Deportes and Recreation 1: Working on the Bod

My dearests.

So, it's been two months since I flew out of Canada's then sunny skies, and descended into these far greyer ones. Two months! Long enough now for me to start a normal quotidian life - as I have described in my first posts.

Of course, there are many interesting, fascinating, fun, sometimes unfortunately depressing, and even baffling, moments. But in truth, am still trying to get a grips with this city, and hope to describe it's wonders faithfully soon: the run-ins with the falconers or skateboarders on the malecon, the amazing cultural scene, the flashy denizens, the incidents with utter poverty, and lots and lots of life outside in parks, on the beach, in restaurants, and of course on the streets.  

And then there is me, your lonely hero trying to make a life for himself among the throng. In these next three posts, I will describe my attempts at joining in with the sporting fun.

Hope you'll enjoy them.

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Although my first post didn't mention it, I did start physical activities pretty quickly. On my first Saturday in town, my colleagues planned an intra-Lodge soccer game in honour of the Peru-Canada friendly occurring in Toronto . And the following week, my colleague and friend Waleska organised a horse ride just south of the city, which took us through recent cement-brick urbanisation growing among the farmland, under a highway overpass to the beach, and eventually back again. Except that on our return leg we actually went on the overpass, and our group perilously negotiated our horses along the appropriate Panamerican Highway exit, hoping they would respect the general rules of traffic, as the cars, trucks, combi-busses, and moto-taxis passed us.

 The Peruvian Beach Cow, one of Peru's lesser known wild animal species (courtesy of Waleska R., who I hope doesn't mind).

And in efforts to work on my bod, I tried out a local gym in a visit that left me startled at how weak I had become before I realized that everything, of course was, in kilos not pounds. Subsequent days brought pain.

Probably because it would be hard to find something that would replace the positive body image attitude of the ol' humble Centretown Ottawa Y, which seemed to say hey, it's ok, we're all a little chubby here, and also because I fear doing more damage to my broken back and knees, I've ditched the gym-scene for now and joined a local yoga studio.

I started with the evening power yoga class because the word power helped me overcome any masculine insecurity. But these classes ended too late, and so I decided to try the only other evening option, the Ashtanga class, which I was surprised to learn was led by a 6 or 7 month-pregnant woman.

In fact, the first time I went in and saw the heavy-with-child teacher as I opened the door, I understandably mistook it as prenatal class. Embarrassed, I quickly closed the door, but it then occurred to me that there were men in there, none of whom looked pregnant - neither did any of the women. So, I went back in, and surely it was just a normal yoga class, taught by a perfectly normal and very pregnant woman.

What was most amazing (and also somewhat demoralizing) was how well and easily the instructor could get into the positions while a whole new life developed inside of her. Whereas I had trouble with the mere child's pose alone, and the only thing in my belly were the salchipapas I ate earlier. 
 

Say ommmmmmmm!