Winter Sports: Broomball

Before moving to Russia, I was living in the tropics, and I've never lived in a place where winter sports were a part of life.  Arriving in Moscow and then talking to those around me about winter, it sounded like the thing to do was get out of the house and do things.

This year, one of those things became broomball.

I cannot remember the last time I played a team sport, although softball and soccer were large parts of my school life.  But, when the call went out for new players, I was amazingly intrigued.  I signed up, paid some money, and joined the Canadian team: Chicks With Sticks.

The Canadian in action. 

Fun fact: There is only one Canadian on our team.  She won best defensive player in the league. 

My first item of business was to get some equipment.  The team, which operates out of the school and consists mostly of women that I work with, has a handful of equipment that gets passed down from chick to chick as we come and go.  So, I went down to see Kate, the elementary PE teacher, and defense player, to get my Ikea bag full of stuff.

This bag consisted of:

Chest pad

Shin guards

Long hockey socks

Elbow pads

Butt pads (like in hockey)

Broomball shoes (which are flat and have circle treads in rubber)

Tape

Broomball stick

Helmet

I also ordered a jersey, which has my name on it.... in Russian.

I took my giant massive equipment home, and then made it to what I assumed was a warm up for everyone.  I took a cab to the German Embassy (where the play takes place, because they ice over the tennis courts, which are outdoors), and nervously got changed into my gear.  I found a place to get changed, and kept waiting for more ladies, either from my team or another team, to join me and change also.  I fumbled with all my equipment, and nervously stepped out into the action.  I was, in fact, the only woman there.  So, I ended up learning some of the basics of broomball from one of the men's teams, "It Disney Matter."  I even a borrowed a jersey from them, with a picture of Pumba the Warthog on it.

Stick Making Preparations.

As a pre-game event, we also had a broomball stick making party.  Our sticks are made from the straw of the brooms, bound together with tape, force, and will.  I used the stick that was already created, and just added a small piece of the brooms and tape to add some width to my stick.

After this first, relatively terrifying, experience... Broomball became a favorite pastime.

Many members of the team live in the same housing complex that I do, so we would pick a time to car pool over to the embassy.  We have to go through security, with our passports, and try to cram a bag full of the things from above into a tiny metal detector.  It is not always possible.  Sometimes, they take our scissors.  We are also in our winter clothes, and trying to do security when a person's coat is twice their size must just be impossible.  

Just look at our gear!

We migrate to the changing rooms and get into our gear as a team.  There is, I learned, an order to put on the gear which must be followed.  We start with some thermal gear, warm tights, and long shirts.  Start low, with shin guards (then tape them onto your body), socks (then tape them onto your body), then butt pads and shoes.  Go up to the chest pads and elbow pads and find a friend to help you with your jersey (because even after 8 games, I still couldn't do it by myself).  I wonder how many rolls of tape we went through... although I did end up with a garter belt for my socks later in the season.  It is both the first garter belt I've ever owned and the best garter belt I've ever owned.

Chicks. With. Champagne.

We head up to the ice.  There are two courts at the Embassy, and we often played while the men were playing on the other court.  The ice is tennis-court sized, with snow banks that build up between the courts and on the sides.  (In fact, running on the snow that falls from the banks is a big advantage, because running on snow is shockingly easy compared to running on ice).  The ice changes a lot through the season, from game to game.  Some days, it is quite slippery, and our game is slow, with lots of falling.  Some days, it is easier to run and move around, and the game is quite quick.  This is our game. 

Frozen Assets... The American team.

There are three teams that we played in our four-team girls' league.  We are the Canadian Chicks With Sticks, with bright red jerseys.  There are the Americans: The Frozen Assets, black with red and blue.  The Germans: Eishexen, black with yellow and red.  And the Finns: Finn Ladies, in bright blue.  Each of them has a different flavor, a different quirk to their play.  

Eishexen, the German team.  This game was our last.... and it was incredible and dramatic.

And then, the game goes like this:  2 periods of 20 minutes, with a five-minute break in between, then 2 periods of 10 minutes with a two-minute break in between.  There are six players on the ice at any given time, one goalie, two defense, and three forwards.  It is not unlike hockey, this game, with passing and the stick, although we are on ice with shoes and not skates.  The ice is considerably smaller than on a hockey rink, and without the boards, sometimes our ball just decides to vanish into a hard snow bank, or behind it.  

Oh, and our "puck" is a small, softball sized ball, filled with air, and often with a Disney character on it.  

The Chicks have Disney princesses on all our balls.

Action shot of yours truly, with the ball made of air. 

We play and play and play.  I'm proud to say that the Chicks ended the season undefeated.  At the end of each game, we have ourselves and ancient maritime tradition of cracking open a bottle of champagne and pouring it for the person next to us.  Then, often, we retired to the local burger joint to enjoy a hamburger.  

The Broomball Carnivale party, with all of us matching. 

The season was a complete blast.  We would finish the games, and our bodies would be in pain from stretching on the ice, from running around and falling on purpose or on accident.  There were a handful of injuries, as the sport is wont to have.  It is so much fun, though.  Amazingly entertaining, full of laughter and camaraderie, and a peppering of violence.  

A Russian Constant: Dance

When I was planning my move to Moscow, one of the things I stumbled upon on the Moscow Expats Facebook group was this Ballet and Stretching class.  I was looking for some new exercise, something in a group, something like yoga but not as boring, and this seemed to fit.  It started as a fun way to get out of the house, with a class that is in English, with people that I don’t work with.  Three months later, here I am.

This one isn't great form. From the very beginning.

I’m sure some of the photos have popped up on my Facebook feed, and you may be curious.  Dance ballet class is becoming an ever-larger portion of my nights and weekends, and I’m seeing fitness levels my body has never encountered before.

A Plie, I suppose.

I attend two classes with Katya, usually on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. 

The first is Stretching class, which I’ll admit doesn’t quite explain the types of things that we are doing.  There are elements of yoga, like the downward dog pose, a few elements of ballet, like pointing the toes, some pilates, particularly in the core work, and a lot of pushing your body beyond what you thought was possible.  In fact, in the stretching class, I think we are asked to do the splits 6 different times, in a variety of ways.  I like to call it yoga on acid, because I usually leave stretching with rubbery legs.

Considerable progress has been made since this photo.

The second is Body Ballet, which also doesn’t quite encompass the experience.  This is much more ballet-based, with a bar, and positions, and plies, and recently, jumps.  I don’t really want to go into how ridiculous and ungraceful I look when I jump and plie.  But, it is quite a cardio and endurance event.  There are stretching elements as well, but it is mostly movement and working on endurance.  On Tuesdays, I do both classes and end up a rubbery mess.

The split is a little bit deeper.

It is quite possibly the best exercise I’ve ever had, with the strength and endurance coupled with the flexibility and the challenge.  Katya challenges us to do our very best, and gives us new tasks when we have accomplished one of the moves.  I always feel particularly accomplished when she walks past and doesn’t correct my posture in some sort of way.  I’m also about two inches away from the complete splits (at least on one side), which has not been without difficulty.

The bar makes the split a little bit easier.

The class is wonderful, though.  There are a bunch of Russian gals that I am getting to know, in a large variety of professions.  Many of them are about my age, a few younger or older.  At times, we catch each other’s eyes in the mirror and commiserate at the wandering teacher, who could at any moment greatly intensify one of our stretches by pushing us lower or pulling our leg up higher.  Many of the girls speak a little or a lot of English, and my Russian for the ballet is getting slightly better.  Although, in my opinion, the word for “more,” and the word for “enough” sound a bit too similar, particularly when I’m trying to communicate whether or not my partner should push my leg higher up to my face.

Progress. Much more progress.

And our teacher is amazing.  I will be able to do the splits this year, comfortably (?) because of her.  She calls me Kayla, because I introduced myself as K, and I quite like it.  The “la” on the end of names reminds me a bit of Thailand, so I feel some thrill from both my homes.  You can see a video of her here.

She also has a certain set of phrases that I found incredibly challenging to figure out when I first began.  In fact, I saw a new girl this week and was reflecting back to that moment when I had begun, and how amazingly awkward I was.  Katya says things like, “stretch your knees,” which made absolutely no sense to me in my first few lessons (it means to straighten and elongate your leg).  She says “neck and shoulders” or some variation thereof also quite commonly.  Shoulders go down (no clue what this meant at the beginning either) and neck gets elongated.  She tells me to smooth my face frequently as well.  Apparently, I have a pained expression whenever she stretches me a bit far, and we laugh about it often, moreso now that things are getting easier for me. 

The most recent photo. Also evident of K faces.

My favorite expression of hers, though, is at the end of class.  She darkens the room like in yoga, and has us lay down and relax our bodies.  She says to breathe deep, and to thank ourselves for trying our best and for doing very challenging work.  It’s always such a nice thing to hear, the reminder to give gratitude for the work that I do for myself.

With this class and some of the other things I’ve been working on, I’m feeling healthier than ever before, more fit and more in tune with my body.  It is a great feeling, and I feel like I’m doing 30 right.  

Fat, not Fit

I should have known better than to have a fitness assessment at the gym.

Honestly, what was I thinking?

I know what I was thinking; I feel like I am in decent shape.  Sure, I've eaten more pizza in Bangkok than I care to admit, and I'm more dedicated to burgers and ice cream than I was in the past.  There's no Aaron here to make sure that I'm eating home cooked meals that he so lovingly prepares.  Plus, I work in a school of stairs and feel like I'm consistently walking around to get to this place or that.  So, I thought to myself, what is there to lose?

Hm.

I scheduled this for a Friday night.  I met up with this girl trainer, very sweet, with very little English, with her hot pink shoes.

She tells me to get on the scale, and I do.  I'm heavier than I thought, which doesn't shock me that much.  She then asks me my height, in centimeters.

Yeah, I'm American.  We don't do the metric system.  I know about my centimeters, but I'm almost certain I have no idea how many centimeters tall I am.  I say, I have no clue.  And the frenzy begins.  She went seeking information, there was a calculator involved, things going on, chaos reigning.  We finally figured it out, though somehow gained a stray male in the process.  She inputted the height and got some printout about how much of my body was fat and bone and water and clipped it to the paper.

This is what I consider the main drawback of the gym that I attend: men.  This slovenly looking dude with glasses falling off his face was chatting in Thai to the woman attending to my fitness test and looking at my paper.  My anti-cheating reflexes, honed after years in education, rushed to intervene and I told him to back off.  He spoke English, and mumbled some apology, but it took two or three more snarky comments before he actually left the area that we were in.

Dudes.  I was annoyed.

Then I had to run 2.4 km, and I was more annoyed.
Then there were push ups and sit ups.
Then I had to test how strong my hand was with this little tool.

Then I was told I'm fat.

Now, before the affront sets in, allow me to say that I'm not offended.  I was called fat even at my skinniest in Cambodia, because it's just the word that means big, or bigger than what you were, or bigger than whoever the speaker is.  News flash: most people in Asia are quite slender.  After so many years not hearing that, it was a bit of a shock to my system.  But, honestly, I know where I am as a person and as a fit human.  In fact, according to the lady, I have to lost about 10kg to be within the really healthy range, and that is about what I guessed as well.  She also told me to work out 2 hours a day, 4 days a week, which I think is a bit excessive, but the rest of her advice was sound.

I came to the conclusion, though, that I really don't enjoy males in my gym space.  I don't like lifting weights with a bunch of dudes lolling around.  I don't like classes where I'm one woman in a sea of testosterone.  I like supportive females around me.  I really enjoyed the fitness classes I was in in Pittsburgh for that.  Kickboxing only had a man here or there, Boot camp too.

Either way, I feel like I proved myself to the lady when we went around to try machines.  I know, and now she knows, that my arm strength is minimal.  Push ups aren't my thing.  But, when you see me on the leg press, you find out that my legs are very strong.  So, she did tell me after that observation that I was "Fat but strong."  It's not that far off the mark.  I have work that I could be doing, and will be doing, as long as I can keep dancing it off with Tor+ (This is his name in the schedule because of a Thai tonal issue) or getting ab killed by Kwang.

Basically, I like the crazy classes that I go to, but they don't compare to the awesome ILKB studio.  I was in Body Combat on Friday.... with the man that wanted us to yell whenever we hit the air.  It was hilarious.  So, for now, my goal is to trim up and try to work on my tummy.  I think I can do some good things with the support of the gym, and hopefully someday I'll be considered fit instead of fat to the machines that teach my classes.

Holy Moly, I Hurt

As I've mentioned, I am trying out a gym membership this week.  Last night, I tried out a class entitled, "Les Mills Body Combat."  Just like Monday, I had zero clue what to expect.  I laced up my sneakers and walked into the studio with my water bottle, ready for a kickboxing-esque workout.

This studio is fairly large, with wooden floors in various tones.  There is one wall of just windows into the gym, and a wall with the body weight straps on them.  The front has a speaker system, and not much else.  Yesterday I noticed the dance instructor must have made a few notes on the mirror.  I saw scribbles about mambo and cha cha.

When I first walked in, I saw three instructor-like people chatting at the front.  There was a gal about my age with a round face and obvious muscle mass, with bangs hanging right over her eyes.  She had bright yellow training gloves that matched her shirt.

There was a tall and thin guy, with big thick glasses.  He had this fancy red workout shirt on and appeared to be made completely of wiry muscles.

There was a small, petite gal all in black as well.  She looked like the type to completely shock you with her fighting skills.  She looked the type to be wearing a sundress and taking down someone.

The Thai began.  It's funny to look at myself in these classes.  When I'm on my own, or with my American peers, I feel a normal size.  When I am in a class looking at all of the Thais around me, I feel huge, and red, and sometimes (sometimes) ungraceful.

The music starts, and we begin.  The first instructor, the larger girl, began the class with her high pitched voice.  We started with some warm up type songs.  I found myself struggling to keep up despite all the kickboxing classes I've done.  I had trouble with the mirroring thing.  I am watching them and can't understand what they are talking about, but it is challenging for me to figure out which foot goes where and how.  I realized toward the end that the guy instructor was standing in the back and that I could mirror him while I saw him and myself in the mirror.

It was enjoyable, this section.  I enjoyed the exercise, and to some extent the music.  I heard techno versions of songs I like.  It was fun as well to watch the instructor blink the sweat and hair from her eyes every time she brought a punch back.

Then the devil came.

The guy instructor was unlike anyone I had ever seen before.  Now, I was kickboxing in Pittsburgh, and there was an instructor there who was somewhat similar.  Every class of his wrecked me in the best way possible.  Jeff.  There's a man with more energy than he can tolerate in his every move.  I remember one class with him... we must have done at least 100 burpees over the course of an hour.  Between kickboxing sets, burpees.  After running, burpees.  After burpees, burpees.  Energy overload.  This guy was the same.  Holy moly.

The first thing we started with was jumping lunges, then squats, then lunges, then squats, then more jumping lunges.  Good god.  Man, what a song.  Then he kept going and going, harder and harder, and continuing to push us and yell.

Then, the third gal.  She had a rough first song because her mic box kept falling off her (much smaller) hips.  Lots of punching, lots of kicking, lots of quick, sharp movements.  She has this delicate and soft voice, which really doesn't match the punches I saw her throw.  Throughout her set, the other woman started yelling loudly... what I thought was nonsense motivation... but might have been words.

And then, the devil again.

For ab work and this kicking combo which was nearly impossible.  Then we all got mats to kneel on as we kicked at various speeds, usually slow, to work on the abs.  Holy moly, I was hurting.

I was going to stay for yoga, but instead I went for food and quiz night at this bar I like, Baan Baan.  I saw Kim and Dani and the girls, and Soly even offered me a slice of pizza.  Her personal pizza.  You don't understand how awesome this is.... that girl can put away more food than anyone I know.  I feel like I've made it with those little ones.  And I feel mighty sore this morning, in a great way.

Thai Dance Aerobics

Last night, I decided to try the Move Fitness gym and the classes that accompany it.  It's been a few months since my Kickboxing groupon ran out, so I've been looking for something else to do to get the blood moving.  Side note: I greatly miss kickboxing and really wish there was an ILKB studio here in Bangkok that I could join.

This gym at the big mall has a studio with classes of all types: aerobics, yoga, pilates, circuits... several types.  I had gotten the flyer a few days earlier, to ask some questions on when to go and how much it would cost.  In I stroll, and ask the very nice reception lady about having a seven day pass.  Just one week, to get a feel for the range of classes and decide if I wanted to put this much money into it.  She eventually asked her manager and I got the free pass for the week.

I had no idea what to expect.

I was biding my time on the treadmill, doing a little warm up before the class, when I saw the studio filling full of women.

All of them Thai.

And the instructor: A very charismatic guy, with a microphone system like a pop star and a massive purple tie-dyed headband.  He kept yipping (for inspiration) as we danced.

The entire class was in Thai, which as you know I don't speak.  At one point in the middle of the class, I turned to the gal next to me and held out my right arm asking, "Kwa?"  That's the word for right, apparently, and Sei is left.  She nodded and smiled as we kept on moving.

At certain points throughout the hour long class, the instructor would turn off the studio lights and we would dance in the dark, with nothing but the little laser light to get us moving.  I suppose it was meant to be a motivator.

The music was all Asian type pop stuff, with a sprinkle of club hits like LMFAO.  I think one was a Beiber song, though I would have to know his work to be sure (and I won't put any energy into that).  And the dancing was a bunch of salsa and mambo and cha cha moves... which I've noticed that Thais aren't really skilled in.  There was a hint of Asian pop moves... the long arms swinging as you saunter forth, the hopping, the pop and lock.

There's little more entertaining than watching a room of Thai women try to shimmy.

I was surprised to see that no less than 4 women left before the class was over.  This is something I would never see in the states, someone leaving in the middle of a class.  Most of them kept up, even me, though some were considerably more coordinated than others.  The girl directly in front of me was doing incredibly well, and was one of the smallest, thinnest people I had ever seen.

The class was a blast.  I'm leaning to joining this gym and all the amusement that will accompany it.  Maybe I'll even learn a bit of Thai.