I am THAT PERSON, ewww...

As I have mentioned before, I go to a sweatless gym.  This is a place where the Italians meet to catch up with friends, grab a coffee, share a cigarette, and occassionaly walk from one piece of eqipment to another, all while talking on their mobile phone.  Yes, I said gym; not bar; not Wi Fi spot nor did I say a destination for speed dating; is this really what I am getting for my health membership?

Am I the only one who brings a sweat towel to put over the equipment? Sweat towels are non existant, why wouldn’t they be, nobody sweats!

Am I the only one who brings a water bottle to rehydrate? A coffee machine greets you as you walk in the door, because I know once I have run a few kilometers on the treadmill, a quick espresso is always good for the heart rate.  No one is drinking any water, but then why would they be, nobody sweats!

There are no showers at the gym, just toilets and change rooms, why would there be, nobody sweats!

I should of paid more attention to the fellow patrons during my orientation.  I am yet to see another cuddly person at the gym.  I am sure there was a ‘stage one’ gym they were supposed to send me to first?  Some sort of room underground for the sweaters and belt busters to get into shape, before initiation and a pass to play with the pretty people. But instead, I am the only sweater!  I am unique!  I have a sweat towel, (which is more of a double sized beach towel), a water bottle that is refilled in the handicapped toilet several times during my work out, (I am obviously reffering to the basin not the toilet), and a little ipod that i listen to music on, (no need to use my phone for music like everyone else as I have nobody to call or text anyway).

I am now ‘that person’.  That person that everyone looks at but does not speak to when at the gym, (“ewww she’s sweating”). At my last gym in Australia, ‘that person’ wore all green, (shirt, shorts, socks and shoes) and was often seen riding the streets on the weekend with an empty beer carton as a hat. Maybe I am that person minus the beer hat? I know I am watched, I sense it. I huff. I puff.  I sound as though I am having an asthma attack minus the asthma.  I look as though I have been severley sunburnt as my face turns the colour of beetroot.  I smell like I have been attacked by several promotors in a perfume aisle, (I try to overcompensate for the sweating before it happens.) 

So I think I have finally figured out why there is no need for Italians to sweat.  Afterall, sweating could help you loose weight.  Why would you want to sweat if you are already thin?  Besides, if you don’t like to sweat, you could try one of the 100 firming and toning creams sold in Italian pharmacies that promise “un corpo perfetto” (a perfect body), “una impeccabile silhouette” (an impeccable silhouette), and the disappearance of stretchmarks and cellulite. 

I am not rich.  I can not afford the cream.  So for now… I will continue to be that person.  I do however hold comfort in the fact that my husband returns from the gym looking as though he has just been caught in the cross fire of an adolescent water fight.  So, he too is that person.  It is just a shame that we are never at the gym at the same time so we can be that person together.