Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Summer in Cape Town, that is. Still one of the best drinks there is. In this case muddled sugar and garden mint, white rum, fresh lime juice, ice, soda water. And I'm about to have me one:
Today I set foot in a gym for the first time in, oh (mumblemumbleinaudible) years. To give you an idea, the last time I was a member there, at the erstwhile Constantia Health and Racquet Club, now one of a zillion Virgin Active clubs scattered across this country, I think there were only a couple of faces that were not white. That was an Indian family. Today, my instructor, whose services were complementary with the basic membership, was black. And he laughed as I sweated. After weighing me, measuring my body fat and taking my blood pressure, he put me through my paces. I thought I would hate being at the gym, but considered it a necessary evil - or the lesser of two weevils - I always put on weight in South Africa. Back, way back, in the day, I was a regular and in superb shape. Now...gasp, I have a long way to go. But I liked it. Hard to believe. It's a very sophisticated fitness place, filled with natural light and sweating, suffering people, all on two levels around a pool in the middle, where sleek bodies swim laps. I huffed and puffed on my circuit - a series of numbered machines around an aerobics station, and something American gyms seem never to have heard of - and wondered if a gym is a good enough reason to cross an ocean.
Must be those happy exercise hormones talking.
Now, about that drink...