We're starting to get spoiled. Yesterday I tried an Emeril recipe for burgers for our movie night. (Invictus was a great, great movie--loved it!) And we had some mushrooms left over that weren't going to last long, so I stuffed and baked them for an appetizer. Yum! Follow this with Saturday morning breakfast, which the dear husband proclaims with a cat-like grin to be one of his new favorites:
mini grilled sandwiches: parma ham, mussarela de bufala, and homemade fig jam on slices from my partial whole-wheat round loaf; fresh cantaloupe; coffee, freshly ground thanks to our coffee grinder wedding present!
Good thing we're joining gyms.
Hubby already has a membership at a gym near work. It's the "famous" people gym; he says sometimes he sees people in the back doing choreography for television, but as we don't watch much, he has no idea who anyone is! It's too far away for me to join, however, and I know that unless I can walk to the gym in under 5 minutes, there's little chance I'll continue going after the shimmer of new resolutions wears off. I researched two local gyms and opted for the one that offered more morning classes, as well as other amenities.
Going to the gym in Rio can seriously be an all day event. There is, apparently, wireless internet. A café. A spa, complete with hot tub, relaxation pool and two funny bitty pools that might give you claustrophobia if you stay in too long. The trainers aren’t personal trainers, exactly, but the service is a far cry from anything you could expect in the US.
Let me explain.
I joined this gym three days ago. They have fingerprint readers for members to access the gym ( I know, I know, end of the world, mark of the beast, etc!) and coming and going I am greeted by name. The treadmills are equipped with personal air conditioners that blow cool air on your face and a television screen with a gazillion channels. I can go work out and watch a soap opera at the same time, should I so desire! On Thursday, the trainer, Lu, saw me finishing up on the treadmill. She printed out my workout routine and was already adjusting the weightlifting machines to my height and weight settings when I stepped off. She made sure my posture and form were correct and when I was done, sent me upstairs to stretch. Excuse me. I meant, BE stretched out. There’s a trainer on that floor too, whose job it is to pull my shoulders back, make sure I get a good hamstring stretch, etc…
It’s a little odd and bewildering to be given this much personal attention. And touch. This must be why so many Brazilians join gyms. In a city this large and occasionally impersonal, not only can you work on having that fantastic body the Cariocas are known for, but you can, for a few hours at least, be treated like a superstar. Not bad, though I think I'd take a little less personal attention if they'd knock 30% off the price of admission!