A Cross Cultural Exercise

When we first arrived, Aryn made a passing comment that aerobics is very popular in Kigali and we should go sometime. Interesting, I thought...aerobics in Rwanda? I am continually surprised by this place.

Now here is a bit of self-disclosure. I normally exercise 4-5 times a week, mainly for stress relief, and am not "buff" by any stretch of the imagination. However, the last three weeks, between leaving Phoenix, riding planes, and safari, I have not had much exercise at all. So right now I am below even my normal minimal level of fitness. Now you also must realize that I am horribly uncoordinated. Good thing I did not have to run an obstacle course to get hired on at Food for the Hungry! And I have given the students fair warning, not to leave their laptops on the floor, for fear that I will trip over them or stomp on them.

Despite the above concerns, I decide to try aerobics. I reason that some exercise will be good for me, Aryn says it is fun, and I am curious about what an aerobics class looks like in Kigali. Aryn mentions that this class is fairly easy and I really should come with her sometime to the hour and a half class for a challenge sometime. I think to myself, how bad could this be? This is the "easy" class. No problem.

After dinner, I change into workout clothes, grab a water bottle and head over to the Stadium with Aryn, a friend of hers, and Megan T. On the way over, I warn Aryn that I am horribly uncoordinated but still want to give this is a try. After a brief pause, she says, 'Well, this class probably helps uncoordinated people to get more coordinated'. This should have been my first clue that I needed to turn around and go back to the house. Instead, blissfully oblivious, I keep walking towards the stadium.

We get to the stadium and pay the class fee, and walk into the room. The room is humid and blisteringly hot. I thought perhaps they were getting ready for a Bikram Yoga class or something. There are windows everywhere and I am puzzled as to why they are all shut. The humid heat is smothering and I briefly think about leaving, but do not want to walk home in the dark. I will get used to it, I reason. A gym employee comes over and opens the windows right behind Megan and I. Cool night air rushes in. I breathe a sigh of relief. See, this won't be so bad. The man standing next to us, makes a face as the breeze hits him, and promptly shuts the windows again.

The class gathers and I am surprised that there are men than women in the class. Men in aerobics class? This is new for me. Class begins by running in a circle. Not jogging but RUNNING. Hmmm...interesting. But maybe this is just a warm up. A lap or two around the gym and we will stop. I can handle this. One lap, two laps, three laps, four laps, we just keep running. Then we start running while raising our arms and running while tapping our knees. At this point, I am mentally calculating how long it has been since I actually worked out, because I am feeling every missed day. We stop running (finally) but remain in a circle. The instructor leads us through fast paced exercises, jumping, lunges, squats, side kicks. I am breathing hard at this point. But cooldown will happen soon, right? I look at my watch, I have only been here for twenty minutes, cooldown is forty minutes from now. Then we start runnning again. My pace begins to falter and I try to work myself to the outside of the circle. Instead the instructor runs up beside me. The only word I know in French is "bonjour" but despite the language barrier, it was very clear that he was telling me to pick up the pace. At this point in the class, it becomes clear to me why the men outnumber the women in this class. This is not aerobics, this is bootcamp! We stop running and are back to our high paced exercises. At this point, I lean over to Megan, and between gasps, tell her that I am going to die. I am no longer worried about the risks of malaria, because this class will clearly be the end of me. Megan laughs and assures me that I will be fine. Megan plays soccer for her college, and is only slightly sweaty. I feel old, very old. In the group exercises, I am horribly out of step, both from my natural tendency and exhaustion. The problem with taking an exercise class in Rwanda is that the uncoordinated Mzungu is horribly noticeable. There is no hiding in the back. Everytime I lose step or decrease intensity, there is the instructor, bouncing in front of me, until I am matching him. He puts his hand out in front of me, indicating that my knee kicks need to be higher. Is there an oxygen tank around here? Then it is time to run again. This time holding hands with a partner. I grab onto Megan's hand and beg for her to run at a merciful pace. I run past a mirror and I am the color of a boiled beet. Sweat is rolling off of me. My shirt is soaked. Megan is beginning to look a bit weary at this point, which makes me feel better. I actually begin to see spreckles across my field of vision. I look at my watch. Only ten more minutes has passed. The class is only half over! I have never prayed in an aerobics class before, but there is a first time for everything. I sent up a frantic prayer that God would prevent me from passing out. A logical person might ask, why I did not quit at this point. For multiple reasons, I did not quit. The first being, I was so dehydrated there was no logic left in my brain. The second being, that I suspected that if I left that the instructor who was currently in front of me, telling me to make my squats deeper, would chase me down the hallway and bring me back. The third reason being, I am stubborn and refused to wash out of aerobics class. I can do anything for thirty minutes, right? The thirty minutes do pass, and I am actually still standing. I stumble out of class into the cool air, and meet up with the rest of my group. Aryn comments, that this is the easiest class she has ever been too. I make a mental note to never go with her to the challenging class...