She took my money, then my dignity.

Gym. Going to the gym in Mexico is like entering into some sick, twisted, alternate universe that tricks you into thinking that what you see is normal. Last week I feeling a little full of tacos and realized that I would be climbing and hiking all summer, I decided to get back into shape and signed up for a gym.

My roommate Isabel told me about a gym close to my work. Perfect. After work I followed her directions and found myself outside a Gold’s Gym. Isa warned me that it would be expensive, but when I sat down with a “training specialist” I nearly had a heart attack. It is a good thing that I am joining a gym!

Turns out, if I wanted to work out after 6pm, it would cost $400 to sign up, then another $130 each month. I fell out of my chair. In a panicked, yet soft voice, I asked, “do you have any other options?”

I could purchase 50 visits for the grand price of $525. I explained that I would need to pay in several installments. She smiled, nodded, and said, “don’t worry, it’s ok, that happens a lot.” Now, not only am I broke and cardiovascularlly strained, but she has taken my dignity and manhood! I justified the use of money to myself, “this is why I moved to a smaller, cheaper room.” Anyone that knows me realizes that a sum that large to be spent on myself comes with great guilt, especially to a gym.

The tour introduced me to a seemingly unnecessary elevator, and all the ins and outs of what would appear to be an American gym transplanted in Mexico. I am not kidding. This may be the nicest building I have been in here. It is clean, there are about 50 uniformed “trainers” there to help you out, bother you, get in your way, what have you.

Not the same. Although the building and machines looked the same, it was far from an American gym. I have never seen so many 5 foot tall men that are as thick and wide as they are tall. They must get shorter every time they do squats because they are disproportionately large. The greatest surprise was “RRRR-nold.” Or at least, that’s what I call him. He is a 6’5” 250 lbs. Mexican of pure muscle. The first time I ran into him, I ran away. I had a terrible image of a Mexican prison, and I swore to be good.

The best part of the gym is that I am average height (minus the “trainers”) and perhaps even bigger than average build. In a Gold’s gym in the states, meatheads wouldn’t even notice that I was using the bench-press until they sat down and my squeal got them to their feet. I roll around from exercise to exercise with my sleeve rolled up and my chest out. I could get used to this.

Another thing that doesn’t make sense: pants. 100% of the women and about 70% of the men work out in pants. I mean, for crying out loud, we are in MEXICO! The gym is sweltering, and I nearly pass out from the heat before I start my jog. Also, this pants system always makes me feel a little naked. This country is a mix and twist of very conservative and super not. Dignity has yet to be restored.

As I run with a Lance Armstrong-type of intensity, sweat drips, I mouth the words to the songs on my ipod, and dignity is restored. Well, that is until I get off the machine and everyone gives that “gringo” look. Apparently, neither my style nor my running are acceptable.

This is what I am talking about. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I am a rejected outcast, but all my gringos to the North know the truth.

Slim. If you are thin in Mexico it means one of three things: you are rich, you are very poor, or you’re a foreigner. The poor are usually are not thin because there diet is made up of mostly the same things other Mexicans eat, which is excessive oil, fried foods, and cheese. However, if you are very poor, you are most likely malnourished and in need of more food. The rich usually have a much healthier diet including more fruits, vegetables, and fish as well have the luxury of belonging to an expensive gym or club.

Baja California. There has been a plan tossed around my friends and I. We were thinking about buying a VW bug, for less than a grand, and driving it up the whole Pacific coast, taking it on a ferry to Cabo San Lucas, and then driving it through Tijuana to San Diego through all of Baja. I estimate three weeks with excellent beach/jungle experiences. Anyone wanna go? We have space for one, two, or possibly three if we want to make it an authentic “Mexican car ride.”

When is the romance of this place going to wear off?