I think this might be my new thing: do something every day that scares you. The other day I drove to New York City and stayed in a hotel in a sketchy neighborhood, so I'm on a roll. Today I went to an AquaFit class at my new gym. This was scary because a) you have to wear a bathing suit b) the pool is situated with one wall of windows adjacent to the parking lot and the other wall of windows in the gym itself and c) you have to wear a bathing suit. The other tricky thing for me is that I'm pretty much blind without my glasses. Think Mr. Magoo at the gym trying to find the pool. When I was in middle school I took swimming lessons at the YMCA. Getting from the pool to to the girls' dressing room was my own personal Russial roulette: I had a 50/50 chance if I was going to feel my way to the boy's dressing room or the girl's. If I didn't hear screams when I opened the door, I knew I had made it to the girls side. (I just wanted to shout into the blur of the boy's side, It's okay! I can't see a thing!). This was also an issue at the beach. When I emerged from the sea, I would stand awkwardly at the shore line waiting for a family member to shout out my name, at which point I would follow the sound of their voice. I landed on many a blanket near to, but not on, my family's blanket, but after a while fellow beach goers got used to me and, after handing me a snack or cup of juice, would lead me back to my people. So the ol' glasses/pool/ocean dynamic has never been a comfortable one for me.
But - given the current state of unfitness and limitations due to injury/surgery, exercising in the water seems like a good idea. The first step was getting into my bathing suit, which fit fine before my rapid and dramatic weight gain. In what could have been fodder for a Myth Busters episode, I managed to wedge it on. At the gym, fully bespectacled, I entered the women's dressing room and saw some same aged, same lumpy-physiqued ladies. I asked them, Are you going to AquaFit? It's my first time. Now women being women, they love to help. They allowed me to follow them to the pool and showed me where the noodles were.
I opted for glasses on, noting that the men's dressing room was adjacent to the women's; same set up as the YMCA of my youth. I think the occupants of the men's changing room would be a bit less forgiving; also I would like to run for office someday, so I wanted to eliminate that possibility altogether. So fully sighted, I headed toward the pool.
The first thing I noticed was, All the other girls had on swim shoes! I didn't have on swim shoes; I had bare feet!!!!!! That was nearly enough to drive me out of the pool area. Instead, I pretended that I didn't notice I was the only one without swim shoes, and headed into the water. Some of the other gals had these snazzy webbed gloves but I didn't feel badly about that. I threaded my way through the pool dotted with spandex, until I landed at a spot that didn't seem to someone's regular spot (they never say anything; they just glare) and prepared for class.
Once the music started, I forgot about bare feet, parking lot gawkers and losing my glasses. I got caught up in keeping up as we performed jumping jacks and scissor kicks below the water line. It felt good to be moving once again, and the absence of judging mirrored walls that line most workout studios allowed me to concentrate on what I could do now, instead of what I used to look like. It was a success. I got a hot tip from my new best friends that water shoes were available for cheap at the local big box store, and that each class was a little different so you could vary your workout. And, confidently strolling past the men's changing room into the safety of the women's changing room, I realized I had conquered my fear. Scary thing for today - check.
