Since arriving from New York eight months ago, I have been perpetually amazed at the amenities that Dublin has to offer. They said the restaurants, cafes, and theatres were as good as New York, and I didn't believe them. I was wrong. Time and again Dublin has lived up to its international aspirations, and I have been humbled. Until now.
Since arriving, I've indulged mightily at the pub. My former training partner warned that my system couldn't absorb all those liquid calories if I wasn't working out. He was wrong - my body has absorbed those calories very well indeed - I've gained 20 pounds. ("Guinness is good for you" my ass. And belly.)
Time to go to the gym. Back home, there are hundreds of health clubs. You take a lot of things for granted . . . such as cleanliness, state-of-the-art equipment, televisions, steam room and sauna, juice bar, and free towel. The free towel is very important! I don't want to have to carry a wet towel around with me all day. I want them to provide one. And shower gel. And deodorant. I want them to provide hair dryers - and I don't even use one.
Some laugh at the very idea. They point out that you don't need amenities like TV to get a good workout. And I agree. But they sure as hell help. It's hard enough for me to get motivated to go to a nice gym, let alone a pigsty. To my amazement - given the modern, upscale meandering of the Celtic Tiger - trying to find a decent health club in Dublin is like trying to find a sushi bar in the Himalayas. The health club scene is a good 20 years behind the times. I toured a variety of inner-city health clubs and was appalled. Several didn't even have lockers - and I thought lockers were a God-given right in a health club. The equipment was ancient . . the kind of stationary bicycles, for example, you'd expect to find in your auntie's basement. The clubs were dirty and generally smelt like decaying shellfish. One was so filthy that even the "Please Keep This Place Clean" sign had a layer of grease. You half expected to see beggars slouching in the corners.
I worked out in a couple of these places, and, frankly, the people working out weren't any better. Is it against the law in Ireland to wash your gym clothes? One guy smelled so bad I needed a gas mask to run on the tread mill beside him. But I'll give him credit for one thing, he sure cleaned out my sinuses. And everyone dressed funny - ancient, ill-fitting shorts and T-shirts from gym class. I felt like I was in the movie To Sir With Love. In one place, a girl was eating a bag of crisps as she pedalled a stationary bike. She discarded the empty bag on the floor. When they finished using a piece of equipment, they didn't bother to wipe off the sweat. In another place, I went to do stretches and sat on a piece of gum. Being that close to the floor, I could practically see the carpet mites coming up for air. But I will say this: hardly anyone smoked.
All that was nothing compared to the music. I'm used to places that play music - rock 'n' roll, usually - quietly in the background. Most Dublin health clubs play dance music at roughly the same decibels as a jet engine. It reminded me of the time a gunman barricaded himself in the federal building in New York, and they blasted sirens through the windows to make him surrender. It must have worked. After half an hour of trying to exercise with mindless synthesized drums pounding in my ears, I was ready to jump out the window.
"BUT DOESN'T IT PUMP YOU UP?" Asked a trainer, yelling over the music."NO!" I screamed back. "IT MAKES ME WANT TO GET A DEER RIFLE AND START SHOOTING PEOPLE, THEN TURN THE GUN ON MYSELF."
"MAYBE YOU SHOULD WEAR A WALKMAN TO BLOCK OUT THE NOISE," she yelled. And I thought, that's funny. I was thinking that maybe they should wear a Walkman if they want to get pumped up. After I finished working out, I'd go to the locker room (excuse me, changing room). I was perpetually amazed to find showers where you couldn't adjust the water flow or temperature. How cheap can you be? I felt like I was staying under Father Flanagan's roof in Boystown. Then I'd step out of the shower and see a couple of guys towelling themselves off with toilet paper. And this was a blessing, because if those guys had T-shirts that smelled that bad, imagine what their towels would be like.
I almost joined a kind of combination boxing club/gymnasium on the Northside. Sure, the equipment was antiquated and the place was a rundown dump. But I figured maybe I'd go Spartan. Feel like Daniel Day Lewis in The Boxer. Wear a wool cap on my head when I worked out, that kind of thing. But there weren't any boxers there working out, just fat old men in slippers. And the price they quoted me, £55 pounds per month for the first year, was hardly spartan. Finally I found three health clubs near the city centre which I felt had acceptable - or nearly acceptable - standards.
Jackie Skelly's, near Grafton Street, reminds me for the most part of a NYC health club, with an excellent variety of machines. The price is OK, at £30 £40 per month for the first year, but they don't have a jacuzzi, sauna, or free towels! Iveagh, over by the Castle, is top notch. It's well-furnished, and very clean, with a lovely pool, jacuzzi, sauna and steam room. But the music is incredibly annoying and it's a bit of a pick-up scene. The cost is £32 £50 per month for the first year . . . and they charge a pound each time you use a towel!
And then there's the Shelbourne Club. They don't make bones about their price at the Shelbourne. "We're the most expensive health club in the country," says assistant manager Karl Dunne, rather proudly. "You get what you pay for." Membership is £53 £100 a month for the first year. Is it worth the price? Easily. In the first place, it's a great location. Plus they have a wide array of machines, a great pool and spa area. The equipment is truly state-of-the-art, and each of the cardiovascular machines has a TV. The staff is friendly, well-informed, and helpful. Best of all it's quiet. No disco, pick-up scene going on there. "We don't like to have mirrors," Karl said. "Mirrors attract a certain crowd that we're trying to discourage." The idea is that of an urban oasis. You can go in before work (they open at 6 a.m.) or you can go in after. To me a health club should be my personal Walden. A place where I go to lick my wounds, to rebuild, mentally and physically. I can't think of a better place than the Shelbourne to do that. And best of all, the towels are free!
The Shelbourne Hotel, tel: 01-6766471. The Iveagh Fitness Club, tel: 01-4546555. Jackie Skelly Fitness Centre, tel: 01-6770040/ 6779458