Shaking it off

The exercise class that reveals ALL the cultural differences

We’re punching to Taylor Swift.

“I stay out too late” - bosh bosh bosh BANG! ❗️ 🥊 🥊🥊

“Got nothing in my brain” - BANG BANG BANG bosh! ❗️❗️ 🥊🥊🥊

“That’s what people sayyyy” - jab jab jab hook jab ❗️ 🥊🥊🥊 ❗️

“Yeah that’s what people saaayyy” - undercut undercut hook high kick! 

Next up is Dua Lipa, my favourite to punch and kick to. There’s a choreography to the boxing which I adore. Love a bit of chory, me.

The room is loud, gloriously so. Not just with these punch-like sounds inserted into Taylor’s song to helpfully indicate when we punch the air, but with the whoops and heeeys and yeeeowzaas of a dozen Argentinian strong, spirited women - and a short gay like Where’s Wally in the middle of all their luscious manes flicking out droplets sweat. (And yes, you can spot me in every video embedded below.)

OOFT! OOFT! They yell with gusto as they swipe their hooks and bash out their uppercuts. Latina onomatopoeia. I am, as the kids say, here for it. 

Hey, HEY! They scream, bashing the air as if it’d insulted their abuelas. 

“Come on Gary, let’s hear you!” our energetic teacher, Leonel, hollers over to me, in Spanish. I giggle. Coy. I’m too British and reserved for that, yet. But with each class, a little ‘woop’ and ‘squeal’ and ‘sorry for existing!’ has started to transform into a ‘hey, HEyy’ as the women’s collective roar inspires my fluctuating courage. 

You can never quite shake off the shackles of Britishness, no matter how much Taylor and an Argentinian army encourage you.

I attended a class almost identical to this one earlier this year in the UK, in Medway, where I grew up. It was only on a few times a week but it was my favourite. Back in Sydney, I used to punch like this with my friend Sarah, who was a sweetheart till the glove went on and something came over her.

This Argentinian class, ‘Fight Do’, is on six times a week. Last week, I went six times. The week before, five. I am completely addicted and borderline obsessed.

The British class always started bang on time. If the instructor’s voice boomed through the Madonna-like microphone too loud for the first few words, she’d apologise and immediately turn it down a bit. The women - again, 95% women - in the class mostly ignored each other, and me - save for a smattering of friendship pairs who only spoke to each other. After class, one of the more friendly women started speaking to me on about week 8 or 9, by which time I’d spent as much time with her as my own mum, who I was staying with. I never learnt her name, nor did she ask mine. When I got the moves wrong - not uncommon - everyone pretended I hadn’t by ignoring me going left when they were going right, to save us all embarrassment. In one class, trying to up the energy levels, our instructor told us how she’d lost five stones (32kg) in the last two years and if she could do it, we could. I was wowed but waited till after the class to grill and congratulate her (ever the nosey journalist). One woman raised an eyebrow - either an indicator of being mildly impressed, or of being astounded by such personal confession. Another responded with a face similar to the disgruntled Quality Street woman. 

The Argentinian class always starts late. Sometimes only two or three minutes, sometimes up to ten. No-one seems to mind. From the first song, you hear those human whoops. On my second and third classes, all the women who recognised me from my first class came up to me, grabbed me, pulled me in and kissed me on both cheeks as I just looked dazed, being passed around like a raggy doll. 

I now know many of their names - there’s Taty, who told me she’s generally sweet and quiet outside class - she teaches kindergarten and is often just like how she is with her kids - gentle, soft. She said: “in this room, I become someone completely different, and it is my life and my love.” She regularly gets pulled up on stage to guide us and as you can see, her technique is powerful, formidable and move-perfect. “You’re Sasha Fierce in this room!” I suggest, and Beyonce’s Columbian alter-ego demurs politely. 

Then there’s Laura who’s heavily pregnant and still ten times better than me.

And Baleria who, the first time I met her, jokingly told me her therapist was on vacation and I best give her a wide berth till she’s back!

I feel like I make a new friend every week. I want to invite them out for Saturday brunch, that portmanteau meal stealer which, in nocturnal BA, would be at about 3 or 4pm.

When I go wrong - which is often - they help me by kindly yelling “LEFT foot in front, Gary! Not right!” Or they come over and do it next to me till I get it right. I love them. 

Of course, the entire class is in Spanish, which I’m learning at a glacial pace, which does not thrill me. I was so nervous as I walked into my first class! But I also remember how else I felt: alive. Really awake, and really alive.

I needn’t have worried. Al I really need to know is arriba, abajo, derecha, izquiedra. Everything else is charades.

I also needn’t have worried because I had an Argentinian army, ready to swoop in and carry me till I was fighting that same good air perfectly.

That’s something I’m nowhere near ready to shake off.

In the media - my journalism

Fittingly I wrote a piece about why gym-shaming needs to stop, for the Sydney Morning Herald https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/health-and-wellness/don-t-be-a-dumb-bell-gym-nasties-must-learn-to-exercise-restraint-20240105-p5evf4.html 

Why I still refuse to drive aged 41 https://www.businessinsider.com/i-will-never-learn-to-drive-car-2024-1 

My long-form feature on surrogacy for the ABC https://www.abc.net.au/news/2024-01-14/pope-francis-surrogacy-deplorable-others-australia-gift-parents/103313940 

Identical twins with Williams syndrome for Insider News https://www.businessinsider.com/twins-williams-syndrome-diagnosis-angry-special-2024-1 

‘The Two Of Us’ for Good Weekend magazine - kickball’s co-founders https://www.smh.com.au/national/we-need-to-meet-the-kooky-dressing-duo-who-kick-started-a-queer-sports-league-20231102-p5eh06.html 

Weather report

Scorchio! 36 degrees this week! Me encanta.