Flex Gym (Flex, Jim!)

Jim says...

To keep from getting too fat from the copious good food and fairly sedentary life here in Taraz, I've been working out at the local soccer stadium's "Flex Gym." They run a tight ship at the Flex.

The fourteen year old girl running the front desk has come down on me for wearing my street shoes into the gym. I, of course, thought she was asking me if I wanted another bottle of water and replied, in Russian, "Not right now." Now I understand how wars can start from a simple miscommunication. I assume they want to keep the street grime on the street and off their rubber mats. Additionally, though I've told her I can only speak a very small amount of Russian, she has explained at length that one does not jump off the moving treadmill to get their water bottle, complete with a full introduction on how to use the emergency chord. Perhaps even better was her standing about two feet from me, arms crossed, as I started the machine back up for my run. There's nothing like an audience for inspiring a good run. I really had to fight my urge to glare and shout "DA?? CHEHVO??" I was later told this would have been exceptionally rude. I've also had a female staff person whom I'd wrongly assumed was a member try to correct my form on one machine. What was funny was her correction was one that I wanted to give another fellow in the U.S. just before having a trainer use the fellow as an example of correct form. Needless to say, there's some amount of well-intentioned but unwanted attention I'm getting at the gym.

The gym is actually really nice. It's clean, has a great variety of weight equipment (if lacking on cardio equipment) and offers showers, locking lockers for free, and a variety of refreshments. The posters on the wall are a riot. Muscle-bound freaks looking seconds away from a steriodal rage and medically-enhanced softcore female shots remind you that even in Taraz, Kazakhstan (population 400,000), it's all about image. The workout music has given me a chance to catch what passes for Top 40 in KZ. It's flimsy catchy stuff just like ours but just add in an occasional accordion. They also crank up the metal, in particular German industrial metal hit "Du Hast (Mich Gefragt)." I halfway wondered what kind of looks I'd get if I let out the loudest grunt my vocal chords could muster in response.

Socially, the people in the gym are usually nice. A few guys whom I would guess were either Georgian, Turkish, or something west of here definitely stared at me. But, I should note that I wear shorts and t-shirts which in this season the locals think are a death-wish -- or more accurately asking for the flu. Men in KZ only wear dark clothes. So, my green shorts and concert shirt may look bizarre, leaning towards fruity. What can I say? I packed light. What's more, I don't much care if they think I'm Bozo the Clown. I'm there to sweat and get my workout done. The tradition I like is when a newcomer shakes hands with each person at the gym. It's not to meet people or network or anything of the sort. It's a Kazakh custom, probably from their laid-back nomadic days. However, everyone does it. Pretty cool. Bear in mind, this is not Bally's with hundreds of people. Six is the most I've seen at Flex. Working out in KZ is a fairly new thing.