Spandex scares me.

.
The couple of times, in my youth, that I ventured into one of the chain workout establishments I was always confronted by young hard bodies that had no understanding or sympathy for an out of shape couch potato like me. It always seemed that you needed to be shape in order to walk through the door in the first place. Sort of like the old problem with dictionaries. You need to be able to spell the word in order to look up the word you can’t spell.

However, this time I found a way to get around that. The hospital that did my stint is one of the biggest cardiovascular centers in the South. The neat thing here is that they have a health center across the street. I figured that the people using that center would be more like me; old, tired with a bad heart or other disabilities. The main thing is that the personal trainers would more likely know how to deal with non-spandex clad bodies. Turned out to be true.

And, even better they had a lap pool. “Perfect for the winter,” I thought, “I’ll be in doors where I will be warm, and while wet, I’ll be out of the rain.” So I join.

The first day at the pool I was ready and I looked cool. New swimsuit covered my modesty and new goggles covered my eyes. In I go and off I go, for about 5 meters. In my youth I was a pretty good swimmer so I really wasn’t worried about my ability to stay above the water. What worried me were now many laps I would be able to get in before I tired. I was thinking of laps, not meters.

I have a pretty good back stoke, I can pull myself swiftly through the water, or at least I could. As I started my swim I became aware that my feet are touching the bottom of the pool. My arms are going like crazy but my feet are touching the bottom of the pool. I stop, shake my head, and take off again. I get just about five meters along when I find that my feet are at the bottom of the pool. This happens about four more times before I get to the end of the lane. I look around and see that no one seems to be paying attention to me, so I walk through the water back to my starting point.

I start off again and again in about five meters my feet are at the bottom of the pool. My body has forgotten how to swim. Had you been standing out side the pool watching me, you would have seen an older gentleman cutting through the water propelled by strong powerful graceful stokes. But, from your vantage point you wouldn’t have been able to see his feet walking along the bottom.

Stoke and walk, stoke and walk, no matter how you stack it, it really isn’t swimming. So I spent the next hour walking up and back the lane, telling myself that walking in water was good because the resistance made it a tougher walk. It’s not walking to work, but it is still walking.

But, have no fear I haven’t given up. I have developed a cunning plan. More on this at a latter date.