Darryl the Curmudgeon used to swim at the Rec Center every day, like a tugboat, slow and steady, back and forth, with his snorkel mask on. He never lifted his head out of the water and he just kept crawling along, left elbow up, long arm extended forward, pull down, right elbow up, long arm forward, pull, long feet fluttering along at the ends of very long white legs. A mile would take about an hour. If I ever swam next to him in the lane, I could expect to pass him at exactly the same spot after exactly the same number of laps. His doggedness was inspirational (he was a lifelong athlete, originally a great runner).
Afterwards he limped over to the hot tub for his moment of bliss. He had a practice of pretending he couldn't hear so no one would speak to him. If they tried to get his attention, he would just smile and cup his ear and look brightly sorry not to be able to answer.
This Rec Center has been a regular part of my winter for 30 years. Amazingly, not much has changed in 30 years, despite occasional renovations and updates to the tropical mural on the wall. The swimmers are timeless -- a perpetual group of mostly older ladies doing water aerobics in the shallow part, and sometimes there is a group of mostly older ladies doing deep water exercise at the other end. They spend a lot of time chatting while the teacher on the side of the pool urges them to walk or hop sideways to the music. The lap lanes have a few fast swimmers but there are many more older, lumpy folks plugging along. I am right at home at this pool. There is nothing fancy about it. No towel service, no soft spaces in the changing room. It is basic and luxurious at the same time.
Today in the hot tub there were three elderly ladies having a jolly conversation about nothing much. They had just finished their aerobics class and they were feeling happy to be alive. Two of them got out to go to a class in the gym and one of them stayed longer to soak some more. I forget how we started talking, but I found a way to ask her if she had always been so dedicated to exercise. This topic has been on my mind, as many of you already know, and I was doing some random research. The woman was probably 70-something, she was heavy and not particularly athletic-looking. She had already told me that she comes to the Rec Center five days a week, for water aerobics and the recumbent bicycle and a weekly yoga class for seniors. She said, oh no, she had never done anything before about two years ago when she had another back surgery. Her doctor told her then that she could either melt into the couch and lose her ability to walk, ending up in a wheelchair, or she could get up and do something. She had always felt embarrassed about her body and didn't want to be seen in a bathing suit, even at the pool at her condo. But when the doctors told her what was awaiting her, she thought about it and decided it didn't matter what people thought of her. When she first came to the Rec Center to see about a water walking class, one of the ladies welcomed her and made her feel like she was part of the group immediately. Because of that warm welcome, she began to exercise. Recently she went to lunch with some former colleagues and they remarked on how healthy she looked.
Many lessons there. First, it is never too late to learn to exercise. Second, it helps to do it in a group. Third, it is very nice to be welcomed. Fourth, if you feel like you are part of a group, you will keep going even if you don't want to sometimes (she says she hates to get up in the morning, but she goes to 7:30 classes every day anyway). Fifth, it does not matter a bit what you look like in a bathing suit.
I knew all of this already, of course, but I only know it from personal experience or the experience of family members. I hadn't heard it from a lifelong couch potato.
I am related to lots of exercisers -- sisters, aunts, mother, sisters-in-law and even now my mother-in-law. It is hard not to want to proselytize to the others who are not yet exercisers. I am encouraged by the Hot Tub Lady, though. She gave me hope. Just got to find the right button to push, without being pushy.
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