After biking five days a week to work and back for over a year, it's not that surprising that I've felt the lack of exercise. Actually it's a little surprising that I haven't felt it earlier. True, I do walk almost everywhere in this city. (There are numerous visits with friends, lessons, and necessary food items to buy that compel me to leave my comfortable flat on a daily basis.) However, my sleep at night, or the lack thereof, has been letting me know that walking isn't quite enough to expend my energy.
Another fact: My room is very large. I haven't had a room this large to myself since... well, since I lived in this country last. Even then, half of the room was overtaken by a ginormous bed.
You can probably see where this is leading but let me explain a couple more things: Running outside isn't really an option here. In my three months here I've only seen one man running outside for exercise and certainly no women. With my clearly foreigner appearance, I don't have the desire to attract any more attention than I already do. I have also seriously considered joining one of the women's gyms (there are at least two) but somehow it never became a top priority.
Which then leads me to my final solution: I run figure 8's in my room every morning.
I always pitied the gerbil frenetically running in it's little wheel, but now I think perhaps it isn't so bad. I put on some music (Adele, Florence & the Machine, Coldplay, Gungor, or whatever else strikes my fancy) and for the next 5-6 songs I am quite content to run back and forth in a figure 8 pattern. Oddly enough I feel a lot freer running in my room than I think I would elsewhere, chiefly because I can run barefoot. Clomping along in shoes, my toes getting all red from confinement, just isn't as appealing. Best of all, it works. Though I still tend to wake up a few times at night (the curse of an overactive brain), I feel a whole lot better rested in the morning.
Tonight I felt like I was part of an old movie -- one of those ones where the American lives a ridiculously idyllic life overseas. This evening after my language lesson, I cooked some smoked salmon, baked a sweet potato, fried slices of eggplant, and topped them all with mushrooms. 'Twas one of the best dinners I've made here yet. After the meal, I sat contentedly with the open window to my left and the sound of boys playing soccer in the warm darkness outside. Then on goes the classic big band swing and I clean the kitchen with a smile to In The Mood and Ella Fitzgerald singing It Don't Mean A Thing.
Not all life here is idyllic -- in fact most of the time it's just normal, if maybe a bit more tiring with all the cultural adjustments to make. However, occasionally there are those moments when I just have to smile and enjoy. Some of my favorite days here are "Bread Days", the days I need to visit the bakery to pick up fresh bread. I hand the coin to the shop clerk who prints off a receipt with the amount, not even needing to ask what I want anymore. He has seen me enough times to know by now. Then I head to the back of the bakery and hand my receipt to another employee who weighs out the bread and hands it to me in a bag. I think he must do this every day because he is usually singing an Arabic pop song to himself, with only a cursory glance at the receipt, and hardly a look to the customer. I walk back home, swinging the bread bag in anticipation, where inside I can then enjoy a piece of fresh bread, still warm from the bakery.
Sometimes it can be the sight of a new wildflower sprouting from the desert, or perhaps a successful conversation held almost entirely in Arabic, that will bring an unexpected smile. I'm never quite sure when they'll happen but it's nice to know that those contented moments can still find me.
