clearly, i needed more
refined workout clothes. it was high time for me to step up my game. so i
trundled off to the rideau centre, to a specific shop i heard of for the
purpose. i won't name names because it was not a fulfilling retail experience
and i'm not a finger-pointing kinda guy. so for the purpose of this blog, i
will simply call the shop 'mumu melon.' it has a nice ring to it.
having joined a fitness club/gym earlier in the winter, i had mostly hung out in the gym shooting basketballs, playing in the odd game. my multi-colored, somewhat worn-out 'geant tigre' polo shirts were ok down there. once i began to venture up into the rather intimidating weight-training areas, i felt totally like an old country bumpkin. i am, of course, an old country bumpkin, totally. but, they don't need to know that. they're all dressed in the latest black and dark blue fitness gear and i wanted to be like them, although of course i never will be. still, i decided that, if i faint unceremoniously while doing some flat bench presses or collapse while lying prone across a 'romanian dead lifts' machine, i at least wanna look good, or better. if i'm discovered wedged under one of those massive treadmills, i want the bruising to blend with my fitness gear.
it seemed rather prophetic the way i found the 'mumu melon' shop so easily as i crossed over from the 'hudson's bay' into 'the rideau centre.' there it was in all its faux wood splendour. it was meant to be, or so i thought. upon entering i was greeted warmly even from way across the floor. the sales girl was undeniably beautiful and seemed to really really like me. it was a kind of instant connection. i listened. i absorbed. i was thoroughly enchanted, ready to grab a few black t's, some shiny dark blue gym shorts and a lime green yoga mat as well. i had no intention of really buying the mat. and once i focussed on the prices instead of the girl's... eyes, i had no intention of buying anything else either. fugg that! $78.00 for one t-shirt? $68.00 for a pair of shorts? who the kelp shops in that place? it was most definitely not meant to be.
having just looked at the price of a shirt, i tried to act nonchalant, but i thought to myself: 'is this shmata made of gold or somethin?' at that precise moment, as if knowing my thoughts, the sales-creature told me it actually had silver thread sewn in to better soak up the sweat. the logic escaped me, but i felt like testing it on my forehead as i'd broken out in beads of sweat.
mark twain once said: "clothes make the man. naked people have little or no influence on society." i've always tried to look presentable, often under challenging circumstances. during the early days in india, for example, all my clothing had to be tailored since there was no ready-made stuff up there. and the only tailor, frankly, did not pay much attention to detail. he'd often make one sleeve or pant leg longer than the other. there was no sense in complaining. he'd simply insist the problem was my posture.
having joined a fitness club/gym earlier in the winter, i had mostly hung out in the gym shooting basketballs, playing in the odd game. my multi-colored, somewhat worn-out 'geant tigre' polo shirts were ok down there. once i began to venture up into the rather intimidating weight-training areas, i felt totally like an old country bumpkin. i am, of course, an old country bumpkin, totally. but, they don't need to know that. they're all dressed in the latest black and dark blue fitness gear and i wanted to be like them, although of course i never will be. still, i decided that, if i faint unceremoniously while doing some flat bench presses or collapse while lying prone across a 'romanian dead lifts' machine, i at least wanna look good, or better. if i'm discovered wedged under one of those massive treadmills, i want the bruising to blend with my fitness gear.
it seemed rather prophetic the way i found the 'mumu melon' shop so easily as i crossed over from the 'hudson's bay' into 'the rideau centre.' there it was in all its faux wood splendour. it was meant to be, or so i thought. upon entering i was greeted warmly even from way across the floor. the sales girl was undeniably beautiful and seemed to really really like me. it was a kind of instant connection. i listened. i absorbed. i was thoroughly enchanted, ready to grab a few black t's, some shiny dark blue gym shorts and a lime green yoga mat as well. i had no intention of really buying the mat. and once i focussed on the prices instead of the girl's... eyes, i had no intention of buying anything else either. fugg that! $78.00 for one t-shirt? $68.00 for a pair of shorts? who the kelp shops in that place? it was most definitely not meant to be.
having just looked at the price of a shirt, i tried to act nonchalant, but i thought to myself: 'is this shmata made of gold or somethin?' at that precise moment, as if knowing my thoughts, the sales-creature told me it actually had silver thread sewn in to better soak up the sweat. the logic escaped me, but i felt like testing it on my forehead as i'd broken out in beads of sweat.
mark twain once said: "clothes make the man. naked people have little or no influence on society." i've always tried to look presentable, often under challenging circumstances. during the early days in india, for example, all my clothing had to be tailored since there was no ready-made stuff up there. and the only tailor, frankly, did not pay much attention to detail. he'd often make one sleeve or pant leg longer than the other. there was no sense in complaining. he'd simply insist the problem was my posture.
anyway, the other day i was up in the workout area and found myself right
beside one of those guys whose daily breakfast almost certainly consists of
steak and eggs, and steroids. seeing the well-known logo on his shorts, i
lightly asked: "you don't think 'mumu melon' is a tad overpriced?" "you
kiddin?," he said in between curls. "i'd never buy anything there. no
friggin way." i pointed to the logo. he laughed: "st. vincent
de paul," was all he said as i slithered back down to the gym.
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