My gym is better than your gym because it's so much more.

I finished watching Gilmore Girls about a month ago, and I really had nothing else to do in my free time, so I joined a gym. And. It’s. Just. Better. Than. Yours. Come visit; I have 5 guest passes! (otherwise it's going to cost you 25 KD)

According to Resident-Bruin-for-Life Kim Hamblin, "one cannot 'un-Suzy Suzy.'" Yet, here's Kuwait trying to accomplish this mission. Evidence: (1) I love to run outside, and here I've never wanted to work out inside so badly. (2) Since I can't dance in public - yup, it's illegal - I "dance" on the treadmill. This has resulted in one major bruise on my mid-thigh and some awkward looks from fellow patrons who obviously have not heard Miley Cyrus' Party in the USA and instantly felt like the champion of the world. (3) I can't walk around the locker room naked; seriously, I love naked. For perspective, though, the ratio of men to women is probably 23:1. Is this normal for a gym? I don't know, but the odds are forever in my favor.

This lavish vacationland all started because Rosie, my high-fashion, well-traveled, sophisticated partner in crime, dutifully did her pre-arrival in Kuwait research. Admittedly, I lived true to my recent motto “I just show up” before I materialized in Kuwait. I made sure I could fit a few exercise items: my small foam roller and jump rope in addition to my aforementioned mass quantity of toiletry necessities in my five suitcases, but I was wholly unprepared for and highly overwhelmed by the quality of this gym.

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Sidebar: Since I didn’t mention it before, and I don’t want to seem as though I brought everything but the kitchen sink with me to Kuwait, I bought a standard 3-piece (29”, 25” & 21”) luggage set on Amazon, used my parent’s silver 29” hardside, and my 21” fun-size carry-on. I wasn’t traveling with five colossal sacks, man.

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Let me be Tour Guide Barbie here and walk you through a relaxing, luxurious day at what is essentially an escape from the contradictions of Kuwaiti society for the ex-pats. The Al Corniche Club is a fancy beach resort and spa that asserts to be my "home away from home." So, I ask, where is the MF champagne? The opulence of these types of clubs is indicative of The Village back in Arizona if you’ve had the chance to take a class there or enjoy a massage. I never paid the price of admission as I have several lovely friends who have let me in on a guest pass.

On our complementary visit we got lost in the enormity of the locker room at least three times and mocked the modesty signs: “#nonakedness” until we remembered we were still in a Muslim country. We gazed through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the Arabian Gulf at Kuwait City from the elliptical machines that had weights on the side to lift while striding if your balance is sturdy enough. Afterwards, we plopped down on our private, manicured beach drinking juice in the daylight. I learned the hard way that the briny Arabian Gulf really lets you know if you’ve nicked yourself shaving. I only have one complaint so far: dingbat men on deafening jet skis outside of the barriers making unnecessarily high waves. We were not sure if they were paid by the club to turn our safe space into a Big Surf first-in-the-nation-1969 wave pool, generate business for the rental companies, or if they were just attention-seeking douchebags.

Nonetheless, we gleefully signed up, and have found out since that many of our new Kuwaiti friends spend much of their time there as well. Things are really falling into place.