The Strangest Women on the Planet

I’m terrified of gyms. I’m even more terrified of the female changerooms of gyms. The female changerooms of gyms are frequented by the strangest women on the planet. As if it’s not enough to have to cope with gym-membership officers – the used-car salesmen of the health and leisure industry – and with the size 6 women in their Nuala yoga outfits who without fail climb on to the treadmill next to me, there’s the changeroom challenge.
In the changerooms of my small Hong Kong gym, I was routinely, well, perturbed, by a small, round, preoccupied, middle-aged Chinese woman who never seemed to actually work out, but who was extraordinarily dedicated about her stretching regime. In a perversion of the early-morning routine of countless tai-chi grandmothers and grandfathers who converge on Hong Kong’s public spaces, this woman did her stretches in the gym changeroom. Naked. Often in front of the mirror. Foreign stretches involving considerable spreading of the legs. Most perturbing were the occasions when, jockey-like, I was in the steamroom lazily continuing my workout/weight-loss program (alone, modestly, fully clothed in swimwear) and she arrived. Still naked. Still stretching. And still quite oblivious to anyone around her. I’m not sure cultural differences or sexual preferences can account for this.

Borrowed Undies

An old personal trainer once recounted a story to me about a woman who had become quite a changeroom talking point at a Melbourne gym. Apparently, this woman had no qualms about walking around the female changerooms borrowing deodorant, hairspray, mascara, soap, shampoo, toothpaste etc, from complete strangers, but the day she asked at the top of her voice if anyone had any undies she could borrow was a tipping point.

Public Preening

Testing out my new gym’s steamroom (steamroom 10 minutes, cold shower one minute, steamroom five minutes, cold shower 30 seconds and I feel like I’ve hung out again at the Parisian Hammam in the 5th Arrondissement that I dream of), I was fascinated and horrified at the same time to see Strange Gym Changeroom Woman Mark III. There’s always one who has no qualms about spending inordinate amounts of time preening in a public restroom, but this was ridiculous. Through the steamroom’s glass doors I watched as she moved, as though in a trance, from one changeroom mirror to another. From wash-basin mirror, to full-length mirror, to hair-dryer window and back again she went, fully dressed in street clothes with straightforward, dried curly-tousled hair. Fluffing, preening, tossing her head, fluffing, preening some more. Fifteen, 20 minutes later, I’ve recreated my Paris-Hammam experience, dressed, done my own brief preen, and she’s still moving between mirrors, fluffing.
I flee home. Almost as terrifying is the empty fridge I face. Thank heavens for the stocked pantry, the half-alive balcony herb garden and the one reasonably happy tomato from the last market visit. The first salad of many: drained, rinsed canned cannellini beans, garlic, chilli, parsley, diced tomato, red onion, lemon juice, sea salt, ground pepper, an eyedropper of olive oil.

Comments

[M-H]

Once we were changing after our swim and a stranger engaged us in conversation. She chatted on blithely, obviously quite unaware that she was fully dressed only down as far as her waist. She showed no inclination to put knickers, socks, etc on, just chatted on as we made minimal reply, dresssed, and *got out of there*. Fast.

[Cupcake in Buenos Aires]

Gyming in Buenos Aires has been a real eye opener...women at my gym sporting George Hamilton tan are very conforting parading in the changingroom without a stitch on to show off their Brazilian waxed private parts and post-op D cups...