Exercise Routines

So now I am slowly putting together a book, writing every day.  It won't be chronological, but I am writing to get the information down.  I said I would post the safe information as I went, so here is what I wrote today:

Hoan Kiem Lake is considered the heart of Hanoi.  Wide lanes of traffic circle around in a counterclockwise direction, with smaller streets, lanes, and alleys branching off in haphazard directions like arteries, arterioles, and capillaries.  This is the gathering spot for the city for any important event, whether it be the recent one thousandth year anniversary of the city, or the annual Tet (new year’s) celebration in the beginning of February.  On any given day you may see gaggles of brides seductively poised upon concrete ledges, groups of people perched in a tight bundle staring off into the distance, or you might just happen upon one of my favorite activities in the world: watching Vietnamese people exercise.  For this activity, all you really need is a strategically placed bench.  Voila!  Sit back and enjoy.

The greatest thing about it is that I always completely forget about this activity until it smacks me in the face, so it is always a delightful surprise!  Usually I am on a focused errand, with my mind shut off to the goings-on around me.  I’ll be clipping along at my “gotta get there” pace, and suddenly I’ll see movement in the bushes to my left.  My tunnel vision clears and the realization spreads a happy warmth across my insides.  I forget where I am going, and like a zombie to brains, I scramble to find the best available bench for my show.

A stocky short woman slowly walks a straight line with a pointedly determined look on her face.  With each step she pauses slightly and rotates an invisible ball to one side, matching her head turn to the side of the ball.  She repeats on the other side.  I don’t see her making any effort to contract her abs, so I have no idea as to the point of this exercise unless she is working on her robot skills.

A thin man stands stoically at the edge of the lake.  Without warning, his arms fly above his head, and he thrusts his whole upper body toward his knees with all the might he can muster.  He recovers slowly back to standing position.  I watch intently to see it again, but he is a statue.

Little old grandmas perform traditional tai chi in a group, gracefully moving energy with powerful intent.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the statue drop again.  Dang.  He is a sneaky one.

Another middle aged man is on his knees, kneeling before a tree.  He appears to be worshipping it.  I would say that this exercise is back extensions.  Beginning in the fetal position, he pops to his knees and brings his arms up over his head, leaning back as far as he can.  Then back to fetal position.

A few joggers pause in my line of vision.  With hands on their hips, they violently twist at the waist from side to side about ten repetitions, before proceeding.  

What do most of these exercises have in common?  They are either really dangerous or pointlessly asinine and provide me with the highest value of entertainment.  With such poor exercise habits as a society, I have to wonder if there is any point giving proper exercises to my patients as homework.

Cut to the clinic:

I am working on a petite woman with a head full of wild permed curls.  She feels recovered about fifty percent.  

“Do you exercise?” I ask.  My translator Hwa makes the transaction of information, and reports back that she does indeed exercise every day.

“Show me what you do,” I say. 

The patient nods, tips her head back, and places her arms out to her sides.  Then she just starts spinning in circles.

“Oh brother,” I mutter.

Jason is trying to teach a man to do squat lunges to strengthen the quadriceps muscles.  “So basically, what you want to do is step forward and sink down, keeping the knee over the foot,” he explains while he demonstrates.  The man takes a tiny step forward and starts dipping as fast as he can.  “Whoa whoa whoa,” Jason exclaims.  “Slow down!” he says to the man.  To one of the five staffers in the room, he says, “Someone bring in two chairs for support!”  Then to himself he says, “Those are never going to fit in here.”  “Lets move out into the hall,” he announces.

We place the man between two sturdy chairs so that he may hold onto the arms.  He firmly grips them, and one leg slides back along the floor as if he is melting into the ground.

“Look, you have to plant yourself and bend the front knee!” I say, showing him again.  He puts all his weight into his arms and he is now cross country skiing back and forth.

“One side at a time!” I exclaim.  “Ten times on each side.”

I hear one of the lesser abled translators tell him in Vietnamese, “Do it for ten minutes.”  

“No no no!  Ngop!  I said ten times, not ten minutes!”  I am very frustrated.  How often does anything I say actually get through?  Working here is like a game of telephone, where a message is whispered from ear to ear down a line of people, and at the end it has become a completely different statement.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ngop says.

“Jas, maybe we should just start with some simple wall squats? This is ridiculous,” I say.

“Totally retarded,” he agrees.

The boss comes in and announces, “VIP patient!  She want to see Jason!  After first adjustment she feel EIGHTY PERCENT better, but now she is back to same as before.”

“Well, she hasn’t been following her plan of care . . .” Jason trails off.

“This woman very important!   She own eleven Bia Hoi shops, and if she get better, she will invite you to drink beer for free!” she exclaims.

The woman walks through the door.  She has just entered her fifties, and her face is caked in makeup.  She has on tight black leggings that disappear into chic black high heeled boots.  She removes her jacket to reveal a very fuzzy expensive looking tan sweater.

“So where is she feeling the pain the worst today?” Jason asks.  

“She say she feel most pain in her arms.”

Jason peers at her travel card.  “She’s never complained of arm pain before.”

The vietnamese confer.  “She go to make exercise because she feel very fat in her arms.”  The patient starts waving her triceps fat like a flag to demonstrate.

“What did you do to exercise your arms?” Jason asks.

The message is translated and the patient nods.  She seductively removes the fuzzy sweater to reveal a leopard print cardigan.  She slowly unbuttons it, batting her eyelashes in Jason’s direction.  Under the cardigan is a skin tight, off the shoulders, black shirt.  She walks slowly toward Jason, raises her arms above her head, and begins hip thrusting while propelling her undulating motion with her arms.  I have to remove my jaw from the floor.

“So what exactly is going on here?” Jason asks the boss.

“This how she works her arm fat,” she replies matter of factly.  It then dawns on my that she is trying to demonstrate a triceps curl from behind the head.  

“Let’s have her go face down on the table,” Jason says, and pats her on the back.  As the table goes down, he makes a face at me, and I laugh silently.  These people have got strength training so wrong!  I shake my head and watch Jason work.