Lil G and I decided that it was time. He is over six months old, it has been nearly a year since I went ( a YEAR!), and I have a figure to regain by April. We went to the gym! It was awesome! Lil G loved the ladies at the childcare they have, and mama got to shower. Tomorrow: crosstrainer, weights, sauna! Followed by an Unkai luncheon with D-bro. Life is good.

Ich musste plötzlich vorne zahlen und den Studentenausweis vorlegen. Kein Problem.

Es ist komisch, es ist anders, sich in dieser kleinen, dunklen Kabine umzuziehen.  Ab unter die Dusche. Sammeldusche. Das kenne ich garnicht mehr. Wie ich es gewohnt bin, greife ich nach links zu dem Shampoo- und Duschgelspender, um mein Make-up aus dem Gesicht zu wischen. Keiner da. Dafür ist da eine Frau, die mir einen Schluck ihrer Waschlotion gibt.

Und jetzt los: auf ins kühle Nass! Ich freue mich schon auf den Kälteschock, ja, mir ist gerade nach frieren. Yes yes yes!

Die Bahnen sind so naja voll, aber ich habe schon einen Teil der “Schwimmer” gefressen, weil sie so arrogant langsam schwimmen und anderen den Weg versperren, obwohl auf der rechten Seite noch Platz wäre.

Unsportliches Verhalten — 10 Minuten auf die Strafbank. Ohne Handtuch!!!

Mein Haargummi liegt zu Hause und dort liegt es gut. Irgendwie quetsche ich meine Haare unter meine hässliche Badekappe, als ich vor der Bahn stehe und im Wechsel den linken und den rechten Fuß ins Wasser tauche. Kalt ist anders.

Ey, Feli, jetzt mach dir nicht wieder alles kaputt. Nun sei nicht so verdammt negativ. Du hast Wasser und die paar Leuten sollten dich nicht stören. Es sind Menschen wie du, also lass sie und zieh einfach gleich deine scheiß Bahnen. Und gib endliche Ruhe.

Meine innere Stimme reißt mich am Riemen.

Jetzt setze ich mich an den Rand, das Wasser ist aber nun mal nicht kalt, sondern fast pisswarm, bätsch, maule ich meine Stimme an, während ich mir die Brille aufsetze. Dann mache ich mich auf auf das Abenteuer.

Bahn 1: Es läuft wie am Schnürchen, face it, ich bin die Königin des Wassers.

Bahn 3: Ich sollte die nächsten 7 Monate weniger rauchen als die vergangenen 7. Und der Typ vor mir sollte lieber langsam das Weite suchen…

Bahn 6: Meine persönliche Vorgabe, 40 Bahnen zu schwimmen, scheint absolut utopisch. Wenn ich nach 20 noch lebe, feiere ich meinen 2. Geburtstag. Trotzdem jetzt Konzentration, denn gerade nun kommt es auf den Schwimmstil an.

Zwischendurch nerven mich die Leute, die das 4-Bahnen-System nicht verstehen. Das sind wohl die Menschen, die mit ihrem klapprigen, kleinen Aschenbecher auf der linken Spur mit 80 km/h die Unfälle auf der Gegenüberseite anglotzen. Grrrr…

Plötzlich wende ich und mache mich auf den Weg zur 21. Bahn.

Nach 40 Bahnen höre ich auf und fühle… nichts. Für gewöhnlich setze ich mich an den Rand und lasse noch ein paar Momente vergehen, schaue mir die anderen Schwimmer an und gehe erst, wenn ich zu frieren beginne. Heute nicht. Und die 40 Bahnen gaben mir auch nicht das blaue Gefühl.

Der fette, alte Mann, der ständig im Weg rumschimmelte, glotzt mich an und ich wünsche mir kurz, ich hätte Mut genug, aufzustehen, Anlauf zunehmen und ihm mit aller Kraft ins Kreuz zu springen. Habe ich aber nicht, also den Mut.

Irgendwo klettert eine erwachsene Frau über die Bahnenabsperrung. Weiß die eigentlich, was diese blöden Leinen kosten??? Bei den Freien Schwimmern und beim DLRG würde das Anschiss deluxe bedeuten… Dämliche Frau.

Lieber gehen, Feli. Denk an deinen Blutdruck.

Duschen. Sammeldusche. Hätte ich ja fast vergessen. So wie ja auch meine Duschsachen, aber das hatten wir ja schon. Also diesmal Shampoo schnorren. So schnell wie bei diesem Mal habe ich echt noch nie geduscht –und ich liebe duschen– aber der Anblick dieser Frauen und ihr sinnloses Geschwätz konnte ich nicht länger als irgendwie notwendig ertragen. Ich ziehe mich an, wieder in der kleinen, dunklen Kabine.

Plötzlich fällt meine Holmes Place Towelcard aus meiner Tasche. Einen Moment lang schaue ich sie an und muss dann einmal tief schnaufen.

Zu den Trocknern. Es gibt hier keinen Föhn, sondern diese Luftmaschinen, die an einen Händetrockner erinnern. Der Spiegel ist schlecht beleuchtet, aber wozu noch schminken?

Kleine, dicke Kinder laufen umher und werfen meine Tasche auf den Boden. Handy, Timer und Uhr fallen raus und schlagen auf dem Fliesenboden auf und nicht mal die Mutter dieser Satansbraten hält es für angemessen, sich zu entschuldigen.

Ich packe meine Sachen zusammen und verlasse mit halbnassen Haaren das Schwimmbad.

Bei Holmes Place wäre das nicht passiert. Das ALLES!

Ich denke an die Zeit von Towel Service, vollen Duschgel- und Shampoospendern in den Einzelduschkabinen, an das kalte Wasser im Pool, der zwar auch relativ gut besucht war, aber meistens sehr erträglich. Ich denke an das schöne Ambiente, an die freundlichen Mitarbeiter und an das Kopfschütteln der Leute, wenn ich ihnen erzählte, dass ich nur zum Schwimmen dahin gehe. Niemand hat es je verstanden.

Draußen nieselt es und ich denke an die wunderbare Tiefgarage, zu der ich damals Zugang hatte.

Und am Ende kochen schwimmen sie auch nur in Wasser, denke ich mir und steige ins Auto, verdränge die Gedanken und glaube, dass es eben manchmal so sein muss. Und so geht es weiter, auf meiner Fahrt ins Blaue…

So it’s been nearly two weeks since I started using the fitness center at Holmes Place.  If you add in walking to work from there and walking home from work, I can get in just over a 5k every day too, though I think most of my classmates are doing that and then some…

I have to say, Holmes Place is turning out to be a great fitness center in the mornings when I’m there, though I have to say my favorite part is that they have showers like I’m used to in the US.  Part of the price of living in an apartment at the city center is that the bathrooms have baths that can function as semi-showers, so having one like I’m used to back home was a very nice motivation to start going to the gym early in the morning…but once again I’d like to point out that I realize how easy I have it here in Prague compared to my other classmates, so please, no hate-mail.

A better picture of the gym's front door...

They have a nice little health-food restaurant...but slightly out of my price range...

The check-in counter on the way in...

I’m also looking for those combination bars and climbing centers that Olivia told me about, and I think I might be heading there with some colleagues this weekend (if I’m not in the US Embassy doing stuff for the 65th anniversary of D-Day).  So stay tuned for that…

Diet-wise, though, the food has continued to round-house kick me in the face…seriously, this stuff is hilariously unhealthy but it is DELICIOUS (interestingly enough, the same characteristics of a lot of food in the South…).  The other day I ran head-first into probably the most infamous Czech food to bear that distinction, the fried cheese dish.  Think of cheese-sticks like we have in the US, but in patty form like a hamburger; not too healthy, but it didn’t taste too bad at all.  Thank God I went to the gym that day…

The Infamous Fried Cheese Dish

One of the things that really keeps me going is the idea of what happens to the person that comes back and loses the least weight in the contest; not only will they have to be the one buying drinks for everybody, but there’s also this consequence to consider…or there’s always the idea (which I’ve floated to Chad) about having a fitness test when we come back too, maybe something like the FBI fitness test…

Today I’ll be talking with one of the personal trainers there, so maybe we can set up a good program that I can bring back with me to the states when August rolls around.

Blog 36, 14. Mai 2009

Sonja hat neulich im Modus grösster Aufregung überlaut ins Handy gemeint

‹Ich hab grad den Mann für Dich entdeckt!›,

[was heissen musste: blitzgescheit, also im Vollstbesitz seiner geistigen (und möglichst vieler physischer) Kräfte, eloquent, widerstandsfähig, ausdauernd, lebensgewandt, ca. 185 cm, möglichst dicht- (nicht überall) und dunkelhaarig, attraktiv, pervers, blauäugig, von Humor und dummen Ideen stotzend, reise- und feierfreudig, trinkfest, unverheiratet, bindungsfähig (aber nicht –willig), unabhängig, gebildet, kreativ, wohlerzogen, etc.]

Natürlich musste die Sache einen Haken haben. Hatte sie auch.

‹Er trainiert immer am Donnerstagabend im Holmes, so zwischen halb 7 und 8.›

Fuck. Ich und Sport. Ich und Fitnesszentrum ganz zu Schweigen (ausser die Nass- und Relax-Zonen, die sind ganz gut zu gebrauchen; man kann sogar im Ruheraum vom Hamam Sex haben).

‹Wie sicher bist Du?›

‹108%.›

Nun denn. Frau kümmert sich also um einen Einzeleintritt in eine Welt, in der Dumme bereit sind, für den Aufbau ihrer Gewebefasern zu zahlen. Und das nicht zu knapp. (Und dann dieser Claim, Bitteschön: are you fit for business? Unsere Devise ist: ein gesundes Leben ist ein glückliches Leben. Goodness!) Zum Glück bin ich ab halb sieben abends eh meist nicht mehr nüchtern.

Ich stelle eingangs klar, dass ich keinen Tätschmeister um mich haben will, der mich am Händchen packt und rumführt oder gar fürsorglich tatscht, ob die Qualen an meinem Trizeps bereits Spuren hinterlassen.

Zum Glück war ich neulich an der Trainerfete im Plazda, die schwarzen Hosen mit den goldenen Stripes machen sich auch im originalen Kontext ganz ausgezeichnet. Ich platzier mich also strategisch schlau auf einem der Liegevelos (stark schwitzen ist unsexy) und tu grad, als wär ich die schaumgeborene Venus zwischen den glänzenden Foltergerätschaften. Sonja ist auch da, natürlich, schliesslich muss ich das Mensch identifizieren können.

Nach etwa zwanzig Minuten hab ich die entsprechende Zeitung ausgelesen und keinen Bock mehr, in Pedalen zu treten, die mich nicht vorwärts bringen. Ich belege eine der strangen Gerätschaften, schraub irgendwas an den Gewichten rum und setz mich rein. ‹Abdominals› werden hier getrimmt.

‹Schön die Wirbelsäule gerade halten! Jetzt ausatmen und laaaaaangsam ausdrehen. ›

Die fremde Hand auf meinem linken Schulterblatt übt sanften Druck nach rechts.

‹Du musst wohl das Gewicht etwas runterschrauben.›

Ach ja?

Und schon hab ich ganz tierisch die Lust verloren. Ich besteige einen Normalo-Home-Trainer, stell den Widerstand auf nahezu Null und schnapp mir ein Bolero. Sonja, mittlerweile hochroten Kopfes, hat den Hotshot noch nicht gesichtet.

Es dunkelt langsam ein. Mister Wunderbar will heut nicht auftauchen. Ich spüle die Anstrengung mit etwas Mittelprozentigem runter und suche noch bis halb drei Uhr morgens auf eigene Faust nach der Wundertüte. Vergeblich.

Eine Woche darauf wird das Experiment wiederholt. Die ca. 173 Kalorien, die ich letztes Mal abgebaut habe, sind immer noch deutlich zu spüren; dünn bin ich geworden, wie Anton. Paarungssuche ist offenbar ein grandioser Fitnessfaktor.

‹Ein ganz klein wenig musst Du schon schwitzen, das ist ausgezeichnet für den Pheromon-Haushalt. Zudem steht der Typ bestimmt auf sportliche Frauen, so wie der aussieht.›

Heiei. Was lass ich hier nicht alles mit mir anstellen.

Diesmal hab ich Glück. Auch ohne Sonjas weit aufgerissene Augen und der nicht zu übersehenden Pantomime hab ich ihn gleich entdeckt. Damn, she is right, sowas gehörte fast schon eingesperrt. Ich beobachte ihn eine geschlagene Stunde beim Workout. Fuck.

In der ‹Sukhothai Sports Lounge› zieh ich mir wartenderweise einen Power-Irgendwas-Shake rein.

Aber das Goldstück entschwindet nach Absolvieren seines Programms auf direktestem Weg.

‹Na, hab ich recht gehabt?›

‹Yeppa. Aber er ist mir entkommen. Duscht – welch Schande – grad einsam und alleine.›

‹Dann bis nächste Woche?›

‹Nein. Mit dem Laden hier bin ich fertig. Aber schuldest Du mir nicht noch was, von wegen letzen Monat, dieser blonde im La Catrina…?›

Wie es sich für eine wirklich wirklich gute Freundin gehört, steigt Sonja sofort von ihrem Monster runter.

Ich warte mit einem zweiten Supershake in der coolen Lounge.

‹Joachim B.›

‹Joachim?? Auweia.›

‹Jo. Klingt doch super. Bang-Bang-Jo-Jo.›

Ich check Jo-Man auf Xing und Facebook. Und werde fündig. Natürlich. Hübsch, hübsch, wenn auch schlimmstenfalls etwas bieder, der Herr Banker. Wenigstens IT-Abteilung.

Ich schreib den Mann an und schlage vor, dass wir uns – da ich die traditionelle Ausübung von Sport nicht besonders angenehm und inspirierend fände – nächste Woche nach seinem Programm auf ein paar Drinks treffen könnten oder er – falls er nicht auf Bewegung verzichten möchte – mich im Dampfbad erwarten könne.

Ich warte 20 Stunden bevor ich meinen FB-Account checke.

Keine Antwort.

Arschloch.

Sein Profil: Recent activities.

Joachim B. went from being ‹single› to ‹in a relationship›

Na, Kleiner? Bammel gekriegt?

Dear friends,

Here we go with post part two of the most used search terms: “Holmes place gay”. Just to update you on what I wrote about Holmes Place gyms in the past, please click here. Now, the detailed continuation, in connection with what you might like to hear and what might interest you…

Holmes place (gym) in Berlin has two saunas. One is positioned inside the male locker room and one is a mixed sauna, positioned close to the swimming pool. My odyssey took place in the mixed sauna, which made the entire story form my past Holmes place post even more ugly then it already was. So, After several days of waiting for the representatives from Holmes place to explain the discrimination perpetrated upon me, I finally received an offer to join their club for an aprox. 50% monthly sale with a one year membership. I still got no apology or explanation of any kind from them and then

some weeks pass by… weeks turn into months and finally, last Friday, a guy approaches me at work and says he knows me from Holmes place… I go bananas and ask him how on earth could he know me if I went there only twice in my life and months earlier. The options were two in my opinion: 1) He found me irresistible and remembered me immediately (but that was definitely not the case cause he was there with his girlfriend) and case nr. 2) I did something special that caught his attention, like the way I did the exercises or the way I was dressed… Right, you read right… the way I was dressed. After the pathetic scandal of me and my tank-top, I thought he might have been one of the guys that found me “offensive” for the rest of the clients working out.

I asked him if he remembered me because he thought I was not dressed properly that day. he looked at me with a face that seemed not to understand weather or not I was making a joke. I told him it was not a joke and that one of the trainers actually told me I should put on a t-shirt next time I come to Holmes place and I told him that there was a woman with an even bigger decolté then mine and that after me pointing this fact out to him, he told me it was O.K. for her to wear a decolté cause she was a woman. This trainer also added that it is offensive of me to wear a tank-top in front of clients that don’t look as good as me. What kind of a fake sick moral is that?! I mean, the more I think about it and the more it pisses me off.

Anyway, this guy I met at work listened to my story and couldn’t believe his ears. His conclusion was that the only logical explanation to the story was that the trainer was jealous of my looks. He told me he remembered me because I had the type of toned body he considers to be perfect. Not blown up, bulky and pumped to unnatural limits like most of the brain dead in the gym. Indeed, I never took any powders, artificial protein bomb shakes or anything of the kind. I always stuck to natural products and exercises where you mostly work with your own body weight and do a lot of repetitions rather then lifting extra weights, pumping yourself up like the incredible Hulk and tricking your body into thinking you are actually taller and more massive than you really are. So I guess that explains a lot… personal jealousy from some asshole trainer made me leave the gym for good.

Boy, now I wish I stayed just to show up again in the same tank-top and talk to the manager. By the way, I always train in a tank-top and long trousers. Most of the men in Holmes place had these microscopic tight shorts and nobody said a word to them… probably cause this specific trainer didn’t have to compete with the size of their dicks, generously showing through the, at times, more then thin shorts fabric. Yes, this is a gay gym indeed… the kind where jealousy, territorial fights and all the “who’s gonna get to fuck the sexy newcomer first” schemes all add up to the saddest of sights… a cheap telenovela/soap opera in which I, frankly, do not want to take part. So let the jerks fuck with each other and let them keep their illusion of being able to dominate a revere, just like animals. In their little worlds, they dream up their illusions of being kings in heavenly bodies… but remember you losers… your looks will fade and with them fades sex appeal, beauty and your power in your little world… and before you even know it, there will be another little princess wanting to become queen and she will kick you off your imaginary throne and you will suddenly be told that, not only what you wear, but who you have come to be, is suddenly not good enough. The new queen will tell you: “You scare off the clients”.

And as far as the search terms “gay” and “gay sex” is concerned… I think this little gym story pretty much portrays a lot of realities in the gay community. Just see what goes on in the borough of Schoeneberg, where the extreme cliché gay ghetto is. Almost all of the men living there are victims of the structure described above. The “Holmes place gym” is really just a metaphor for most gay communities. I wish homosexuals would break out of the cliché and start living a normal gay life, without all the superficial shit that nowadays goes with it! Sex is not just the pounding grunt from a cheap porn movie and “real men” are not more “real” and “male” if they dress up in uniforms that satisfy perverted fantasies.

People, be free! Be free to express yourselves. And never be afraid that someone might judge you or laugh at you for what you are. The losers that do so just see themselves reflected in you and cannot take it because they are weak and they know it and it kills them! So, the next time you “go to the gym” (metaphorically speaking, of course), be sure to wear your “tank-top”.

Love,

Ivan

Dear friends,

What a lovely week in Berlin… Now that the weekend has arrived, I suggest you all go to TAPE tonight to dance your hearts out:) And surprise surprise, the INTRO magazine is out. In the Intro you can read a full interview with my friend Sarah and me. We are the selectors of TAPE. It was funny to do the shooting and the interview. The photo they picked for the magazine is O.K. too. Next week it’s MORGENPOST’S turn to print an image of me. Ah… what one must do in order to pimp up the quality of style in this wacky city. I’ll keep you posted. And a ridiculous note to wrap up this quickie “blitz” post, is that Holmes Place has offered me a “deal”. They have offered me a 59 Euro per month membership… I would have to pay no taxes and the normal price would have been around 100 Euro… Oohhh… they can do better then that!!! Besides, I just ordered a new sports machine and will definetly continue my exercises at home for now!

Love,

Ivan

Dear friends,

Here I am again… with some updates and new news…

First the Holmes Place discrimination story… I have sent a letter to them and a couple of news papers and am waiting for a response. Holmes Place hasn’t answered yet and has done even more for their own damage by sending me an sms in which they ask me to become a member and if I apply before May 31st, the fee I would have to pay for a year would be tax free…. ooohhh… let me think… three days left to decide… hmmm… I wonder what my decision will be…

And in regard of tax free stuff… the most famous tax free country: United Arab Emirates, have struck a very low tone in my opinion. A dear friend of mine sent me this link in German in which you get a pretty detailed description of how the Dubai Emirate deals with homosexuals these days… Not only is it forbidden but two women that were “caught” kissing on the beach, got four months of prison and were forced to leave the country afterwards. One of them was from Lebanon and the other from Bulgaria. Transvestites are illegal and also end in prison and God knows how they are treated there. Dubai’s legals report that there have been more transvestites lately in Dubai and that’s why the law against them will be pushed to higher extremes. What a miserable state of things. Total absence of freedom. Here we see where absence of freedom of expression leads us to. After this story, the Holmes Place discrimination seems not so important, but don’t be mislead by the appearances. Discrimination starts in little places and in small quantities but it grows like a cancer and can reach bigger highs and ultimately become legal. There are still countries where homosexuals are punished by death for being who they are, so yes, there is always someone or some place that is or where it is worse. But we have to fight here and now for our rights. And nothing should be taken for granted.

Love,

Ivan

Dear friends,

Here I am with a full “reportage” about my, what was supposed to be, one week free voucher visit to a certain sport studio in Berlin… Well… where to start… first of all, I would like you all to know that I will do my best to be as objective as possible in writing what happened. I will try to portray the facts. So here we go… The first day went pretty well. I went there with the friend that gave me the voucher. The people in Holmes Place (thats the gym I went to) signed my details on a sheet of paper and in three minutes I was set and ready to enter the sport section… but first they gave me two towels and then I split up from my friend cause I had to enter the male locker rooms. I had to struggle with the very tiny lockers and minimal space on the benches. I put on my black long sport trousers and a black tank-top I always wear when I do sports. We met again a few minutes later and I went through her routine with her. We went up the stairs and into the fitness section where each of us took two extra clean towels to put on the machines before using them, we are very clean:)We did some thigh, inner thigh, back and stomach exercises together. after that we split up cause I wanted to do some weights as she went for another thigh session… after that we went to the swimming pool, whirl pool and then the sauna. It all seemed clean and O.K. the people were different… there were sexy people and less sexy people. Old and young people… men and women… and they were dressed in different ways… more or less exposing their, at times, very trained bodies. I immediately noticed that the machines I was using were not in the best shape. They were not functioning simmetrically, meaning that if you would be using the thigh machine, for example, your left leg would make less effort to move then the right because the right one was directly attached to the motor of the machine. I guess that going into detail in this description would be useless because I do not have the right technical vocabulary to describe such a flaw in the machinery. After sports my friend and I went to the gyms “mensa” where we ate some food which was supposedly healthy but in reality it was a fraud: the rice was white rice and the sauces were all over spiced and therefore not the healthy fast food the slogan promised it to be… So, here ends my first day.

Now we come to the real horror scenario… The second day I went to Holmes Place alone. I went through the same procedure at the door. I gave them my I.D. and they gave me two towels. I changed into my black long trousers and black tan-top. I went up the stairs, straight to the fitness machines, took two hygiene towels and started doing the same group of exercises I did the first day. As I was into the back exercises one of the trainers approached me and I thought he was going to tell me I was doing the exercise wrong but no, no, no… and here it comes… he tells me that I am not dressed properly and that I should wear a t-shirt next time I come to Holmes Place. I look around immediatly and see a woman wearing a very deep decolte tank-top and tell him: “she’s wearing one too and it is more “exposed”". To which he replies: “Yes, but she’s a woman.” Then I replied: “But we’re living in the year 2008, in Germany… what about sexual/gender equity?” To which he replied: “We have some clients that don’t look so good and we don’t want them to feel bad about themselves.” I started believing my ears even less!!! I told him I was in Dubai a week or so earlier and that I was walking around in the same way and that even in that conservative country nobody made any stress. Was this all for real?!?!? He added that he was told to tell me that. I don’t know by who though. So he took the blame off of him in an intelligent way and so I added that I had no t-shirt with me, that I was a performance artist and that I always train in this outfit even when I am alone at home… I mean, even having to explain this to someone in a gym is so absurd that I felt abused and discriminated, especially because there were some guys wearing really microscopic shorts and nobody said anything to them. So I said I would find a t-shirt the next time I visit Holmes Place. Then I did my weights, crosstrainer, swimming pool and whirlpool. As time was passing I started wondering more and more about what the trainer had told me about my unproper tank-top. I started getting angry because I really felt discriminated and to think that he told me that there are some clients that don’t look as good and that it would be just fair from me not to expose my trained body in a tank-top, hence not to offend anybody. I stood out of the whirlpool and entered the sauna. And here starts the really nasty part of this sad journey through an even sadder Holmes Place gym: Just a few minutes after I entered the sauna and after I laid myself on my towel, closed my eyes and tried to breathe properly, finding my center and getting into the heat, without suffocating… a fat middle aged guy comes in and starts jerking off right there in front of me. Well I never! I was so disgusted that I didn’t know what to say. And to think I was told a couple of minutes earlier that I could offend someone with my tank-top. Why wasn’t any “trainer” there to protect me from this offense in the sauna huh? Well… needless to say, I will never go there again. I felt so discriminated that it is a real shame. I can only suggest and hope that people will not go to that gym again. The friend that took me there will stop going there too out of solidarity.

This is what I am going to do: I will write Holmes Place a long letter of complaint and send it to as many people working there as possible, explaining the situation. I will also let them know I am posting this. I will also let them know that I have contacted several newspapers with this story and that I hope they get published. And of course, last, but not least, I will keep you all posted on how this story continues. And you, please click on their home page and send them complaint letters too to this address:info@b1.holmesplace.de We cannot let this discrimination continue!

Love,

Ivan

Como as convicções podem mudar.

A petição contra a cadeia Holmes Place foi encerrada. Ora como nada mudou, dá que pensar: Foi encerrada porquê? A verdade é que não se sabe bem.

Na petição, a explicação é a seguinte:

O Holmes Place ou ainda não acordou, ou não quer acordar.

Insiste em não reflectir a baixa do IVA nas suas mensalidades. Agora até alargou o serviço aos ginásios de Espanha, por um preço parecido com o anterior – claro com fidelização de dois anos.

Senhores, já viram a página queixas.co.uk?

E já viram que há uma petição?

Já repararam que estão a sujar o nome nas notícias? Renascença Destak AFinanceira Visão, etc. etc.

Quanto a mim a decisão está tomada. Como estou por acordo de empresa seguiu e-mail para os RH. De qualquer forma, em Maio, mês de renovação do contrato, será o meu último mês como cliente.

Vou mudar. Como é óbvio. 

Estou certo das boas intenções do Governo ao anunciar a redução da taxa de IVA afecta aos ginásios deste País.

Assim como estou certo da imediata manifestação de regozijo da quase totalidade dos estabelecimentos do ramo.

Afinal, em Portugal, o lucro é fácil.

Passar a ganhar mais 16%, e por despacho ministerial, é um luxo reservado apenas ao povo chico-esperto. E nem é preciso justificar seriamente. É mais um caso de “a lei protege os sacanas” em versão ultra-light, sem conservantes.

Pois bem. Invista-se em novas infraestruturas e na qualidade dos intervenientes. Pelo andar do descontentamento, aconselho vivamente os ginásios incumpridores a inovarem:

- Reservem já o último grito em máquinas para moscas pois serão vossa próxima geração de clientes.

Pela parte que me toca, cumprirei na íntegra o contrato que assinei com o Holmes Place da Defensor de Chaves até Setembro. Não prometo ser simpático nem prestável. A marca morreu e espero sair a tempo do funeral.

E pensar que estamos apenas a falar sobre saúde, desporto e bem estar dos portugueses…

England was never able to successfully conquer the Iberian Peninsula during its reign as the world’s superpower.  Sir Richard Branson and his Virgin Active brand, is setting out to right this by attempting a massive expansion into the Spanish/Portuguese health club industry.

“The UK’s top two fitness chains, Fitness First and Virgin Active, are set to take their battle for supremacy to Spain.

Both companies are believed to be sizing up offers for Holmes Place gyms in Spain and Portugal, where they are being auctioned for up to €200m (£140m).

The bid battle comes just over a year after Virgin Active bought Holmes Place to vault to the No 2 position, behind Fitness First. The latter, which already has a significant presence in Spain, is keen to expand abroad with the backing of its deep-pocketed owner, buyout firm BC Partners.”

(Click here for the rest of the article) 

If Virgin succeeds, it would be interesting to see just how well this “in your face” brand can integrate with the higher end Holmes Place.  Generally, whether the acquired or the acquiring, the lower end brand culture usually drags the higher end brand down.  Most people who have frequented London’s Holmes Place prior to the Virgin Active purchase would probably agree.