Dubai Diaries: Back to the gym

"No yelling,” my husband and I agreed when we moved in together, bracing ourselves for our first big fight as a married couple. Take deep breaths, count one to 10, and then we talk. If ‘very angry’, as Thomas Jefferson said, ‘count to a hundred’. We wanted to create a peaceful space to come home to after a long day at work. But there’s one place in Dubai where we allow ourselves to get yelled at, once a week.

“Five more, bro!!” A tall, burly man blurted out at the top of his voice, as my husband slumped on the floor, thinking he was done with his squat jumps. He went straight back to position and bent his legs—with nary a grunt or a sigh of complaint. Five, four, three, to one.

I was about a few feet away, in the middle of my plank push-up torture. From holding myself off the ground on my elbows and toes, I was lifting all 62kg of my body, one arm at a time. Pushing up with my right arm first was doable, but when it came to my left…I started questioning my decisions in life. My arm trembled with every push. “Last 10! Come on, Kirstin!” my trainer shouted, clapping her hands (not to applaud what was obviously a sloppy form, but to say, ‘chop-chop, more to come’).

kirstin@khaleejtimes.com