Gymnastics

'Wow!' Bill exclaims. 'This is new.'

Bill and Doris are strolling along the seafront in San Sebastián, on holiday here once more, a pleasant habit developed after their first one-day visit long ago on a Canary Islands cruise.

They have just stopped to admire a clutch of new exercise machines installed on a broad stretch of pavement next to the beach. In fact there are two clutches, the second of which Bill has not yet noticed, fortunately.

He strolls over to the first clutch and strokes the handlebars of a static bicycle, a smart little device painted a bright, glossy green, quietly suggestive of health and ecological awareness. 'Nice. The old ones had got really tatty.'

'I'll give it a go,' he decides, and steps over the sensibly low frame to perch on the saddle.

'It's a bit small for you, Bill.' Her husband is not a big man but generously proportioned horizontally. On the exercise bike he looks like grandpa clowning around with little Jennifer's birthday bike.

Bill pedals briefly then dismounts, wincing. 'Saddle could do with a bit of padding.'

'Try the leg-swing thingy,' his wife suggests tactfully. This is an updated version of the old one, a footplate at the end of a sturdy pendulum. You can stand on it with both feet and swing sideways, keeping your upper torso straight while allowing your swinging legs to oscillate your spine for you.

While Bill is having his spine bent to increasingly alarming angles his wife occupies the second of the twin pendulums, placing a single foot on the platform to swing one leg at a time. This feels good for the leg in some indefinable way, as long as you take care not to crash it into the static leg.

Bill slows his swinging to a stop and dismounts carefully. 'I'll have a go at the wheel.'

He heads towards a big green wheel like the helm of an old sailing ship, but he doesn't get there because – unfortunately – he has just noticed the second clutch of sporty devices, installed some distance away across the pavement. He potters over to take a look.

This is more serious stuff, a proper outdoor gymnasium with high bars, a mysterious ladder and a still more mysterious inclined bench. A slim young man in brightly coloured running gear is doing pull-ups on one of the bars. Bill gains a new gleam in his eye. He's remembering his youth when he used to row in long, narrow boats that flew like birds along the river and demanded serious gym training from their crew.

When the slim young man has completed his twenty pull-ups and trotted off along the coast, Bill positions himself under the bar.

'Bill...'

'It's alright Doris, don't fuss. I just want to see if I can still do it.'

Doris begins to look worried. Bill spits on the palms of both hands, rubs them together, rubs them on his Hawaiian holiday shorts then reaches upwards towards the bar. His extended fingers fall tantalisingly short, even when he rises on tiptoe.

'It's too bloody high.'

Doris looks relieved. 'It's meant for serious athletes, Bill, not old fogeys.'

Although stemming from wifely concern, this harsh realism is a mistake. Bill tenses himself again. 'I'll jump.'

'Bill!'

Bill jumps. His fingertips brush the bar. Encouraged, he crouches, takes a deep breath and launches himself upwards again. His fingers close around the bar and he hangs suspended above the ground.

'See?' he crows. 'I'm up.'

An elderly local strolling by pauses to look. Bill grins at him then, gritting his teeth in athletic concentration, he pulls upwards with both arms.

Nothing happens. He remains suspended at the same distance above the ground.

He tries again, his face contorting and turning pink. His fingertips turn a brighter shade of pink.

'I'm out of training, Doris,' he admits. 'I'll have to work up to this more slowly.'

'You're heavier than you used to be, Bill,' his wife points out comfortingly. 'Get down.'

Bill looks down at the ground. 'What, do I just drop?'

'No! Wait. You'll hurt yourself.' Doris places herself next to the dangling feet. 'I'll catch you.'

The elderly Gomeran joins her on the other side of the feet, wagging a finger in warning – 'Cuidado!' – followed by an enthusiastic but unfathomable monologue. Bill's Spanish is perfectly capable of ordering a beer but not of understanding complex instructions for descending safely from a high bar.

His adviser turns towards Doris and performs an impressively choreographed enaction of what Bill should do. Basically, bend his knees before dropping, to land springily like a parachutist.

'Bill, he says to bend your knees as you drop.'

Bill bends his knees, drops to the ground, staggers and is caught by Doris and the adviser.

'Gracias,' says Doris, smiling gratefully.

'Thank you,' says Bill, pulling his shirt back into place.

'De nada,' replies the adviser – think nothing of it. Then 'Buen día,' have a good day, and he strolls off chuckling.

'Let's go and have a beer,' says Bill.

-------------- NOTES --------------

The new machines are mostly straightforward replacements for what was there before, and very welcome. As the old ones deteriorated or fell apart and were removed, the local population gradually abandoned them. It might take some time for the daily habit of a session on the 'aparatos' to return.

Sadly, the greatest draw among the old machines has now gone. Two side-by-side metal seats, each with a set of pedals in front, were ideal for senior citizens to sit and observe the comings and goings on the beach, or to engage in conversation with a companion, while occasionally twiddling the pedals for a healthy flexing of the knees.

However, it's churlish to carp at a splendid set of outdoor gym equipment for free use, a great facility for the residents and a potent source of silly photos for one-day visitors from Tenerife.