exercise

I have not troubled this page with my attempts to find a job in Mazar and give a more ordered shape to the next chapter of my life. I do not have a job yet, but I have, as they say, some interesting leads, one of which is tangentially related to my discovery that Mazar has a swimming pool. It is a semi private pool, set in the well watered and rose scented grounds of the Khifoyat hotel. At my first, tantalising glimpse of it, the pool was effervescing with little lithe bodies, leaping in and out of the water clutching items of garden furniture as props to their acrobatics. Not having a bikini to hand, I consoled myself with the thought that I could hardly hope to swim there without the risk of concussion, as I surveyed a rippling line of boys teetering on the high diving board from my vantage point on the lawn.
The hotel staff courteously assured me, quite unprompted, that they would get rid of all the little boys at once should I wish to swim myself.
Until I made this happy discovery, I was sure that the prospects for agreeable exercise in Mazar, for a genteel married lady such as myself, were very limited, given that I am lucky enough not have to pound the household's laundry by hand (the chief form of exertion for most Afghan women of the city). The main other aerobic exercise is sweeping the yard and house, a truly Sisyphean task in this dustbowl. Which is why I had come up with an elaborate plan, prior to arriving in Mazar, for establishing an exercise club for women, to be hosted initially by myself on the basis of expertise gleaned from a pile of assorted exercise DVDs bought in London at a greatly reduced price. Having watched the programmes, I now know that the reason they were so cheap is because they were all made in the early 80's, which to me gives them a charmingly retro feel.
I am too young to blush at seeing those haircuts, the fuchsia lycra and the neon leg warmers, and I thought an Afghan audience might enjoy them.
I don't know yet, though, because the exercise club is still a twinkle in my eye.
I have yet to identify a group of willing guinea pigs, but next week I have an appointment to meet the female students of the English language faculty of Balkh university, which I hope will prove my core constituency in this venture.
The new peak of my ambition, imagined a couple of months from now, is to lead a group of my aerobically toned new friends to a swim in the Khifoyat hotel pool, which will have been booked out for our exclusive use for the occasion.