Real Progress (and Huge Muscles)

Wo, but so is the cruel chill of winter that hath, with its raging bitter winds, flung me like leaf from tree away from the pines and earth that I love so dear and into that black plastic chrome...


While I have yet to find a job, freelance translation or writing opportunity, suitable living space, confidantes, lovers, or friends my age, I have at least accomplished something here in Dalian: I've joined a health club.

Yes, I, Jonathan Rechtman, passionate adventurer of the mountains and deserts, hiker of all terrains foreign and empty, lover of long runs by the seaside and lonely walks in the woods, am now a gym rat, a corporate exerciser, a tread-mill step-class Alpine weight junkie.

Oh, but it's perfect. For one thing, it's a great way to pass time. A lazy Sunday isn't so lazy when you spend 5 hours at the gym. I ran, I took an aerobic-boxing class, I played some indoor-basketball, I rested, I ran, I took a tae-kwon-do class, a shower, a sauna. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

My decision to join was also based on the calculation that hanging around a gym is a good way to meet young, active people with ample amounts of leisure time and money (like myself). I mean, a gym is also a great place to meet meatheads and bulemics, but I trust my ability to sort out the riff from the raff.*

I figure, I can spend the next month going to classes in the morning, pursuing jobs/freelance gigs in the afternoon, and taking silly gym-classes at night. I'm totally psyched about Body Pump on Wednesdays. If anything, it's a healthier place to hang out than the coffee shops, and the money I save by not buying hot chocolate at Starbucks everyday will make up about half of my 4-month gym membership fee.

Also, the gym is warmer than my apartment. That counts for a lot.

Now then, to bed with me. I wish all my readers happiness and great abs.
Goodnight.


*I realize that's a total misuse of the riff-raff combo, but it sounds good. Give me the riff, keep the raff.