In my last few postings, I extolled the virtues of a morning walk in one of Kuching's nicest gardens of culture, the Malaysia-China Friendship Garden in Jalan Song, Kuching. I hope you enjoyed the photos - I even had one comment from one of my local friends who told me that she had never been to the Friendship Garden, despite being born in Kuching.
That was a pertinent comment because, ever since I have lived over here, I myself have been searching for the ideal place for regular exercise. And it's been a long hard slog punctuated by pitfalls and constant disappointments, until now.
The reason is that, as I see it, Kuching doesn't seem to offer enough safe, cheap and convenient places to work off those excess love handles (of which I have enough for a whole Robbie Williams concert!).
I don't know why this is - maybe the tropical heat is supposed to be enough to help you sweat off the problematic pounds - but so far, this is the extent of my foiled plans to do regular exercise:
1. Cycling.
When I came over here I considered buying a mountain bike and riding to work every day, as I used to do this when I lived back in the UK. But the following problems presented themselves pretty quickly:
- The state of the roads and the drivers who use them makes it virtual suicide to ride a bike in Kuching - see my previous James Bond post!
- There is a serious social taboo about riding a bike in Malaysian society. It's just not something that a professional office worker does. Especially, as my first job was as a manager in a private college, and I am now an associate professor in a prestigious university!
- No changing facilities in most offices makes it a very sweaty and smelly experience to ride a bike to work. It has to be a car, or a bus or nothing
2. Going to the gym.
Back home, I used to do this a lot, so that I could toughen up my limbs and flatten my chest a bit. However, most gymnasiums in Kuching are run as businesses. You might want to go there just for an hour's cycling or weights, but the people in the gym will INSIST that you need Pilates this and SuperPowerBoosterBouncyBall that and your muscles will expand, but your bank balance will contract!
Luckily, our university recently opened a gym for staff and students so there is hope there. But, there lies the next challenge to be faced in selecting suitable exercise options:
3. Appropriate attire.
Back home, you can wear almost anything to the gym, as long as it's safe and comfortable. Over here, clothing and attire are things that people are very particular about indeed. What this means in practice is that I can't just put on a pair of shorts (assuming I could find any to fit me!) and a tatty old t-shirt to go to the gym. There are dress-codes. You have to cover your flesh - preferably with a flashy designer tracksuit (I do in fact own one, but the trousers don't fit me!). And the issue of approriate attire brings me to the final exercise adventure I have experienced in this place:
4. Going for a nice swim.
I love swimming - I learned to swim back in England fairly late in life - about 27 years old. I was quite good at it and I got to be very confident. When I moved into our present house in 2002, I discovered to my delight that there is a big public swimming pool almost on my doorstep. So I started to go there every week for a plunge, with a view to making it a regular gig.
Things went swimmingly for a while. Even though the pool was frequently crowded with indisciplined kids bombing and splashing around everywhere (James Bonding?) and the pool was not quite spotlessly clean, I did manage to do regular laps and work off a bit of my tummy.
Then disaster struck. One fateful Sunday, one of the pool attendants told me that I wasn't wearing the correct swimwear. Even though I had been wearing my long baggy swimming pants for years with no problem. When I complained, the attendant showed me some photographs at the entrance showing the "correct" swimwear and the "incorrect" swimwear. My style of swimwear was to be found in both categories and I definitely spotted some other swimmers wearing similar trunks to me, and I pointed this out. But shouting and bawling gets you precisely nowhere in Malaysia. That's a rule that many of my fellow expatriates would do well to remember.
So, for a long time I didn't go swimming, because I didn't have the right trunks. Apparently, I had to purchase the skimpy, skin-tight lycra type trunks that make someone like me look like a badly made sausage. Or Mr. Incredible from the cartoon.
However, I eventually swallowed my pride and bought some of these ridiculous little kinky spandex trunks and went back to the pool again, legal once more. But it wasn't the same. There were too many rules and regulations. One queue to pay for my ticket, one queue to get a locker key, then you had to get everything checked by the security guards and you had to sign in and sign out and the changing room was filthy and the bloody doors were falling apart and people gave you stares like you had just landed from the Planet of the Fat Bloody Monsters and, oh forget it!
Where are my pills? I need my pills.....
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