squats

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I did some exercises at the equipment that is near our building—right beside a small soccer pitch that is full every weekend with enthusiasts—even in the cold.  I found an exercise machine that stresses the user’s quadriceps.  It’s basically a large piece of metal lying on the ground that people can simply pick up.  I did this several times and now one quad is hurting.
 So, I guess it was a good exercise.  Anyone who does an exercise that uses muscles that have not been used in awhile runs the risk of damaging something.  I may have.

Yesterday, I called a pool asking what I needed to do to get a spravka, a certificate from a doctor, so I would be allowed to swim there.  The woman who answered the phone was unbelievably rude as she immediately lost her cool as she said, “What?!?  Go to any polyclinic and get a spravka!”  …  “No!  We don’t do it!”  Then she hung up.
I was quite upset and said, “Why does she have to be so *&% rude?”
“Well, it’s Russia,” said a friend. I am on a small crusade to prove that it does not need to be so in Russia.  One foreigner against 20 million people will not make much difference, but I feel like many of my causes are similar—NOT smoking, NOT throwing trash, using fewer plastic bags, using the stairs, etc.
I can understand a bit of annoyance on the woman’s part when I asked, “Well, which polyclinic?  Where?”
You must understand that the phone was answered in this manner:  “Hello,” that sounded like, “What do you want?” with negative interest in your question and zero desire to help.  Any question is met with answers dripping with sarcasm, impatience and the underlying assumption that the caller should already know what they are asking about, and should not be bothering the person in the pool (or wherever) so they can get back to sitting there doing nothing.

Not everyone, everywhere is so rude.  A student in one of my classes told me about a pool very near our apartment, which is generally for children, where adults are allowed to swim on Sundays.  I found a big building at the sight, and went to the registration desk.  There were six men standing around, all looking at me.  I had only to say, “Can adults swim here on—“
“No, only kids.”
I told them what my student told me and they all said, “Not here. That’s over there.”  And they pointed to another building.  I went to over there and asked that guard at the door.
“I don’t know.  You have to see the floor caretaker and it looks like she is not here right now.”  I asked a couple of the hundred or more parents were sitting in bored silence waiting for their children.  Both said they didn’t know.  I saw a coat check person who didn’t look busy and asked her.  She didn’t know.  I walked down a corridor where there were gymnastic classes and wind instruments.  Finally, the first guard told me I needed to talk to the director who was upstairs.
When I got upstairs, the world’s nicest lady asked me where I was going and allowed me to check my coat.  The she sweetly explained that although the director was not there, the sub director was.  The coat-check woman got off her chair, walked me down to the office, and waited until I was finished.  She went out of her way to help me.  Her job was not less important than all the others, but she showed some serious kindness.  In the end, I learned that there was not a possibility for adults to swim at the children’s pool—even on Sunday.