the one where andy has too many pictures of dudes in speedos

I’ve started going to the local “fitness center” here in Bobov dol. I was really into weightlifting when I was in high school, college and in the year before I came to Bulgaria. My brother introduced me to it, and – this may not make sense if you have never done it – I became addicted to it. I never became huge like Arnold but I can honestly say that I was able to lift quite some weight for someone my size. When I came to Bulgaria, I kinda got over my addiction because there was nowhere for me to get my fix. But I have recently discovered the Bobov dol fitness center and have been going frequently for the last month.

It’s quite different than any fitness center I’ve gone to in America. I have joked with people that I feel like Rocky training to beat that Russian dude. For one, there is no heat. I usually see my breath when I work out. The walls are covered with posters of various steroid-using body builders in Speedos. Anyone remember King Kalemeni? Lou Ferrigno? Bill Pearl? The equipment is old and… unique. The dumbbells I use are old train wheels welded to lengths of rebar. And unlike every other fitness center I’ve been to, there is no Metallica or AC/DC cranking out the speakers. Instead, we have Bulgarian pop-folk. The weights that do exist are in kilograms and I don’t know if you have ever tried it, but going up in weight by 10 kilograms (over 20 pounds) is quite a step. Trust me, I tried it today. One of the other people there told me that my “face is like a big tomato!”

So why do I go? There is something comforting about being there. It reminds me of my life in America. I like the time to myself to forget about what the girls in 11th class did, or what my colleagues said to me. There is also something so black and white about lifting. You can either pick up the weight or not; there is no cultural misunderstanding there. Everyday is a test, and the result is always up to me. I can’t blame it on my bad Bulgarian, or my inexperience teaching. If I fail I fail on my own. And there is something strangely comforting in that. Of course, if I succeed, I succeed solely on my own too.

Anyway, all that for 50 stotinki ain’t too shabby.