Sweating with Celebrities

I resisted it for a long, long time. I said I was just going to run in the park; I wasn't going to worry about being bitten by stray dogs or stared at by adolescent boys. I would just walk a lot, and run up and down my building's 10 flights of stairs. But walking wasn't bringing my stress level down enough, and running in Herestrau Park was not only getting boring, it was hurting my knees. The elderly neighbors in my building were confounded by my repeated jogging past their doors, and their little dogs kept yipping at me. I tried to find another place that was cheaper, but I knew I would not feel like walking 30 minutes to hang out in a sweaty basement to use an old stairmaster when I could just run up and down my stinky stairs.

So after much deliberation, I am now officially a 3-month member of the World Class Fitness Center Bucharest, possibly the most expensive gym on the face of the planet. And despite my guilt about spending per month what amounts to many Romanians' monthly salaries, and despite the fact that I desperately need that money for production, I LOVE IT.

In Bucharest, people just don't go out running or riding bikes--they're afraid of being bitten by the 50,000 stray dogs that live in the city. (Despite the fact that most of them are friendly, a Japanese businessman was killed on January 29 by a stray, and about 50-60 people are treated in hospitals every day for dog bites.) I love dogs, but it is nervewracking when they bark viciously or come running after you because they think you have food. But the dogs aren't really the reason I joined the gym. I joined it because I needed yoga classes (the only ones in the city) and a place to work up a sweat (the spinning classes are the best I've taken anywhere) and a place that's right on the bus line, so it's easy to get to from my apartment.

But I do struggle with some guilt feelings. Aside from the astronomical expense, it bothers me that a Bucharest establishment uses English as its official language, and that if one English speaker shows up in a class of 30 Romanians, the instructor will amiably switch to English. (The company is not locally owned; the manager is Swedish). The clientele, they say, is 50% expat. The other 50% are Romanians who can afford the membership, and judging from the looks of them, they appear to be mostly members of the local mafia or swimsuit models. I don't know how the latter maintained their incredible figures before the existence of the World Class Fitness Center, but I'm pretty sure that no matter how often I go to the gym, I will never look like that. I think I'm also going to pass on the tanning beds. But my new exercise regime among Bucharest's elite has brought my stress level down considerably, and I've reduced my chances of getting rabies by at least 85%. So in the end, I think it will have been worth it.