Andiamo in Palestra

Yes, yes, you read it right.
We have indeed joined the local gym, or palestra, as such places are known here in Italy.
But before you come over all Fitness First and start picturing rows of sweaty Italians slogging it out on cross trainers, bikes and treadies; or pushing themselves to the limit in Boxing, Pump or Spin classes, let us put your mind at ease.
Olympic Palestra, as our little slice of fitness heaven is known, bears no resemblance to those McDonalds’ of gyms.
There are no nifty little swipe cards to get you in.
There’s no welcome pack with towel and water bottle.
In fact, there’s not even a bubbler to re-fill one’s water bottle.
And there was no sitting down with some pimply 21-year-old receptionist to work out one’s “fitness aims and objectives” (we thanked the almighty for that small mercy).
There are, quite simply, two bikes, one (evil) step machine, one very odd bum slimmer machine (kind of similar to a cross trainer except one moves ones feet side to side instead of up and down) and one treadmill.
That’s right folks, one treadie.
We should also mention that there are loads of weight machines and free weights as well as an upstairs area (where the taller of us have to duck when walking around) with some more, albeit circa 1985, free weight equipment.
Another interesting thing about Olympic Palestra is its size.
In the Italian tradition of championing the little guy (as seen in Italy’s devotion to artisanal shops, local butchers, fishmongers and fruttivendolos, instead of supermarkets) Olympic Palestra is a fraction the size of what we’re used to.
It could be fitted inside the group fitness area at North Sydney Fitness First about six times over.
We’re not sure how, but it does somehow manage to have its own group fitness area, which only fits about six people and makes for some “interesting” classes.
Best of all though is that Olympic Palestra is on our street about 200 metres from our flat, so we have no excuse not to go (those of you who knew where we lived in relation to North Sydney FF will not be surprised).
Okay, down to business.
We joined our Perugia gym in an attempt to reverse some of the kilograms of fun we’ve had since we left home and to make sure they don’t multiply.
So far, after a week and a day, it’s had no effect on the scales (weighed ourselves yesterday to find the kaygees are still attached), but it has made us feel better.
It’s also, quite surprisingly, turned out to be a great cultural adventure.
You see, Italians have a very different attitude to the gym, and exercise in general, than most Australians do.
Even before the temperature dropped to a high of seven degrees, one never saw Italians out in the fresh air doing vigorous exercise.
Sure they love the passeggi'ata, or the promenading stroll up and down the main street while holding a gelato at almost any time of day.
But you just don’t see power walkers or joggers.
Same goes for the gym.
When it’s packed, most of the goers are there, spending five minutes on the bike, then the cross trainer then the treadie. They then spend another hour-and-a-half gossiping as they move from weight machine to weight machine.
Of course there are some Italians who are there to train.
But it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference.
They all want to use the equipment exactly when they want to use the equipment.
There’s no time restrictions posted, so we’ve just started using the stuff for a moderate period of time each session, say 20 or 30 minutes a go.
But Italians, many of whom use the equipment for the same kind of times, don’t like to wait.
As a result they take the type of action we’ve NEVER seen before.
Basically, they have no compunction about tapping you on the shoulder as you are huffing and puffing along on the treadmill or bike, and saying, “Quanto tempo?” or “How long have you got to go?”
Or they stand about five centimeters from you and wait and wait and wait.
The first time it happened Mantha nearly fell off the treadmill before almost smacking the guy in the mouth.
But it pretty much occurs every day now and we’re used to it.
It’s not personal, it’s just the Italian way.
And it makes for a fun-filled action-packed gym session, which actually fly by with all the entertainment on offer.

Ps. Olympic Palestra is the only gym we’ve ever seen with numerous prominently displayed Vietato Fumare or No Smoking signs.