Pontius, Is That You?

#256: Fitness Betrayals & Reconciliations

"What is that?" Juno's dad asks Vanessa (played by Jennifer Garner)
"It's a Pilates Machine." she replies without further explanation.
"Ah. So what does it make?"

Fitness fads come and go. In the Philippines, everyone is into running now. Or at least into gearing up and getting outfitted as a runner. (Really. You need a GPS to run in Manila? It's not like you're running through the jungles of Peru, you know.) Running eclipses badminton as the 'official activity of sweat' for Filipino yuppies. If I see one more post on a running watch that someone NEEDS to buy, I'm going to have to have my left eyebrow peeled from the ceiling.

Here in Australia, you can't escape Zumba. Every morning, someone hawks Zumba. I saw it a couple of months ago and scoffed at it. It has since made its way to the dance studio at the corner of Randwick (move over Salsa!) and is now a fixture at this lifestyle fitness centre I'm contemplating on joining. Zumba. It even sounds gimmicky.

Just like Taebo. Who can forget Taebo being promoted by the fitness world's answer to Mr. T? Just like that Abserciser (or something like that) which promises to give you 6-pack abs as you dig the rubberised end of the thingamajig into your flabby midsection. Ah. Field day for snake oil salesmen.

Last year, I insisted that Andrew and I sign up together for membership at the popular gym chain, Fitness First. I was a member back in Manila and for a good 2 years, I faithfully did my cardio workout and classes twice a week. On the 3rd year, I became too lazy even to freeze the membership. I ended up "donating" the money to Fitness First. Heaven knows they need it to come up with yet another free backpack set (complete with water bottle and towels) to give away to new members.

This time, in Sydney, there were no freebies. Just pure $112.00 per head, per month for me to drive 20 minutes from home to have my workout. I had visions of Andrew and I running on adjoining treadmills. Holding hands in between sets at the machines. Wiping the sweat off each other's forehead. Uhm. No. But still, I did think we would at least egg each other on to go to the gym and work out together. It didn't happen. I went to the gym 3 times in the first 2 months, then took 6 months to have my membership frozen then canceled. If I hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have even bothered to make the call.

I did, however, get into swimming. Faithfully. Every week, I'd rock up to my 11:30am Saturday swimming class. It improved my fitness, along with my chances for survival, in case the cruise ship I'm on starts heading for the bottom of the ocean. Of course, it helped that my instructor thought I could've been Stephanie Rice if I had started swimming when I was 2, and was quite generous with the verbal praise. I only stopped when my pregnant belly could no longer be neatly tucked in my swimsuit.

Almost 3 months after delivering the child (who robbed me of my girlish figure), I'm ready to get in shape again. None of the current fads appeal to me. I find myself drawn once more to what I had proven before to be simple and effective - at least for my body and for my level of commitment. It's a bit pricier than the gym membership (which might motivate me to really make this work -> or which may just prove to be an expensive exercise in delusion) but it offers auxiliary services like child-minding or parent & child exercise classes - key if I am to get rid of the "I-can't-leave-the-house,-I-need-to-take-care-of-the-baby" excuse.

I am going back to what I was doing around 8 years ago. Maybe throw in a day of swimming or a parent-child yoga class in-between. Possibly a game of squash. Nothing that ticks the fitness buzzwords of the moment. But I'm happy to say I'm going back to Pilates. This time, Stott Pilates - the one with machines. You know, the kind that makes nothing.