manicured that if we were out on the street I'd think pleasant thoughts about, but in here, with her flicking it over her shoulder and smiling hopefully at the wannabe lotharios, I just want to witness it catch in the treadmill belt. Ok ok ok maybe I don't have quite so violent thoughts all the time, but really. How is that even remotely comfortable? I can barely deal with my hair out and flowing around my like some goddamn watery veil with its own life force when I am out in public and trying to look pretty for A.  She's wearing makeup, and totally cute matching outfits, from her shoelaces to her earrings (yes people - earrings at the gym), and I swear to god she's walking at a speed my grandmother would snort at.  She is the reason why the rest of us honest-to-god-I'm-just-here-to-exercise people are getting annoyed.  Although - can't the dudes see the difference between my sweaty-plastered-to-my-head (yet somehow, magically, with tufty peaks & horns sticking out the side of my head) hair, and her just-been-blowdried hair? And our outfits? I look like I'm wearing my big sister's hand-me-down clothes half the time - she looks like she's just bought the latest outfits as seen on the cover of a glossy Nike magazine.  EESH.

4.  The inconsiderates - all lumped together
I'm talking about the weight slammers who make you jump every 10 reps because the weights are too damn heavy for them to adequately handle (but don't tell their fragile masculinity that); or the dudes who somehow manage to take over all three benches when there's only two of them (!!); or the guy this morning who, when I was attempting a PB at deadlifts, came over and got up in my face and asked if I was using the bench (YES - THAT IS WHY MY STUFF IS ON IT), causing me to stop mid-set and thus not really know if I achieved my PB or not, so I could move my stuff off the bench because I thought he had some desperate time-sensitive need to use it.. only to watch him put his towel on it and then walk away to use the tricep pull-down machine ten metres away.

I tell you folks, I just shake my head.  We do have some interesting and amusing characters at my gym though, people who routinely make me smile and appreciate the variety of life.  There's a couple of guys who work out very seriously and who do it together, encouraging and supporting and spotting for each other, pushing each other to achieve heavier, faster, better.  I love those guys, I love watching them egg each other on, cheer each other.  Makes me yearn for some of my friends back home.  There's the dude who is seriously in his late 70s, who wears the most obscenely short-shorts but who has the most killer legs and thus can wear them without ridicule.  There's the girl who seems quite sweet and normal, asking me for advice on how to execute various exercises, who I wish I could see again because I think I've finally mustered up the courage to ask her out (on a friend date - settle down people..); the girl who makes these cute little snorting noises when she's doing her workout; the guy who works so damn hard at bulking up and has the most serious look of concentration on his face when he's doing his shoulder routine.  Then of course, the guy who looks like the Dude's landlord (The Big Lebowsky) including his clothing, who does his chest press with his legs crossed in the air.

All things considered, it is still a consistent highlight of my day.  Got any gym stories you'd like to share?

Lemme know!
M x

Road Trippin' - Monasterio de Piedra

The whole past week, A has been like a toddler with a secret. His enthusiasm is absolutely gorgeous, and has made me smile almost daily when we talk about the "mystery place" he's taking me to on the weekend. I had absolutely no idea where we'd be going, other than I needed to wear comfortable walking shoes, because we would be doing a lot of walking, and it involved going somewhere in his car (YAY). Friday night I found out that we would have to leave the house around 9am to embark upon our journey, which really piqued my interest, because we never get out of bed at 9am on a Saturday, let alone leave the house at that time.

Having learnt my lesson from our trip to Avila and my level of personal cold going from 'geezuz' to 'omg I think I might actually be getting hypothermia', I packed my big warm parker, gloves, and a scarf, just in case. Grabbing my camera bag I had a little frisson of excitement spiral through my chest, and as he bundled me out the front door I was practically bursting with curiosity.

We drove straight out of Madrid on the highway, no messing around with trying to find the right road, no circling the city's ring road looking for our exit.. A drove with a sense of purpose, and before I had really realised it, we were out of the city, stopping at a gas station somewhere rural. Fields of poppies lay to the side of the gas station, and remembering how much my sister loves them, I felt compelled to get out of the car and take photos. I was rewarded with not just the poppies, but Scottish thistle and a myriad of other beautiful wildflowers foreign to me.. but the piece d'resistance? Flashes of wild rabbits, hopping rapidly away from me, their fluffy white tails bouncing in and out of the bushes. They were far too quick for me to get a photo, but I did manage to get a good look at what appeared to be mum, dad and baby rabbit. This makes me happy.

We met back at the car, and piled in ready for the long drive ahead. I didn't realise (of course! I had no idea of our destination) how far we were going - we drove for two hours before A pulled off the highway. The road took us through a quaint little village, then through farmland rich with green crops shivering in the breeze, then past orchards of fruit trees, and finally up into the hills. We turned a few curves, entered one of those very European-looking tunnels in the rock of the cliff, and came out the other side to the most amazing view of a sea-green lake, the sun shimmering on the flat surface, hills dipping down as if drinking from the inviting water. It was so absolutely perfect, that moment of discovery, the hills parting and yielding the spectacular vista, that I think I actually gasped out loud and startled A a little.

Up, up, up we drove, into the hills, climbing giving us a greater view of the lake and the village of Piedra at its shores. After a few minutes we reached the car park of the monastery and it became clear to us that we weren't the only ones who had thought it was a nice day for a walk through history. There were thousands of tourists but remarkably it was reasonably well organised, with car park assistants guiding traffic and only a few idiots trying to cut the queue.

Top tip - if you want to visit the monastery, book your tickets online, before you go - do not attempt to do it in the massive queue like we did - there is no phone reception there. The line was long, and we did wait about an hour, but it was well worth it. The gardens are impressive, beautiful and filled with waterfalls everywhere you look. There are charming little streams connecting the falls together, and they pool into a beautiful lake on the other side of the walk. Be prepared for stairs though - a LOT of stairs that were carved into the rock of the cliffs by the monks hundreds of years ago, with rickety rails put in as an afterthought in more recent years. If you don't like crowds, you don't like walking, you don't like stairs and you aren't that fussed on waterfalls and a pretty park, my recommendation would be to skip the walk, visit the monastery itself and then sit under the big beautiful trees and picnic on your lunch from a lazy position on the grass - you'll still see the biggest waterfall and you won't have to shuffle along like cattle with everyone else.

The monastery is half in (very romantic) ruins, half in good order, and well worth an hour to walk around and fully appreciate the beauty and history of the building and monks who lived there. I've posted numerous photos so have a look at those if you're interested. I love that through the ruins you can see the green of the grass, dotted with the beautiful short white wild daises that are so prolific in this part of the world. There's something terribly romantic about it all.

We headed home after spending the day walking around, poking our heads in and out of alcoves, and as we were hurtling down the highway, tired but happy, A says to me "I think I know where we're going next".

Chat soon,
M x

Road trippin' - Avila: The Town of Stones and Saints

Those of you who have read my American adventure blogs, will understand this about me: I love road tripping. I love nothing more than to get into a comfortable vehicle ("comfortable" for me equals: power steering, power windows, a functional digital radio, a reliable engine, good suspension, ABS brakes and dual airbags. I am otherwise not particularly concerned about type or size of car, or engine capacity) and hit the road. First stop - gas station for gas, water, road snacks. There's something very inviting about the open road.. some kind of sense of throwing convention out the window, embracing the freedom a motor vehicle offers, the independence of choosing your own path (literally and figuratively) to where you want to go. So it will come as no surprise to you, dear reader, when I tell you that I have expressed this love of road tripping to A, who like the lovely gentleman he is, has indulged my bitumen-traveling desires not once, but twice in the past two weeks.

The last weekend in April, we drove (yay! I was happy just climbing in his gorgeous car) to Avila, the Town of Stones and Saints; a medieval walled city built in Romanesque style, rich in history and beauty. I was completely unaware that Avila is at higher altitude than Madrid, so after sticking my arm out our bedroom window decided that a light jacket and jeans would be fine.. boy was I wrong. I stepped out of the comfort of A's car and straight into a blast of icy wind that had me tugging my scarf (thank god for bringing a scarf) around my nose and mouth and thinking to myself "shit". It was a slightly overcast morning, which made it worse of course, and as we made our way up the hill from the parking garage towards the true centre of town (and our lunch reservation) I did genuinely wonder if I would be able to actually see the city, or if I would snarf-and-run after lunch. Thankfully, three courses and half a bottle of wine later, and I was practically merry with warmth.

The history of Avila goes back as far as the 1st Century (say WHAT?! Yes, first century..) but it didn't get its impressive walls until Raymond of Burgundy commissioned them in 1088. The gothic cathedral inside the city walls began construction in 1107, and took two centuries to fully build. It really is breathtaking. Incredibly high, arched ceilings; ornate woodwork and stained glass; bronze and gold metal work inlaid into the highest points of the ceilings. We spent a fair amount of time walking through the halls and corridors of the cathedral, marvelling at the beauty and craftsmanship that had gone into building it. I had another deeply moving spiritual experience in one of the alcoves, and took many photos to try to capture the atmosphere inside.

Other than the cathedral, there are other churches to admire, and plenty of cobblestoned, winding streets begging you to get lost in. You can climb up some very steep stairs and walk along the fortified wall - which I highly recommend, as not only does it offer spectacular views of the valleys across to the snow-capped mountains in the distance, it also gives you a good angle at which to see the storks nesting on the rooftops, and a view back into the city, to see things you hadn't noticed at ground level.

We spent the afternoon wandering the walls, finding our way back to our car (thank goodness one of us has a good sense of direction..) and buckling up for the drive home. A was kind enough to show me the button for the butt-warmer in my seat (I love his car..) and after my butt had thawed to a reasonable degree, he piped up with "I think I know where I'm going to take you next weekend".

Did I mention I love this man? Dreamy.

Till 'next weekend',
M x