Why Moving to Amsterdam Made Me A Better Brit
And it’s nothing to do with the weed
Moving to Amsterdam made me fitter
Yes, fitter. And being fitter makes me feel better — surprise! In Britain, I wasn’t healthy, you see. Apart from being repulsed by the idea of sweating unnecessarily, I was a “ready meal for one” kinda girl.
A “whatever’s on special offer at TESCO” kinda person.
A “slump on the couch with my laptop till I need a wee, then repeat,” kind of human.
Not that I didn’t do a lot before moving to Amsterdam. I tried to be healthier in loads of other places.
Once in Sydney, in my mid-20s, I joined a yoga studio for $350 a year and went once. There always seemed to be some excuse not to go; usually, one that involved wine.
In New York I spent close to $600 and went to maybe… four classes.
In Dubai I looked at the gym a lot, mostly on my way back home from spending £50 a time on an all-you-can-eat-brunch.
In London I engaged in a three-month battle to cancel my Fitness First membership, having been to one class. This resulted in sweat of the wrong kind and an attitude of rageful indignation every time I so much as passed a man in Adidas pants.
“I f***ing HATE the whole fitness industry and everything you stand for!”
Also translated as: “Stop rubbing my face in my own self-indulgence and inadequacies!”
Until moving to Amsterdam
Not only does everyone around me here seem fitter than they did in the UK somehow, which is motivating in a magical way; the gyms in Amsterdam are great. And because I’ve been an idiot before, I appreciate them now.
And because the city is small, I can cycle to all of them.
All year round.
I pay about 60 euros a month for unlimited gyms all over the city via OneFit. Cycling to them all makes me fitter before I’ve even done a workout. Plus it’s always a nice bike ride.
I like to wave to the people who aren’t working out along the way.
They don’t give a shit.
The Dutch are cool like that.
I never would have cycled in London. I’m sure a lot of people manage just fine, but big red double decker buses scare me; from inside as much as outside. Did you know there are traces of human poop on every seat?
I digress… now, since moving to Amsterdam, I am the type of person with a gym membership who uses her gym membership. I am also the type of person who looks forward to the gym. Finally.
It only took almost 40 years.
I smile in solidarity at every man in Adidas pants. We are one and the same. I finally rose to their level.
At first, I only did pilates classes. I like pilates. It’s the only thing that’s ever stuck — maybe because the commitment came with a sweet and surprisingly speedy reward. It gave me abs for the first time in my life, as soon as I made a routine of it. That was back when I was escaping reality/remote working in Bali a few years ago.
That’s where I got my first real taste of a healthier life.
Once I put so much moringa powder into my juice in an effort to be the healthiest version of myself ever, that on my way to pilates, I vomited all over my scooter.
I still went to that pilates class. I went to pilates four times a week in a beautiful studio in Ubud — the awesome instructor Asa now does online classes, by the way. (She’s worth it!)
Then, after moving to Amsterdam in 2016, I saw a bunch of super-toned people walking out of a studio, dripping with sweat. I thought… powders and pilates don’t make me look like that.
So I booked into a body pump class, along with those super-toned drippy people. I actually went. Then I went to another one.
I started to realise the merits of sweating.
I never looked back.
Maybe it’s a little to do with my age — I decided on moving to Amsterdam from London in my mid-thirties, at a time when a cheese fondue might have taken a little extra work to burn off than before.
But maybe it’s because it’s nice to feel healthier; fitter.
I enjoy the endorphins flooding my system; the knowledge that thanks to moving to Amsterdam, there isn’t a TESCO ready meal for miles.
There isn’t a TESCO anywhere to lure me back to bad habits. Yes, occasionally the cheese/burgers/chicken/vegan bacon/stroopwafels get me, but I cook now. I actually cook meals from scratch, because feeling healthier is additive, after a while.
Oh, TESCO, it’s not you, it’s me. I just couldn’t refuse your microwavable excuses for meals when I was amongst them. I was lazy.
Will you be working out today? If so, how, where?
And if not… well, don’t feel bad. Just don’t go to TESCO for a ready meal. That’s a start.
Every little helps.
And if you’re in Amsterdam, look me up. You can always borrow my bike :-)
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