Chinese Strong Body House #2

More than two months ago I wrote an entry about the gym I’ve been frequenting in Nanchang. This time I come not just with words, but with photographic evidence of how crazy the gym and its surroundings are. As I walk from my apartment to the shopping center where my gym is located, a pirate ship eventually appears on the horizon.


No, I’m not on drugs; I’m simply in a developing Chinese city. It’s pretty hard to miss what some call the pride and joy of Nanchang (ok, maybe nobody calls it that except for me). Anyway, as I dodge cannon fire to turn left into the mall, I walk past a clothing shop called IMCO.


Who knows where they got their design idea. Perhaps it’s an intentional signal that their tailoring service comes with a little extra something. As I finally make it inside, I come across the most politically-correct store name of all time.


Injunboy, which here directly translates to ‘Red Aboriginal Son,’ is a clothing store for children. It’s right across from the strong body house of which I’m a member. It’s lunch time and there’s a group playing pool and smoking cigarettes. An older gentleman is reading the newspaper on one of the two workout benches. He’s comfortable and doesn’t want to move.


As I grab the incline bench next to him and start doing some ‘Arnold presses,’ I feel his stare burning into my side. He calls at people to look my way, which forces me to pretend I don’t understand Chinese as I turn up the volume on my headphones. I hold my breath as a cloud of cigarette smoke passes over my head. I decide it’s time to hop on the treadmill and wait for these guys to stop blowing cancer all over the place. I feel a wave of calm sweep over me as I stare out the window at the pirate ship and well-endowed form of what’s supposed to be a Greek woman.


Maybe she’s Hygeia, the Goddess of Health, assuring the safety of all those who dare enter the pirate ship (on Friday and Saturday nights it’s actually quite scary in there, with the all-male wait staff dressed in sailor uniforms and the women dressed in almost nothing).


Anyway, after doing some weights and getting stared at, smoked on, and touched (yeah, people come up to me and touch me as I'm lifting weights), I leave the gym and make my way home. For some sadomasochistic reason I have yet to understand, I always walk home the same way, past a sign that I can’t ignore.


I’m not sure why, but the kid on this warning sign gives me a serious case of the willies. Despite my complaints about the gym, this is probably the worst part of working out; coming home and seeing this toothless crab-mouthed man-child command his father to dance around like a torture victim.