Today was one of those amazing swims. I know – I think the same thing you do: how is that possible? How could one swim be better than another? Isn’t the pool always the same temperature? Isn’t pool water, well, water? You would think but today the pool felt especially warm. And despite the chill of the October air, somehow, at 8 am, this morning, I felt warm inside and rested and hit the water with the confidence of a spoon about to dig into a silky mousse knowing that only pleasure, no pain, lies ahead. And so it was. But there’s more. In the deep end, where I reside for 30 water-logged minutes, there were actually three free lanes, void of kickers, splashers, thrashers – the usually swim folk or break up the water and make me think (as opposed to mindlessly doing the laps I do).Of course in the shower room, there mammoths were all there, in attendance of water Pilates or whatever they do. Who ARE these women? They are huge! Each in excess of 5’ 10, and 250 pound pounds. Hearty girls, as Dana would call them. They come to the showers in groups –not unlike an ancient herd of prehistoric somethings. They are wonderfully, gladly old, as if they were born at 72 years of age and honed it to perfection. I want to get me some of that. They talk and laugh as they take turns in the showers, sporting bathing suits that are veritable acres of black spandex – vistas of Speedo. Without exception, they are all white-haired or piercingly yellow, blond wavy hair like Coca-Cola ads from 1940 for goodness sakes and have ruddy faces, not unlike sailors of turn of the century Maine. If they register me at all, which is rare – for so much concentration seems put into heavily pawing their way to the shower watering hole, they blandly smile and nod, like prehistoric gargantuans kindly, witlessly noticing a small bird or tiny harmless creature. Slowly, heavily, they are always so happy! I like that about them and always make a mental note to come back in another life as a big, uncomplicated, woman of no particular ethnic identity, blessed with equal largesse and grandiosity of spirit. It is a world that celebrates midriff bulge (versus yours truly who will not yet say die and let it all go).
Oh.
How
I Wish.
But still and this is important. They are there to swim and otherwise paddle about and what they lack in finesse and water wings, they make up for in diligence (after all, it is cold out, it IS Fall and they, like I, are here). I admire that. It says what I can become, give or take 20 more years of these early morning swims I do.I am not a great swimmer but I am regular. It is one of those out of character things I do. I suppose you figured me for a yoga sort (which I do resentfully and reluctantly) but parts of me are gleefully against type. Something about the water and the single-mindedness of swimming laps appeals.
Of course, as soon as I made a gratitude blessing to the empty, gloriously free laneways in the deep end Helga showed up. No, I don’t know her real name but I took the liberty of naming her and thus far, she has not protested. Of course, we have yet to introduce ourselves (pool protocol is still unfolding) and so she has no idea of who she is in my world. At any rate, she is the reverse of the mammoths. The anti-Christ of Rotund, she is the next species. Lean, mean, with one of those permanent grimaces you mistake as a constant, albeit hostile smile, navy rubber bathing cap and all sinews and corded muscles. I know she has been eating mueslix for 50 years - that's a given and probably eschews chocolate and tells you to 'have a piece of fruit for dessert if you're still hungry'.
Do you know those people? I don't get fruit for dessert. I didn't do 4 years of pastry at hotel school to offer a 'nice, fresh, slice of melon' for dessert.
Somewhere around 74, or leastways this is what one of the mammoths told me a few weeks ago, Helga took up swimming after some hip replacement necessitated she change exercise (no doubt she was a cross country skier before that) and now of course, outswims even Macho Man in Lane 2. There is discipline and there is Relentless Stamina and she has it all covered.
The problem with Helga is that she is a splasher and also wears fins. Why fins? Why frozen yogurt? Some things have no answer. At any rate, she causes such waves and havoc and General Water Disturbance that a seal on Ecstasy could not create more disruption in Walden Pond Waterways than this woman. If you get in her way, she kicks you or claws you or otherwise bumps you over. Oblivious. Brutally strong - with that added strength born of imperviousness - another trait they do not sell at the dollar store. Anyway, that still left at least one lane free and I mermaided my way over to it and was happy –free and alone. Which is the whole point of swimming versus the gym wherein I will have to talk to people. Sometimes. Sometimes I end up in front of the TV on the only free treadmill and face off against Rachel Ray. But that is another tale for another day. Two more splashers came but I outswam and used the Helga technique (kick out sideways, pretend you did not notice you slugged their thigh with your foot, keep swiming) both Macho Man and the Skinny Sad Eyes Fellow with the goggles.I did a few of my barnacle imitations (you cling to the pool wall like a barnacle. No one knows what this is except my youngest son who understands why it is fun and funny even though it is something I started when I was like, 13).
By 9 am it was time to go. The polo club and synchro girls arrived anyway and the pool happy hour was done.
Got home.
Started writing.
A good day. A good start. Life is…..good. It features aqua tiles and an old towel and smells like chloride. Pool water.
Some days, it smells like perfume.
