One
would imagine that going for a workout would be fun, relaxing, stress relieving
and quiet. Well…. Think again!
I have been through the rut and cycle of
much of the fitness offerings in Mumbai city. There was a time I was obsessed
with trying out any fancy offering in sports and fitness and decide if I would
go for more than 2 classes/sessions a week after a trial class. If there was an
accompanying enthusiastic fool, then he/she would succumb and we wouldn’t waste
time or energy in beating down the doors soon.
Dance, jazz, drums (yep don’t underestimate
upper body workout), parkour, martial arts, karate, gyms, swimming, bboying,
hiphop, crossfit, personalized training, dumbbell marathon workout, Capoeira,
yoga, kalaripayattu and errrr… many
more. On my to-do list are pole workout, Pilates and scuba diving in the
pipeline. Despite 2 busted and surgically repaired knees, I have no intention
of stopping or slowing down. P.S. This does not include occasional lazy ass
bouts of nothingness. In my experience, doing nothing is a workout too :P
The good part of
all the above was knowledge and experience. To know that there are folks who
lived in absolutely poverty to mediocre standards just to fulfill their passion
and keep it going. To impart it day after day in practice and training without
expecting it to become popular at the speed of a bush fire. They put their
comfort, their price, their personal time and even their family on the line to
make things happen. Despite media exposure and workshops, a marginal percentage
actual manage to make it to the big league – and by that I mean having at least
2 or more high profile clients and a periodic mention on social media. The rest
remain to slug it in the mud and a majority to embrace defeat, shrug and move
on. Their skills are narrated as after stories or introductory glory moments to
give them an edge in an unknown crowd. The more exotic the art, the tougher to
have it established and running.
What ropes me in
is their passion. That passion is what convinces us learners to follow in their
footsteps and dedicate few valuable hours from our day/week to the skill. This
also accounts for the commute back and forth from the center – case in point
when I worked myself to the bone doing Malad – Powai – Khar/Andheri – Malad
almost 3/4 times a week. Over the last 10 years, I drove myself to the bone
working out as much as 3 hours at a stretch at the gym, doing dance or yoga
classes, swimming (when time, money, a clean balanced pool and mood permitted)
and then followed a brief confused period in bboying followed by a long term
stint at capoeira. All the art forms
showed immediate and visible effects on my body and mind. Some very slight and
some rather drastic. Gymming caused me to drop to a number that was underweight
for my height and frame. But for someone like me who has battled weight since
puberty, they were golden numbers in the 40s and I was only thrilled to drive
it down rather than stay healthy and up. The result was atrocious skin for the
1st time in my life, disrupted monthly cycle and deficiencies due to
a not so well constructed diet.
Poor knowledge
and even poor skills can cause severe long-term damage – something I have
learnt personally. Capoeira unearthed
a part of me that lay dormant for far too long. The art form just married my
body movements and it was possible due to all my activities, I had the
wavelength and flexibility to pull of moves that takes months for some new
folks into this art form. I was home. And I made it home. Weather, space
constraints, distance, time, energy, fuel, nourishment, balance… nothing
mattered. I hated and loved people around me fiercely. But I was clear… I was
glued to the class and the instructions than people and superficial offerings. I
didn’t care if I missed a party or if I was early to leave from a party. No one
lived my side anyways and some were more than eager to drop me home,
repeatedly. Don’t think I have ever declined those many offers over and over
again. But I hyperventilated if I either missed a class or someone occupied my
comfy lil spot on the left extreme corner (1st row) in class. I
HATED that. They were minor possessive elements in my mind. I ignored it by watching
year after year, month after month all kinds of folks come in. The class was no
different from the gym.
There were the wanderers and socializers among the
scattered hardcore trainers.
People in Mumbai
have learned to be comfortable in the tiniest spot. By that I mean, you can
take a 360° turn but not really
stick your arm out. The concept of giving space in life, in person, in class,
in gym, in public spaces does not exist. And people carry this attitude with
them everywhere they go and every discipline they infiltrate. In gym, you could
hurt yourself from machines or anyone with weights etc. In Capoeira class you could easily have an arm or worse still, a leg,
land on any part of you and most certainly add a few painfully sore days if not
worse to your body. Safety couldn’t be further pressed and stressed about in
class and yet not everyone pays heed or is mindful of it. It’s just flaying
arms and legs for some who just wouldn’t care about the consequences or others
around them.
Fast forward to
when I joined Mickey Mehta’s 360° routine. So Capoeira had physically and emotionally damaged me in some irreparable
ways. I realized that I would need a lot of time before I sensed that freeing
feeling when I 1st started practicing and training in it and that no
one in class, not even in jest, would try to hurt me. So in the meantime, a
suddenly ballooned weight (per my standards) prompted me to consider something
tamer to be added to my routine. Mum enrolled me into MM360. It worked for her
and she thought it would at least help me. Boy it did…. Calisthenics, cardio,
boot camp, yoga (extreme and asanas),
dance, stretch class, grow tall, aerobics, drills, well they had it all packed
into 1 hr sessions 7 days a week all year long. One could pick and choose any
one class per day and walk out content. Who doesn’t like variety served on a
platter and the freedom to do ANYTHING from a slot reserved between 6am and
9pm. I used it and abused it. I was addicted. But I was careful and I trained
sensibly. It worked wonders for me and the trainers who are so well taught and
inducted into the system became my go-to folks. Early mornings and early-late
evenings were packed like a Mumbai local. The odd “housewife” slot so to speak
(that’s the term for 11am to 6pm) was scanty to empty sometimes. There were
days I was the ONLY student and class was conducted with no discounts or
trimmings from the actual routine. I loved it and I used my work-from-home
privilege to slip in a class anytime. Sometimes even during a lunch break. But
them ladies got on my nerves when they joined class. There is always the collective
echo of wailing and yawning and laziness. I still cannot comprehend why would
you attend a class if the only aim was to mark attendance. This wasn’t school
or the army where it was traced and a consequence was announced. The only
consequence was weight gain and not being fit. Them ladies would come and
collectively slow me down by blocking my way with their group chatter or slow
the class down by prompting the instructor to either reduce the number of repetitions
or change the movement to an easy “doable” one. To add to the bane of my
problems was the air conditioning. In a tiny studio space, 3 split ACs and 2
high speed noisy fans HAD to be on. The common sense that we warm up our bodies
to work out and not cool it down with these tertiary gadgets didn’t prevail. I
scouted areas of the class, however farther away or awkwardly placed just to
avoid the direct blast of these gadgets. When the class would be packed, I
would try to be patient and accommodate folks around me. It came at a cost. They
didn’t feel or think the same way. Selfishness bid itself a warm welcome right
with my breathing radius.
I joined
Dumbelled workout regime as a trial for a month. T’was 3ce a week 6am-7am.
Rigorous marathon training and tailor made for runners and marathon
enthusiasts. I did not fit in and yet I managed to drag my crucified knees
through 4kms of running non-stop at 6am temperatures. Discipline, attire,
routine and stress levels were uniform and high. Just what I needed to push me
over the edge and get me to do what I loved but just couldn’t find the right
tools to aid me. I always needed a trainer and someone who would drive me down
the road. However, the idea of doing this just one more time made me grovel and
I had no will to join a bunch I barely spoke to or connected with. I think
connection is key in a group. It makes you wake up and look forward to joining them
no matter how bad your day was. Workouts in any shape or form always relieve
you. But this… I left after a trial month. No regrets.
This was
just a handful of issues I faced working out. At Goregaon Sports Club, home to
the whos who of the rich and classless, I was hit on by men 3-4 times my age,
causing my friend the member abundant embarrassment and refusal to bring me
back again lest they pester him for my number and details. I once left a gym
because the instructor insisted he wanted to marry me after training me for 2
years. Once refused to join a gym because the eager instructor looked like he
would propose marriage after 2 years of training. Swimming was another story.
If you find yourself in a slot that includes anyone, you are in for smelly
dirty kids not minded by their parents or dirty old men who inch their whale
like bodies close to yours and try to brush past or even slip in a creepy ‘hi’
in the middle of your laps. Excess chlorine and sometimes questionable hygiene drive
you away faster than Juhu beach water could.
Working
out is a headache and a boon. 3 scenic gardens around my home keep me grounded.
Yes, I have to pass couples making bad attempts to hide in bushes to do what
they do in bushes. Some quite out there and almost making babies. But if I
strain my neck and eyes enough, I can pack in a good run followed by a few
workout moves. The oxygen is a good trade off.
Clothing. Wait…
APPROPRIATE clothing. Such a debate. Women ‘dress up’ here for workouts. I have
seen pushup bras and heavy makeup beneath the perspiration. Tight clothing and
see through it all clothing. And never a proper fit or a comfort. Adjusting and
flaunting workout wear is THE workout. Its awkward and just a tch tch moment for
spectators. Why or why would one want to be discomforted in the outfit that’s supposed
to be the MOST comfortable. I once wore Quecha brand sportswear to a gym where
I was told off by the gym instructor to cover up. I was shocked that racer-back
was inappropriate in the near 40° heat but a camel toe and a tight T-shirt
donned by someone else was acceptable. Bias! Both men and women also tend to conveniently
ignore what to wear underneath the attire. Sometimes it’s way too embarrassing to
acknowledge or even pass by in the same room. I shall not delve into the
inappropriate details of what disasters those result in.
In the end if not a workout, at least our wits, common sense, visual sense and our humor has a good workout and we make up for the rest elsewhere. I will never run out of feeling that initial pulse of getting my bikini bod and then leaving whatever space thinking “what the hell was THAT”. But if I never do any of these, I wont have any more experiences or make attempts to stay fit. Gotta 'ruuuuun'
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