City versus Country

(Photograph courtesy of TrailLink)

Years ago, when I was living in London, one of the Sunday papers ran a particularly mawish column. I can’t recall the name, but it was written by two women, one living fast in the city and the other stuck out in the countryside with kids. Frankly, it was hilarious. The urban girl would recount, with breathtaking speed, an evening spent flashing her left breast in an Indian restaurant, and finishing by singing an old Rugby song about menstruation: ‘you can tell by the rope that you haven’t got a hope’. Meanwhile, out in the sticks, the country dweller patiently explained the latest bicycle theft- as evidence of the breakdown of the social fabric- and bitched about muddy gumboots and rambunctious cows. Gripping stuff!

I was delighted, therefore, when a few weeks back Bridget contacted me out of the blue and suggested a city versus country blog post. A self confessed adreneline junkie, Bridget is a young woman living in Las Vegas, who had read some of my recent posts about fitness. She thought that it would be good to talk about working out in the city as opposed to the country, and with memories of the Sunday paper column, I agreed. Take it away Bridget!

Urban Adventure in Las Vegas

I used to be a real gym rat. After finishing work at the end of the day, I would often exercise for hours and arrive home as late as 9 p.m. Although I enjoyed working out, I was not fond of the gym itself, as there were too many sweaty people in a very cramped space. The solution to the problem was easy enough: I could simply exercise outside by riding my bike or running. This did not seem safe to me, as I was worried about pollution and possible crime. After moving to Las Vegas, where it is often very hot and dry, I thought I would be more inclined to work out indoors. The exact opposite thing happened. The following is my story:

After arriving in Las Vegas, I immediately wondered where I could exercise outdoors. The city does not inspire images of being fit and healthy, other than walking up and down the casino strip for many hours. I was pleased to discover that I was wrong in my thinking. The Las Vegas area offers numerous locations to work out and enjoy the beauty of nature.

(Photo courtesy of the Sierra Club)

Sin City sits in the heart of the Mojave Desert, which is an area of breathtaking wonder. There are too many bike trails to count, and it is very easy to get lost in the landscape. Whenever I decide to take a ride out in the desert, I consult with this resource to ensure I stay on safe trails.

One thing people may not know about Las Vegas is that it is now officially considered a Cycle-Friendly city by the League of American Bicyclists. This comes as no surprise, as the city just installed $0.5 million dollars worth of bike lockers and racks and has built nearly 400 miles of bike lanes.

If you visit Las Vegas for business or pleasure, you will find the city has many hotels and destinations that cater to different needs. Prior to moving here for good, I made two trips to decide if relocating was the correct decision. Many hotels provided information about exercising outside and had excellent gym facilities.

Another great thing about Las Vegas is how it is adopting healthier options for food and drinks. I have seen many new restaurants opening that feature vegan and vegetarian cuisine, and some even offer entrees based on the Paleo diet. Most of these eateries are located on the famous casino strip, so they are easy to find. If you do not believe me, come on down to Las Vegas and check it out. I love it here, and I think you will, too.

Country Town Swagger

Like Bridget, I’ve always felt ambivalent about gyms. The normal social rules don’t seem to apply, and there’s something weirdly intimate about sweating and grunting beside strangers. Plus there’s all the peculiar clothing, loud music and highly particular vocabulary: for me, ripped is something you do to get wrapping paper off presents, and shredded is a happy word that makes me think of food. Yes, please, I would like my mozzarella shredded….

(Photograph courtesy of Melbourne Pizza Delivery)

All this changed when I moved to a large country town and brought a house right next to a gym. It’s hot up here, away from the coast, and most of the summer I have the kitchen window open. Last summer, when I moved in, one of the first things I heard when I opened the window was pop music and an instructor screaming. When I got sick of dancing around my kitchen, I wandered next door and brought a gym membership. As they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

The gym is an older style building, and while it will never win any architectural awards, the people are lovely. It has one of those nice cultures where people say hello to each other, set up and put away equipment for others, and stop to chat after the class. I currently train about three times a week. Classes are mainly indoors, but sometimes they run them outside on the sandy volleyball courts, or on a nearby sportsfield.

(Photograph courtesy of this link)

A river runs through this town, with a cycle pathway meandering along it. First thing in the morning, before it gets too hot, and in the first cool breeze of evening, you’ll see people running and cycling along its banks. A personal trainer takes his squad running there, and up on the High Street a CrossFit group can sometimes be seen carrying medicine balls around the block. On Sundays, families congregate in the area, often cycling through the quiet streets. Every Saturday morning, hundreds of people congregate at a local dam and run around it, often with their kids.

(Photograph courtesy of Paul Hollins) 

The dam run (damned run) is something that I have yet to experience, as I’m not entirely sure that my five year old can reasonably be expected to run five kilometers. Or at least walk and skip for a bit, with possibly a few piggy backs thrown in for good measure. But a friend with a daughter of a similar age tells me that exercising with kids is actually a godsend. When you’re red in the face, lungs heaving, there’s no shame in screeching to a halt, yelling ‘look at that lovely butterfly!’ The less than devoted runner suddenly becomes the devoted parent. After all, as Bridget and I both know, nature can be relied upon to provide timely distractions.