Grapevine Like an Egyptian

First published March 10, 2009

Sitting in a crouched position with one leg extended, I teetered on the other bent leg while inhaling deeply. "How did I get myself into this?" I thought. The question had two answers. One—very painfully and two—I'm attempting to build a bridge to a new friendship.

A friend from the language school told me about a fitness center that's on the same street where we live. She enthusiastically told me all about the equipment and the classes available. I responded with excitement and celebrated the fact that she could still train during her time here in Cairo. I breathed a sigh of relief, too. "Whew! Now I can train. I was so worried about keeping up with my triathalon preparation. What a relief!" Uh, no.

I know. I know. Exercise is good. Keeps depression at bay. Makes one's heart strong. Let's a girl choose voluntarily whether she wants to wear a flowly Muslim outfit or whether she has to... With that in mind, I actually toyed with the idea of checking out a possible membership. I could just skip this step, hold a wad of money in my hand and throw it off our balcony, but I like to go through the motions.

A week passed and my friend announced that she was now teaching an aerobics class at the gym AND she had arranged free guest passes for the girls and me. I knew I was at a crossroad. I could smile and wish her well or I could go to the class and support my new friend's efforts. I asked her when the class started. She said 9 pm. I asked her, "9 what?" She confirmed that she said 9 PM.

Apparently all the classes begin this late because Egyptians don't really get their evening started until then. I moaned inwardly and thought, "Oh, great. Exercise AND staying up late. If you added a bikini contest I would be over the moon."

All day I looked at the clock and counted down. 7 hours to exercise. 6 hours to exercise. 5 hours to...wait...maybe I'm getting a headache...nope. 4 hours to...wait...I don't think I brought any jogging...oh, here they are. 3 hours to exercise. 2 hours and I'm sinking on the couch after a very full day. 1 hour to exercise. The time has come. As Mr. Nike would say, "Just do it."

The girls were thrilled for this opportunity. They were dressed and ready to head out the door early. The three of us bopped up the street and made our way to the Platinum Mall. We walked in and looked for a sign to tell us which floor the fitness center was on. I didn't see one.

We asked a cleaning guy and he answered. Unfortunately, I didn't understand a word he said. He pointed up and since we were on ground floor took him at his word and headed up the stairs. Second floor? Nope. Third floor? Nope. On up until we reached the fifth floor. I was ready to call it good since I was already sweating when a woman in a hijab (headscarf) greeted me and asked if I was here to see my friend. I nodded. She said she would take me on a tour first and then on to the class.

We rounded the corner to the main fitness area where it is supposed to be co-ed. However, only men were present. You could have heard a pin drop when the three of us walked down the middle aisle. They all stopped what they were doing and looked at us. We did our best to keep the tour moving. Several pieces of modern equipment adorned the polished wood floors.

Through a door and down a hallway she showed us the women's only room. This small room had only four pieces of equipment and a TV, but provided a space for Muslim women who do not interact with non-familial men or women like me who'd like to avoid the stares that we had just received.

We looked at the women's locker room complete with jacuzzi, steamroom and sauna. With the tour now complete, I could prepare myself for the aerobics class. I found my friend and she had on her cute little exercise outfit. She was glad to see us and I was glad that we had come--at least I thought I was.

We proceeded to the aerobic room where we each grabbed a mat and a step in preparation for the class. One man and a scarved woman walked in. We began the class with basic step moves to the rhythm of Rascal Flatt's "Life Is a Highway" blaring. "So far, so good," I thought, "I can do this."

Two more men came and attempted to join in. They may be able to benchpress a lot of weight, but they couldn't step up and down to save their lives. Three women came in to complete the class. Now we are all stepping and leaping and jogging in place.

I was feeling pretty good about myself until my friend announced, "Okay. Now we're warmed up. Let's crank it up!" My face had gone from pink, to red, to deep purple. By all rights, I should be preparing myself for a yoga-like cool down by now. It was not to be. She leaped from side to side over the step, then front to back, then doubletime. Emileigh and Aria were keeping up like the background girls in a Billy Blanks DVD. I, on the other hand, had to admit that I may not be at their current fitness level and may need to get a drink of water, cool down a bit, check to see if they had defib paddles.

I walked out in the hallway hoping to catch a breath of air and decided that I would go talk terms with the lady who had given me the tour. I wondered what she would pay ME to return. We discussed options for a while and I thanked her. I returned to the class just in time for the cool down. Ah, yes. I can do this. 

I spoke too soon. She began to do Spiderman moves swaying back and forth. That's when I began to ask myself what brought me to this point. I finished the class (just barely). Afterward, I introduced myself to two of the women and waited while my friend deflected a male pursuer.

I congratulated my friend on a good class and she returned kudos to me for still breathing. Wait, that was what I said to myself. She was glad that we came to provide moral support. She also invited us back on Monday for another round.

The girls and I nodded in agreement. We reviewed our evening as we walked back to the flat. This could be a good thing. Exercise, new friendships and a chance to practice our Arabic. Now if I can only manage to get these newly discovered sore muscles off the couch, I'll be headed out to class again...Doubletime, Pam!