New Moon Coaching for Expat Women

The sky is still dark, and the air is crisp, but I’m heading toward more than just a workout. In a country where I am still learning the nuances of ‘how things are done,’ the Rec Center is the one place where I don’t feel like an outsider.

When Mary Ann, the receptionist, waves me off with a smile because she knows my membership code by heart, it’s a small victory of belonging.

Her daughter studied in Florence, and Mary Ann remained enchanted by Italy during a visit there.

I cross paths with John as I head up the stairs toward the cardio room: by 6:30 in the morning, he has already finished his daily exercises, and it’s time to go to his daughter’s house to watch the grandkids while she works.

With a quick reconnaissance glance around the large room, I make sure my favorite elliptical—the one in front of the window facing the mountains—is open. I grab a disinfectant spray bottle and a clean cloth and head quickly toward the machine. The post-pandemic legacy of cleaning equipment before and after use is still followed by most people and is seen as a gesture of courtesy toward others, as well as a means of defense against germs.

A small group of people in their sixties chats around a rowing machine. One of them has a crackling laugh that occasionally pierces through my earbuds, overlapping with the voice of the narrator of my audiobook. I realize that choosing The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood isn’t the most suitable for the gym environment and I open Spotify.

For some, especially retirees, the Rec Center (a municipal recreation center offering many leisure and fitness services, such as a gym, pool, sauna, tennis courts, etc.) is primarily a gathering place where people come to keep their bodies in shape, yes, but also to have a chat and spend some time out of the house. Like Palma, an effervescent seventy-year-old originally from Messina, who comes to the gym whenever she can escape the monotony of home. She’s been living in Colorado for fifty years. When she tells me speaking Italian no longer comes easily, I feel that familiar pang—the fear of losing one’s roots while firmly planting new ones. For her, the Zumba floor isn’t just for fitness; it’s where her two worlds finally stop colliding and just… exist.

The weight room is less crowded than usual: it’s an unexpected luxury to move from one machine to another without having to wait for one to become free.

A couple of middle school kids help each other with the barbell on the bench. Today, like every Wednesday, schools start an hour later, and some take advantage of it to work out.

The surprising thing about my Rec Center is that no one seems to sweat: a prerogative of the dry Colorado climate that evaporates sweat before it even forms.

Is there a local spot where people finally know your name or your ‘usual’? How did it feel the first time that happened? Share it in the comments.