My Cunning Plan

Okay, so I’m getting old and therefore have the kind of problems that old people can have. Trouble getting out of bed, shortness of breath, and distress over plumbing issues and of course, the perennial worry, loss of memory. Have you ever had the problem of going into a room and then can’t remember why you came into the room? A sure sign of growing old, unfortunately for me, that problem started in my early 30s.

I had assumed that when your mind started its decent into the fog of forgetfulness you would not be able to remember people, places or even worse, lunch. But, never in my wildest imagination did I expect that I would forget how to swim. But there I was in the pool stroking away and walking like mad. No matter how hard I kicked my legs I always ended up walking along the bottom of the pool.

I get out of the pool sad and a bit discouraged. As I walk back to the front I see a sign on the lap pool door. “Tonight’s Water Aerobics Class has been canceled. Class at the usual time tomorrow.” “There you go, water aerobics. I’ll try that,” I thought. “I can do that for a couple of sessions, get a light workout in, and try to recover my swimming memory.” Thus was born my cunning plan,

The next night I suit up, shower, and walk to the lap pool. Two things, one I was thinking about and shouldn’t and one I was not thinking about, but should have been. I was pondering the rule of taking a shower before getting into the pool. This was a hard and fast rule. I guess it makes since, stop the spreading of germs and such, but on the other hand I had been in that pool yesterday and there was enough chlorine to bleach a shark. Seemed to me to be a bit like the old English saying, “hauling cold to Newcastle.”

As an aside: Now that the cold pits have been closed down will the British have to change that expression?

What I should have been thinking about was why were there no men in the locker room or in the shower? Then I walked through the door and 29 eyes turned toward me. Believe it or not, if I’m lying, I’m dying; there was a woman in the pool with a patch over her left eye.

When I was younger, maybe 30 years ago, I walked into a women’s beauty salon. All conversation stopped and all the women watched me as I walked to the front desk and asked for someone I was supposed to meet there. A chilly receptionist informed me, in a hushed low voice that Judy and already left, but the underlining tone was, “go away and don’t come back.” As I walked back out the front door, in complete silence, all eyes tracked my retreat. I walked through the front door, giving thanks to any available deity for my life, I paused a second, just out of site, and like flipping a switch, all conversation started up again.

That’s what it was like when I walked into that lap pool. Fifteen chilly, and in this case wet, women gazing up at me and on each face I could see, “Just what the hell are you doing in here?” I had broken up, what appeared to be, a girls club meeting.

I use the term “girls” with care. I know in the day of political correctness it is demeaning to use the term girls. However, from the look of the some of the females in the pool, it had be at least 50 years since they had heard that term applied to them. So, maybe I’m doing them a favor. At least that is my position and that is what I am defending.

I almost froze, almost but not quite. I sensed that to show any fear would not be a prudent thing. Smiling and nodding a warm hello to them, I walked to the pool ladder and lowered myself into the water. The women moved back giving me lots of room. When the instructor came into the room, also a woman, she looked at me as though she was looking at a “what’s wrong with this picture,” puzzle. However, bravely she soldiered on.

So there was my introduction to water aerobics, 15 surly women cramped on one side of the pool and a cheerful, watchful, very careful me, with plenty of room on the other. Never once in the entire hour did I turn my back on any of them.