I had always intended to join a gym, or at least I had told myself I would join a gym. Last August, I went and checked out a few gyms near my apartment, but never quite finished the transaction. However, after eating my way through South America for almost six months, the time had come to finally commit. I ended up just picking the place closest to me, a smallish gym that has a good mix of classes and the basic machines. The motivating factor for me was the proximity-- half a block away. It takes me longer to brush my teeth than to walk to the gym.
To join a gym in Argentina, you need a physician to prove that you are apt for physical activity. Apparently there is a law about this, but I think it might just be for liability issues. However, I was told that I could try the gym for two weeks before getting the physical, which seemed odd to me (what if I'm not physically fit and something happens?). Not too sure what "physical fit" meant in the Argentine sense (That I don't smoke? That I've consumed a vegetable in the past week?), I wanted to complete the physical before I paid any money.
Some gyms have a doctor that comes in a few days a week to do the exams, but the gym that I wanted to join did not have this service. The receptionist recommended another gym that gave the exams for $15, and after a disastrous phone call (in which my phone cut off because I ran out of credit and the woman struggled to understand my accent), I had my "turno," or appointment. I arrived just on time to my appointment at a posh gym in Recoleta.
My main concern was not understanding the questions the doctor asked me. I do not know my height in centimeters nor my weight in kilograms, and my medical vocabulary is basic at best. I entered the exam room nervous, but Dr. Pablo put me at ease. He knew a little English, and the only place he had been in the United States was Indianapolis-- the American College of Sports Medicine is located there, and he had been to a conference a few years back. I understood more of the questions than I anticipated, and he went ahead and put my height and weight in the U.S. system.
I then had to get my first EKG. Dr. Pablo thought it was odd that we did not do these in the United States, because Argentine doctors follow the recommendations from the States. As he affixed rubber things to my body, he asked me about baseball and politics. He wanted to know who I thought was going to win the presidency in 2016, and then started asking about someone named Michelle, "the wife of the president." I asked if he meant Michelle Obama, and then almost panicked at the thought that people outside of the United States knew about Michelle Bachman. Thankfully, he meant Hilary Clinton and wanted to know my thoughts about her.
It ended up taking Dr. Pablo longer to print my results ("all great," he said), than to give me the actual exam. I paid, and he wished me well and was able to get out a heavily-accented "Good luck" in English as I left.
The next day I was ready to join the gym. As I waited for the receptionist to get paperwork for me to fill out, I looked over my apt for fitness report. Everything looked fine, although my height was recorded as five feet, one inch-- a comical error that no one in Argentina was going to notice. I got the 21 and under discount and went ahead and paid to me a member for my entire stay in Argentina. This will hopefully encourage me to go regularly, as I already paid.
I've now been a few times, always right after the gym opens. The first day I went, I watched the other gym-goers to see where the spray bottles and towels to wipe down the machines were; it appears that this hygiene practice is not common here. I have made it a commitment to go as early in the day as I can. Today I watched the man on the treadmill next to mine drip sweat all over the control panel, and then walk away. I am still trying to determine if it would be strange to bring paper towels and wipe down the machines before I use them. For now, I am trying to arrive within as close to opening as possible.
The gym has also been great practice in my mile-to-kilometer conversion. My first time on the treadmill, I was shocked to see that I could amp the thing up to six ("Wow, I am more fit than I thought!"), before I realized that it meant 6 kilometers an hour instead of miles per hour.
Another cultural difference that I should have known would carry over the gym is greetings. In Argentina (as I often forget), it is very rude not to greet everyone when you enter a room. When I go in the gym, I have to greet the receptionist, which I can handle. However, I was quite surprised when a man entered the gym area upstairs and went around to greet all of us ("Hola, señoritas, como están?"). Though I wanted to say, "Hey, buddy, can't you see I'm sweating and have headphones in?", I mustered a noise that appeared to pass for "Hola!" My next personal goal is to try a yoga class, although I'll need to research the names of the poses in Spanish first.