SWIMMING IN OLD SOUP
So today Marcy invited me to be her guest at the YMCA. I am renting a room from Marcy while I find an amazing place to live. So Marcy asks if I would like to join her for Pilates. My memories of the last Pilates class that I took were that it was boring and boring so I decided that I would do some swimming. I love me some pool time.
So we arrived at the Y… changed in the locker room in the company of female wrinkles, ripples and nobby knees, not to mention a very intersting array of saggy boobies and wild pubic hair. Marcy took off to her Pilates class and I ventured into the showers where I ran into the above mentioned features, now covered in soap and water.
Next. I finished showering, with my suit on… I stepped through one set of doors into a tiny and wet space to find another door that leads to the pool. This is a safety feature so that any little boys that might be walking by the entrance to the ladies locker room don’t catch glimpse of something that might make them decide to become gay.
Okidoke. Pool time. Alright, so the pool is chock full of skinny, fat, short, tall wrinkled and hairy versions of older ladies. I would say that the average age was about 90. Outside of the pool stood a blonde woman, late thirties with a micro phone and pit stains. She was teaching some type of water aerobicsy type of class. So. After being informed that the class would last for at least another 25 mintues I decided that I would join in.
Stretching. The instructor asked us to carefully put a leg out and stretch our toe up. We then followed suit with the other leg. Then we were asked to stretch our arms over our heads. When we were instructed to walk forward to back in the pool, one or more of the swimming cap clad ladies would inevitably step right into me. So it was interesing to be in this very large indoor pool surrounded by ladies that would more thank likely be dead in the next five years. The instructor was probably wondering what the hell I was doing there. So, I wondered when the aerobics part would begin and the stretching would end when mrs. Blonde instructor lady says, “thanks ladies!... good job”
So most of the bouyant raisins scattered for drier territory and I decided some laps would be nice. So I dodged a few swim caps and ended my wet and wrinkly adventure with a dip in the jacuzzi. The water was very hot and next to the little steps was a strange tube like contraption that gargled water and spit up occasionally, like something out of MASH.
There I sat, now accompanied by the male version of sagging boobs, wrinkled skin and knobby knees. He had bright blue eyes and tan skin. One of the ladies looked a little like me… a nutter butter with legs. I watched everyone carefully and occasionally closed my eyes and breathed in the chlorinated air. You probably wouldn’t guess by my descriptions that I love old people, but I really do. These particular folks inspire me. They could be at home in the barka lounger complaining about their hip replacement, but instead they schlep over the the Y, strap on their spandex and dive into life because they know it is short.
I think I will go back this week for senior water tai chi.