English

I'm Hooter, Fear and Dry Sick, Swans Sing
By David Stoddard (5/01)

The Completely Revised and Updated Mayo Clinic Family Health Book defines exercise as "any activity that requires continuous rhythmic muscle contraction…and that increases the rate and depth of breathing" (pg., 292). Three factors should aid you in your selection of weekly exercises: intensity, frequency and duration. Duration of any exercise should be at least 20-30 minutes and frequency at least three times per week on non-consecutive days. Intensity is gauged "by measuring your heart rate (pulse), [by which] you can determine the intensity of a given workout: the more intense your aerobic exercise, the greater your heart rate" (pg., 292).

Now to most health conscious people none of this comes as any surprise. But since we moved to Berlin, I believe one exercise should be added which didn't make their list of "common aerobic (endurance) activities" on page 292: grocery shopping. In particular, grocery shopping on foreign soil. Each trip I make to our local "Reichelt" is far more intense than 30 minutes on a Stairmaster. Let me explain.

Each workout begins with a half-kilometer walk to the grocery store. This gets my blood flowing and clears my mind for the coming ordeal. It is the calm before the storm. Sometimes my warm-up session is prolonged because I forget the 1 Mark coin necessary to borrow a shopping cart. So I enjoy the benefit of an extra kilometer to and from our house in order to get the right coin.

The first obstacles I encounter in the store are the vegetables. It really isn't that difficult to figure out what to do, but the execution can be quite complicated. Stored in numerous bins are the various vegetables. Each bin may or may not have a sign indicating the German word for its contents. The object is to find on a chalkboard the item number which matches the German name. The trick: the chalkboard was hand written by the kindergarten class next door. Having guessed at the match, I then need to go to a ticker-tape machine and have the correct number and weight printed on the tape to be wrapped around the bag. My pulse begins to climb.

Next comes the aisle marathon. I can't tell you how many minutes I have wandered the same aisles just overlooking the item I wanted. Since I couldn't read anything, nor could I stop a clerk to ask where something was, each pass was a strenuous vision exam. In more recent weeks my frustration is not that I don't know any German. My frustration is I know just enough to find the aisle which has what I want, but not enough German to read the labels to get exactly what we need. For example, just last week I spent 20 minutes looking at the shampoo section in search of conditioner. The result: I came home to find out I was the proud owner of avocado smelling body wash. So my heart rate quickens with each new item I am not sure is right.

Next comes returning our glass bottles (as every conscientious German does). I have gotten much better at this, but it still is a source of tremendous stress. In front of me stands a tall machine with lots of buttons and one big hole. The object is to hit the right button and put your bottles in one by one and hope your bottles aren't rejected. It is much like trying to get change for a dollar from an automatic machine when your bill is no long crisp. The problem is usually that I put the bottles in incorrectly, hit the wrong button, or I don't realize the bottles are the "non-refundable" glass. So as I play the lotto-bottle game I can feel the beady eyes of veteran bottle-men staring at the back of my clueless head as bottle after bottle is rejected. My pulse increases to a slow gallop.

Next comes checking out. From this point on my deodorant proves its worth. I take my place in line with 20 other impatient people and only two frantic cashiers. We are all thinking the same thing: "It's Saturday afternoon, they know there will be a rush for food, they have two more registers they could use, and there is no sign of help." They hate it, we hate. Just then a man from behind me yells something, of which I catch one word, "verrückt" or crazy. Yep, he's right, this is crazy.

So to pass the time I begin to practice what I will say when I get to the register. It's like practicing my wedding vows again - there's only so much I have to remember, but I panic as the big moment approaches. I forget the simplest of phrases. Does the verb come at the end of the question or do I just need to invert the verb and personal pronoun at the beginning? What gender is that noun? Does that verb take the accusative or the dative? My breathing begins to deepen as if I am having mild contractions.

And then my mind races through all the varied combinations of phrases with which the cashier could respond. The highest hurdle is always the numbers. German requires a bit of mental gymnastics because in most complex sentences you have to think "forward" and put the conjugated verb at the end. However, when it comes to math, you have to think backwards, 2 and 20, 6 and 90, not $22.96. By the time I get to the frustrated and over-worked cashier, I am sweating like a hog and on the verge of a panic attack.

"I'm Hooter, fear and dry sick, swans sing."* she says to me. At least that's what I thought she said. "Wie bitte?" I ask (knowing full well a second time through probably won't leave me any better off). I then hand her 150 Marks and hope that is enough. She looks at me as if I stepped off the moon. By this time there must be a puddle of sweat under my feet and my heart is pounding hard enough to be mistaken for Morse code. In my haste I hand her another 20 DM bill hoping that will appease her anger and leave me with a shred of dignity. Nope. With utter disgust she fires words at me faster than an AK-47 can unleash a round of bullets. She's incredulous and I am stupefied. Continuing to voice her disgust, now drawing the attention of the other 19 customers, she shoves the 20 DM bill back and gives me the change from the 150. As I reflected on that moment later, all she wanted was correct change.

You would think the ordeal would be over, but not hardly. The last game is called "Grab n' Pack." Here are the rules: once you pay, you have until the next person pays to have all your groceries bagged AND off the counter. It is a strenuous test of agility and ingenuity. The Germans have played this game for years with great success. Their concentration is unflinching, their technique is smooth, and their quickness unsurpassed by any foreigner. So having left a pool of sweat at the register, I move to end of the counter to begin a new puddle there. It is clear to all I have not mastered the art of "Grab n' Pack." I never make it in time. I always lose. The result: I incur the continued wrath from the cashier along with the person with whom my groceries are now mixed. It is such a frustrating end to a stressful workout.

With what little energy I have left I drag my overloaded shopping pull-cart, weary body and mind up five stories to our home. No need to worry about a family fitness membership, just send me shopping, Honey!

* "Einhundertvierunddreißig zwanzig" or 134.20 DM