Getting Physical

(Sorry, if you're disappointed, this post is about the gym.)

The first thing you notice about Argentine gyms is that they have a garagey-high school gym feel to them. Strictly utilitarian, with little concern for appearances. However, they're definitely not cold places. (Don't let my pictures fool you; I just felt a little funny taking pictures of people working out when the gym was full.)
When you sign up (which requires a first and last name and $50-60 pesos), the person at the front desk will also get you started on a workout. Depending on your desires (and the gym), this can include walking you through a full-body strength training session, or simply helping you program a cardio machine.

They're similar to our personal trainers, presumably with similar training--they'll correct your form, show you new exercises, etc. I haven't heard them offer any health/diet advice (personal trainers usually give advice on what to eat, supplements, etc.). And you don't get the individual attention that comes with the cost of a personal trainer.

The first gym I went to, when I lived with my host family, was a bit disappointing. It was small and basic, but this lead the trainers to give everyone the same set of exercises, and you often had to wait a while in order to use the machine they wanted you to use. One of their strength workouts took an hour to an hour and a half! (Normally, I could accomplish this on my own in 30-45 minutes.)

The second problem I ran into at that first gym was when I accidently ostracized myself. =) As I said, the gyms are friendly places, and as Argentines are friendly people, they greet everyone with a kiss. So, when you enter a gym, regardless of sweat saturation or BO, you kiss everyone. The front desk, the trainers, the people you know, and the people that the people you know are talking to. I didn't kiss, I didn't take the trainers' advice on a routine, and pretty soon I felt invisible. (When an employee enters, as they usually know most everyone, it can take them a half hour to work the crowd, as they go around kissing everyone--neither germ-phobes nor sweat-phobes can succeed here.) It was a pretty sad time, as I tried to be as friendly as possible, but eventually just stopped working out there.


Luckily, I found a gym close to my pension that I love (Zoo Gym, pictured). The people are a lot more serious about working out, and as a result tend to know what they're doing. So, many are capable of designing their own routines and using the trainers for spotting and adjusting the often finicky, archaic equipment. (There's two elliptical machines, one feels like it's operating over gravel, the other feels a bit like a horseback ride. Of the three treadmills, one is stuck in an uphill position, one accelerates but doesn't slow down, and the third is in decent shape.)

Needless to say, the gym would be shut down with pending lawsuits after about 5 minutes of operation in the US. One of the trainers, Pablo, has a dream of going to LA and visiting a Gold's Gym, like he sees in all the movies.


The final thing to note is the "water fountain"...no, I haven't seen an actual fountain here...(I wonder what the locals would think of the concept), but they have a water cooler with plastic cups available to drink from. Great, in theory. In practice, gym-goers like to share the little plastic cups (they're too lazy to get them from the front desk? the desk is out? they can't remember which one was theirs'?), so any of the white cups pictured has been used and up for grabs for a second use.

As Pablo told me while he was dreaming of Gold's Gym--"It's unsanitary, everything is completely unsanitary." And yet, aside from higher-than-average rates of hepatitis (which could also be attributed to a lack of vaccinations), the country goes on, seemingly unaffected. And you can get a good workout and make friends for less than $20/month.