The good news is that I’m finally in tune with the zeitgeist. The bad news is that it’s the zeitgeist to do with contracting disease. You may have seen reports that the number of people catching the superbug MRSA in places other than hospitals has increased, and recently I became one of the data points.
I’m pretty sure I got the blasted thing in a hot yoga studio, and if it took some time to diagnose, it may be because the symptoms (burning lungs, profuse sweating, aching, feeling that you might die) are indistinguishable from the effects of hot yoga.
It’s not something I would recommend and, as well as leaving me shattered, the experience has me wondering what should be done about hygiene in gyms and fitness studios. There was an extended period during the pandemic when cleanliness was taken seriously, but we’re back to leaving it to individual users to wipe machines, blocks and mats after use, and it’s not enough.
The malingering also gave me too much time to reflect on how we need to talk about exercise differently. Every other injury or illness I’ve had has been the result of trying to keep fit — a torn hamstring while running a half marathon, a fall while cycling, now MRSA while trying to improve my flexibility. Such risk should be factored in when we sell the benefits of exercise.
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Last week we heard the claim from scientists that just five minutes of daily vigorous exercise can significantly cut the risk of premature death, but how many people will do themselves damage while taking that vigorous exercise?
Talking about how running can prolong life makes no sense if you don’t also factor in how it increases the likelihood of injury. And I can tell you that the nine months I spent in tree, warrior and downward yoga poses were not worth the mid-summer I wasted in the corpse pose.
Parking mad
I try to make my own mind up about things, to not buy into popular narratives mindlessly, but, every year, the task of renewing my parking permit with the council confirms the worst about local government waste. It shouldn’t really be a task at all: government agencies should, between them, be able to work out that I’m still living in the same place, drive the same car and want to carry on parking in the same zone. Instead, every 12 months, I get an email reminding me that I need to renew my parking permit.
I log in to the shoddy website and get asked to provide some identification (which hasn’t changed in years); it fails to recognise it or take the alternative of a council tax bill (which I pay through the same website); and then I have to photocopy the documents and post them — to a city 160 miles away. Someone there is presumably paid to receive the letter, open it, and write back to me to say my permit has been extended for another year. It’s good to know where some of my London council tax is going: supporting a pointless job in Sheffield.
Ticked off
I’ve always wanted to visit Berlin and, last week, I found myself there for work. The problem was, I only had a morning to myself and consulting friends on what to do with the limited time was presented with endless options. The suggestions included the Neues Museum (“stunning ancient art — Nefertiti! — in David Chipperfield’s best building!”); the Caspar David Friedrich paintings at the Alte Nationalgalerie; a boat tour of the city; the Stasi Museum; a three-hour guided tour; the Brandenburg Gate; a tour of the Olympic stadium and the Checkpoint Charlie museum.
Paralysed by choice, I found a nice café to consider and research the options. Before I knew it, I had consumed two coffees and a large breakfast, and spent several hours watching the world go by. And you know what, it was great. In a world where we are encouraged to tick off sites and experiences from an interminable list, just sitting around in a new place felt like a luxury. Five stars.
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Less is more
Social media post of the month — @sofarrsogud.bsky.social on Bluesky: All I’m saying is they could’ve spelled “efficient” with fewer letters.