The Sports Gym

Saturday, October 7th, 2006
9:16pm, Caffe Veloce
Nishi-Shinbashi, Tokyo
Beverage: Hot Cafe Mocha
Weather: Fine 

The Sports Gym 

It goes without saying that some things, many things and almost all things here in Japan are different compared to in Canada. Some of the lifers in Japan would immediately tell me to, “Go home if you don’t like it!” Yes, some people in the land of the rising sun wake up on the wrong side of the bed a lot. I’m not saying I don’t like things, rather observations are what I make and making observations is a natural, subconscious or conscious, hard-wired function we all carry out. I suppose the difficult task in making observations is to be able to make the distinction between what are the facts and what are the pinch, sprinkle, dash or heaping handful of opinion, bias, and judgments. 

For some reason or other, people say, nay, must say, “sports gym” here as opposed to “gym.” So, while in Rome, I did what I was supposed to and have gotten into the habit of referring to the gym as the “sports gym” every now and then. It seems if you tell the local folks here that you will go to the gym after work, you may very well get blank stares, furled brows, raised eyebrows, and “heehhh’s” thrown at you. It’s not until you say, “sports gym” do you see the sigh of relief – good he’s been converted. 

So I went to the sports gym tonight but a single sport did I play not. A single ball did I touch not. Instead, I went for a swim in the 4th floor pool. Going back to differences, swimming is a very tightly controlled activity in Tokyo. There are strict parameters, rules. Firstly, Speedos and other “ass tight” spandex garb is preferred but if you have short shorts, that’s ok too. I opted for the short shorts – but not the hot pants type of short, the marathon runner type of short. Secondly, you must wear goggles and thirdly you must wear a swimming cap. Then there is the whistle blow and the scurrying and shooing of everyone out of the pool for the mandatory 10 minute rest break.  

I bought a 50cm to 55cm rated cap, size M and it was TIGHT so I was a bit concerned. Though, my initial concern was more in thinking about what a dork I’d look like with the swimming cap ridges imbedded into my forehead afterwards as I returned home. Second to that concern was the, I wonder how much this is impeding blood circulation to/in the head. I didn’t think my head was so big actually. Maybe I should stop telling myself, “You’re good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it people like you,” in the mornings as I brush my teeth and trim my nose hairs in front of the bathroom mirror. 

As an end note, I took a personal tour and inspection of the facilities just to make sure that everything was up to snuff, this being my first visit to the complex. It was a shame I hadn’t had the foresight to bring my white inspection glove. My favourite floor was the 4th floor in the central building. I stood and waited, as the elevator whirred and droned upwards with no expectations or hopes of what I might find.  

The doors opened and I was in Hawaii; or if not really Hawaii, paradise none the less. I came upon a Hawaiin dance class in mid session. There stood thirty smiling, attractive women, row upon row, shaking handheld pom poms, wearing blue/yellow long floral skirts, sporting flower petal headbands and radiating in uniform white, ridged tank tops. Add a live rhythmic drum, the mesmerizing voice of Hawaiin chant/song, choregraphed moves, perfectly synched swishing hips, and delicately flowing arm/hand movements like ocean waves and the inevitable mesmerizing result was, “them’s the truck, me’s the deer.” It made me want to learn Hawaiin dance but I’m sure no one wants to see me in a coconut bra, though Halloween is coming up. <1h10>