COLUMNISTS

Deidre Dare

In the West, many relationships are forged at the gym: people make friends and even hook up while getting their daily dose of exercise. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the fitness centres in Moscow.

I've gone to the same gym for a year and half now and taken my Body Pump class with the same group of women for the equivalent amount of time and to date I've not seen one person acknowledge another with even a friendly nod.

My initial puppyish forays into cheerful greetings and "Wow! Great Workout!"s were met with what appeared to be disdain and I gave them up after about six months, finally admitting their futility.

Instead of a venue to meet like-minded people, the gym here is nothing less than a battlefield. As for my Pump class: it's a war in there and it's every woman for herself.

The same holds true in the locker room. Don't expect anyone from your class to say "Hey! Looking good!" as you peel off your sweats. In its place, expect somewhat derisive sneers at your lack of a Brazilian.

The reason given to me for this phenomenon is, of course, that there are very few eligible Russian men. Women aren't at the gym to make friends, they are there to improve their chances of catching one of these rare creatures. Sisterhood is most certainly not a concept that's likely to hit Moscow any time soon.

Since we are all after the same scare resource, the gym and the locker room appear to be seen as one of the best places to assess (and even intimidate) the competition. I mean, who wouldn't be intimidated by some gorgeous Russian chick wearing pink couture work-out gear and make up when you're just wearing a pair of old grey sweats and a NYPD t-shirt and haven't even brushed your teeth?

Yet, going to the gym has still been fruitful to me in a sociological way, even if I've not made any friends there. A lot of things that I've learned about Russian women, I learned from watching them in various states of undress in the World Class locker room.

(Another good thing that came out of standing around with a bunch of naked Russian girls in the locker room was that I learned that my large, dark nipples aren't an aberration after all: they are an inheritance from my Russian forbears. Nice to know.)

I've learned, for example, that appearances really, really, really matter.

These girls groom. Big time. Sometimes, there is nary a space at the mirror for all the sprucing going on. Comfort, that highly-valued commodity in the West, is thrown to the wind as these women don sky high heels, garter belts, thongs and underwire push-up bras.

Naturalness, another prized quality back home, simply cannot be found as these women expertly apply make-up designed to conceal all flaws and straighten their dyed blonde locks with sizzling heat plates. I've even seen women applying body make-up and false eyelashes in that locker room. And that's at 8:30 am. Wow.

As much as I wish to God I had their kind of energy, self-discipline and attention to detail, I also tend to think that there's nothing lovelier than a Russian girl just getting out of the shower, all fresh and bare. After all, they are some of the most beautiful women on Earth, so one wonders: why all the effort? Wouldn't they rather spend that hour and a half in the mornings reading? Or watching the news? Or even sleeping?

It must be the men's fault, I've decided. See, we in the Sisterhood, we know the truth: it's always the men's fault. The men, knowing their magnificent bargaining power and not ashamed to use it, must be holding these women to impossibly high standards.

It is true, however, that we get to live in a city where all the women look great (both in and out of the shower). And, let's face it, that's kind of nice. But it doesn't quite make up for the Existential Loneliness of Body Pump three times a week...

So, I'll say it just this once: Sisters, unite! (And see you in Pump on Sunday).

xxoo, DD

Deidre Dare's novel "Expat" can be read online at: www.deidredare.com