 As I meander through the streets, singing along to John Farnham via my headphones, patting dogs, looking in butcher shop windows, wondering if anyone buys those hula hoops outside the two-dollar shop, my legs often take me to an establishment that contains a bar pouring a healthy dose of crafty beers. I spend some time here, giving the taps a good workout.
The other day, something compelled me to walk in the opposite direction to the watering holes and I found myself ascending the stairs into a place I’ve often heard mentioned, but never really knew what went on inside its walls. You know, that place called the “gymnasium”. I looked around, there was more than one bar and not the beer drinking kind. There was a hall with weights and yoga mats instead of Bavarian beer tables and steins, and John Farnham was replaced by Katy Perry “songs”. How did I get here?
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