Something Like a Work-out

This city finds new ways to fascinate, not each passing day, for that would be an exaggeration, seeing as some days, especially during my two week holiday I have only left my room to get some bread and ice-cream. But each passing week shall we say. A couple of days ago I went on a hike through some glorious mountainous country, a place where after a few minutes walk you feel truly in the middle of nowhere, but know that the moment you descend and exit the park perimeter you are immediately struck by the massive apartment blocks, white and delightfully dystopian. The utilisation of space is staggering, nothing is spared when housing is in consideration. There is no need to gradually grade the change from country to city, the city is far too important to bother with that. Don't worry there are plenty of parks, nice ones too, for they also value the need for green open spaces, but there is no sense of needing to pander to aesthetic tastes. You will note that if you see the apartment blocks. They all look the same and have large numbers painted on the white painted sides. "I live in room 3, floor 16, block 104" would, I imagine, be a very reasonable response to the question "Where do you live?"

The hiking trail took us under temerous canopies of evergreen trees, past solitary temples, over smooth plateaus of rock where you can catch a hazy view of south Seoul, and past Korean war bunkers sharing the same hazy view, although with markedly destructive leanings, as their barbed-wired entrances embody an historic dispute with current repercussions. The war is ongoing. At certain idyllic points there are watering holes where ladels are laid all over the place for resters dousing themselves with water. All sense of civilised decorum are atavistically eschewed as everyone guzzles water and tips it over themselves. We were particularly careless with the water, paying no heed to the need for dry clothing, cynically mocking colds' armies, as we chucked water all over our already sweat-soaked t-shirts. As we walked on we came to realise that the line between where the water ended and the sweat began was as diffused as the moisture on our clothes.

At the top of mountains, hills or parks in Korea there is always what you would call an outside gym, a very Korean thing seen in all parks. An array of weights, bars, walking devices (why would you need them after an epic hike? It shares a similar logic to Jack Bauer feeling the need to have a go at Metal Gear Solid) and stretching devices. You also have big wooden poles stuck in the ground which serves the specific purpose of hitting yourself against it. Yeah, I've seen it, it's the done thing, no fuss, men boldly striking their arms out at the poles, thumping their backs against it, generally bruising themselves all in the name of fitness. I think it's the idea of resilience and toughening up your frame that is the underlying purpose behind it. It also explains another painful exercise in these gyms; that of hoola-hoops with studs running on the inside. I've tried it and for a brief moment as the pain made me yell out in comic bewilderment, I tried to think "why?" Why would someone do this to themselves? The idea that it is good for you in the long run, possibly making you live even longer, is no way near a good enough reason for doing it. It helps circulation apparently, that and bruising. It also helps you feel a little bit wrong.

Another aspect of this typical Korean workout, that I try and do every once in a while, is the humiliation I feel when a seventy year old man is pushing 40kg weights while I struggle with 10kg. I try and act nonplussed by it, but it troubles me as I am sure it would you too. Such a reversal of strength serves only to remind me of my greatly limited mortality in comparison, and when I finish my set of exercises I don't get that sense of self-satisfaction that should accompany physical exertion, instead I just get a sense of personal shame and embarrassment. Maybe I should just stick to the star-jumps in my bedroom.