Prostrate Cancer

I have to join a gym. This is easier said than done. AndI'm not talking about your garden variety anti-gym issues like motivation, location, inertia, work, travel or life priorities.

This one is Hanoi's fault. Hanoi has not cottoned on to the whole gym thing. It doesn't have a McDonald's, either, and I don't see these two facts as completely unrelated. Once they start stuffing themselves with Big Macs and thickshakes they're going to realise they need to pray for their sins. I wish they'd realised all of this before I arrived. They. Them. It's always them.

It's not like I haven't tried. I have conducted several, thorough hunts on the internet and posted questions on the local potato website. This managed to unveil a couple of substandard options nowhere near my home or work, which is pointless because I'm not going to travel 30 min to get there.

I downgraded my expectations and sniffed out a couple of leads. For about $7/month you can join a local gym, they told me. Then they was warned me that there aren't very many around, it's full of hardcore body builders, the equipment is rusty, it's not airconditioned so the floor is all sweat and spit. Them again.

I imagined this place as suitable for an aspiring Arnold Swartzenegger ... when he was a scrawny teenager from Gratz with no money and limited equipment, making do with whatever he could find ... and figured that this is probably where once could buy steriods. Motivation indeed. So off I went, looking in a nearby alleyway for a gym I'd read about on someone's blog. It took me 3 sorties and 4 days to find it and as I pulled up they were erecting the "Massage" sign out the front and putting some final touches (strictly pink or green) to the interior.

I heard that 5-star hotels could be an option. So I emailed the closest hotels to me - the Sofitel and the Sheraton. The Sofitel said that they could do external memberships ... but when I went there the manager told me to come back tomorrow. I came back tomorrow and she told me that no, they don't do them. She didn't know why and couldn't suggest anyone who could. The Sheraton was an inadequate token room and the Intercontinental quoted me $2700 USD per year, non-refundable and paid up front. Crazy crazy crazy. R and I go to the Intercontinental sometimes for a drink and a club sandwich and we call it the 'Intercunt'. The hotel and staff are actually really nice ... the nickname was nothing more than kindergarten kicks. Now when I say it, I think of their gym prices.

Vietnamese people go to bed early and get up very early. It's the norm for a day to start at around 5:30 with half an hour's constitutional around the lake or in the park. During my ride to work I often see older people leaning against a rail or standing in a concrete square doing some very odd movements. If they were toddlers, you would think some of them were attempts to fly. If you throw some Alzheimer's into the mix then it's probably true. Mostly, though, it looks like a homemade Physical Culture video from the 50's ... I get to see the episode that was shot on location, at the lake.

During my ride home from work I see a whole other generation at work. In one part of the park you will see skaterboys pracitising uncomplicated tricks. Some of their friends sit beside them practising smoke rings. On the other side of the park rows of young girls face their leader and run through a series of synchronised hip thrusts and dance moves to some dated music being blasted out of some type of beatbox whose batteries seem to be running low. Their moves are also very uncomplicated and remind me of the cartwheel attempted by Olivia Newton John during the cheerleader scene in Grease. She should have been locked up. Other routines include hip gyrations which should have a minimum age. Think JonBenet Ramsay. None of this seems to require very much exertion or dancing talent so it's unclear what the end game is. Perhaps they are going to launch So You Think You Can Strip.

Anyway, by and large, the Vietnamese people have an active life and a healthy diet. Only some of the richer people get a bit tubby and even then, not much.

Back to me, though. It's getting ridiculous. I'm eating and drinking too much, I'm ordering pizza when a simple salad would suffice, my portion control is all portion and no control, I'm never walking anywhere, the couch is my second best friend (after pizza) and I spend far too much time at the computer. This must be what it's like to live in Kansas.

I got my secretary involved to help me out. This revealed two new items of information:

a) there had been a recent (unannounced) swap of secretaries; and

b) my new secretary is a fuckwit

So I asked my pre-swap secretary (who I've successfully bribed into loving me) to help me out. Her post-bribe personality has been a breezy mixture of bossy and fun. Ever since I started bring her back gifts from duty free, she has been promising to find me a Vietnamese wife, which is apparently a compliment, especially when it is accompanied by "You would be a very good son in law". I smiled and told her I was busy. I call her a "Suu Tu Ha Dong", which means a "Tiger from Ha Dong Province". Hanoi slang for Mrs Jessup, or Mrs Mangles for you younger folk, or Alf in Home and Away (ask Ben Fisher).

It started like this:

I went up to Mai's desk and she offered me a sweet. Some wrapped Chinese thing.

Mai: "Anthony. Here. Try this. Ngon".

[Ngon means Delicious and was sadly one of the first words I learnt in Vietnamese. I think I had crumbs on my t-shirt when I first said it ... obviously not from soup or fresh spring rolls ... more likely from behaviour which has a flu named after it.]

Me: "What is it?".

-- "From China. Very nice.".

Me: "Thanks. I can't. I'm too fat. Beo Qua"

[This was supposed to be her cue to disagree, tell me to stop being silly and reoffer me one of these Chinese delights. Mai's reaction was a little different than expected. She gentrly retracted her offer, her sweets and her hand.]

-- "Yes ... yes .... you are. [Screws up her face like she's eaten a lemon] "But Whyyyyyy?"

Me: "I eat too much. That's why I need you to help me find a gym."

[Good segue, I thought.]

-- "Yes [nods, then screws up her fact] ... so why do you eat too much?" [Smacks me on the hand on "eat"]

Me: "Because the food in Vietnam is so nice!" [I put on my humble foreigner face, to compliment her country and endear myself to her. Mai's reaction was a little different than expected]

-- "No! Tell me what you eat!

So I went through the whole thing. Typical breakfast, lunch, typical dinner and approximate meal times.

-- "Oh. Do you drink beer ...?"

Me: "Yes. Too much beer I think."

-- "Stop drinking so much." [Smacks my elbow on "Stop"]

Me: "Yes I must. But please help me find a gym? I still need a gym."

Mai's reaction was a little different than expected. She shouted out across the cubicles in a string of syllables with an "Antoni" in the middle of it. HR popped her head over and got involved. So did Facilities Management lengthy chat ensued across about 7 people. During this, as he stood there, Exhibit A did here the words "Beo" ("fat") and "Bia" ("beer") come up, sometimes with quite pointed pointing from May. If there was a special kind of pointing that could be referred to as pointed, then this was it. As all this was going on, I started thinking to myself if I ever get haemorroids I will not be asking Mai to find me the nearest chemist.

The upshot to all this was that the hopelessness of my gym situation was confirmed by the locals. It did produce a street where they sell exercise equipment. I have passed this street before and nicknamed it "Treadmill Street" so it was familiar territory.

I did a bit more research on the potato website for treadmill suggestions. Apparently the available treadmills are made in China and very cheap in Hanoi. There is one catch. They are built for Vietnamese. The website warns of terrible only affordable ones will typically not support anyone over 70kg. Violate this rule, and the belt will become sporadically hostile toward you.

I'm getting so lazy that my latest recurring fantasy revolves around this perfect job where I can lie in bed, giving other people instructions and not having to get up. I'm not looking for peeled grapes - just a couple of servants and lots of lying around. Like a reclining buddha with a laptop.

'If only I was more prostrate', I tell myself, 'I'd be happier if I was more prostrate'. I know the correct word is "supine" ... it's just that "prostrate" has a better ring to it and will make people giggle when they read this. And by "people" I mean Ben.

This is not a new fantasy. It has cropped up several times throughout my life. It's just becoming more frequent of late.

Just as well I'm not filthy rich, or this idea would probably start moving along some type of Howard Hughes trajectory. I should be spending less time with my head in the clouds and more time looking down as my feet slowly disappear behind my stomach. That will sort me out.

I have identified a last resort. It's called the Hanoi Club and is a fairly exclusive club filled with rich Vietnamese and potatoes with large budgets and stomachs [it doesn't seem fair for the plural of potato to get an "e" and not stomach] .

There is a decent gym at the Hanoi Club and a whole lot of other things I'll never use, like a driving range and a pool and BBQ nights for families. Jury's out on the jumping castle. Their rules appear to be inflexible and the price of gym membership is 3x the price I would pay for my gym in Sydney with about 1/8th of the facilities. It's going to hurt when I cough up this cash (USD) but it's my only viable option.