Workin' Up a Sweat in Taipei


By Dana Lee

Exercise has become an integral part of pop culture, and a necessary evil in my life. With four million people crammed into a city that is roughly one-seventeenth the size of Ottawa, getting out for a workout is a bit more difficult than one might imagine. Allow me this rant.

You can’t take a brisk walk down a city sidewalk, because you will be constantly swerving around street vendors and food stalls, dodging errant scooters jockeying for a parking space, or trapped behind the slow-moving local out for a stroll. North Americans tend to walk at a pace that is much faster than the average Asian, even when we aren’t late for work. The locals must think we are always in a rush to get somewhere. They just meander down the middle of the sidewalk, stopping abruptly in front of every window that interests them.

 


If you are in a hurry, you will constantly find yourself tapping the locals on the shoulder and saying “jeh gwo” which literally means “please give me some light” or, loosely translated, “please move over”. In most cases, you are better off walking along the side of the street, dodging swerving scooters and taxis coasting to the curb. Forget walking for exercise.

Running tracks exist in most districts of the city, but unless you have time to do your exercise mid-morning or mid-afternoon, you may have

 

trouble finding your own space in a lane. The Taiwanese like to take their daily exercise in the park, so the track will be full before and after working hours, and during lunch. In addition, if you are sensitive to poor air quality, or have any breathing problems at all, you do not want to be exercising outdoor in Taipei, even on a 'clear' day. The clearest air in Taipei is right after a big rain. But on those days, the park running-tracks are packed with people all day long.

Another obstacle in the park running tracks is the dog-on-the-loose. Leashes are extremely rare in Taiwan, as dogs are trained with a switch of bamboo. From puppy-hood, the master takes the dog for frequent unleashed walks. If it strays or gets into mischief, it is whacked with the training switch. This is difficult for many foreigners to bear, but I am told that it is the preferred method for training dogs. They learn the ways of the city and, if accidentally let out of the house without a leash, they are less likely to go running crazily into the street. The problem with this method, however, is that an unleashed dog is still a dog; if it encounters other canines, it will most likely act on instinct and run to confront/greet them.

As the center of the running-track oval is the most popular place to let dogs loose for a run, you can imagine the scene. Dogs are frolicking in the grassy center of the oval, chasing balls and catching frisbees. People are running and walking around the track. As newcomers approach the oval and prepare to cross the track into the center, their unleashed dogs spot the other dogs and go barreling across the lanes toward their canine comrade. Anyone running in those lanes must possess great leaping and diving skills to avoid being floored by a four-legged sprinter. In light of these conditions, running in the park isn’t my favorite thing either.

Perhaps another sign of exercise being popular culture is the numerous fitness centers and gyms that now operate in Taiwan. California Fitness: a huge American-style chain with glossy black tiles and tracklights, has several locations. However, if you have an aversion to any of the following – earsplitting dance music, lineups at weights machines, crowded aerobics studios and cramped change rooms – this scene isn’t for you either.

At CA Fitness, your first hint of what is to come is the six or seven uniformed staff members waiting to greet you when you approach the entrance to the gym. With their club music spilling into the street, they approach – no – confront passersby with free weekly trial coupons, in an effort to drum up more memberships. They are already full to capacity, so if you buy a membership now, you will most likely be restricted to exercising between the hours of 10 a.m. to 12; 2 p.m. to 4 p.m., or 10 o’clock to midnight.

If you opt to splurge on an annual membership, a personal trainer will be forced upon you, at a ridiculous hourly rate. These minimally trained fitness staffers do little more than supervise the client while he or she attempts to use the various complicated machines. They don’t advise the client against doing exercises that are dangerous, and they aren’t necessarily confident about how to use each machine. Basically, they just double the number of bodies in the gym. But it doesn’t really matter anyway. Most of the members of the gym are not there to exercise, but to meet people. The fact that they do their hair and makeup before exercising (males included) is a dead giveaway.

Recently, my boyfriend stumbled upon an activity that we thought just might be the answer to getting some exercise and stress relief from life in the busy city. Mountain and riverside cycling paths are abundant in Taipei, and bike shops are on every corner. So, kitted out from head to toe, we wedged our bikes in the elevator and out into the cacophony of noise that is our city. At first I thought I would have a heart attack as taxis and buses kept cutting me off while I rode along the curb, but I got used to it. When it was really gridlocked, I dodged pedestrians on the sidewalk.



When we finally turned off the main street about ten minutes later, it was like entering another world. The corrugated iron buildings lining the narrow alley shut out all the noise from the thoroughfare we left behind; the silence closed in around us. As we began our uphill climb, the exhaust fumes from the traffic seemed to clear; we filled our lungs with cool fresh air.

The narrow street thinned to a tractor-path winding up and around the mountain through Taipei’s biggest hillside graveyard. Spindly palms were the only vegetation among the

 

colorful tombs covering every square meter of the slope. At one bend in the road, ghostly music could be heard wafting from speakers above an altar that was cut into the hillside. The climb up the hill was hard work, but worth it. From the crest, we could see most of the city, and looked Taipei 101 straight in the eye.

After a few minutes’ rest and a drink of water, we started to head downhill. What happened next just may prove to be the main obstacle to my becoming a regular cyclist in the Taipei hills. As we rounded a corner and hit the brakes in order to avoid careening into the graveyard (there are no guardrails, save a few rusty mattresses on the sharpest turns), we heard a strange grumbling. Standing on the bluff above us were three of the blackest, most menacing looking feral dogs I have ever seen. All I could think was “The Hound of the Baskervilles”. But, as they hunt at night and sleep all day, we still had a few hours’ grace. The curs just watched us balefully as we picked up speed and pedaled away.

We thought we were in the clear when a scooter with two dogs riding the running board approached us from behind. As the driver slowed for the curve, the dogs spotted Matt and I cycling ahead. What dog can resist the urge to take a bite of a spinning tire -- especially when there’s a fleshy calf beside it? The next thing I knew, I had a dog on either side of me, teeth bared. Spurred to action by the intriguing ruckus, the graveyard dogs joined the pack at my legs. I kicked at them, still cycling, and tried to sound aggressive: “Go! Get away!” Thankfully, the owner caught up to us and ordered his dogs back into obedience. The feral mutts stood posturing in the middle of the lane, too lazy to keep up the chase. Adrenalin coursing through my legs, I continued wobbily down the hill and then home. If I ever return, it will be with an air horn.

We discussed the day’s events over Vietnamese spring rolls later that evening, and considered our remaining options for exercise. Windsurfing, anyone?