The Endless Pool

 

Today’s question: can trying to avoid drowning count as a work out? My body is still being a bit stupid and I have to be creative with my workouts. Running – bad. Spin class – bad (for now, but good soon I hope!) Elliptical – been doing it so much it is a bit boring. So I thought, Why not try the “endless pool” at my gym. It’s a small 10 x 6 foot rectangle but you can swim in it because you can turn on a current.  Sounds fun, like a ride at an amusement park!! And all the people say swimming is the best thing for me... So I reserve my hour long session and head to the gym.  On the way, a little bit of doubt creeps in because I don’t swim. Never have. I just don’t drown. I make the motions of swimming in a general direction and kick for the surface till I get air. Most of the time, I am out of breath; not from the work out, but because I am drowning. 

In fact, a long time ago, I decided I would be an avid (aka thin) swimmer and took up the sport. I never lost any weight and the process was so involved with hair washing and chlorine and knots in the hair that I got rather frustrated. So one day, Al came to the pool to “see what I was doing wrong” because he had grown up by the beach and could swim his way out of a rip tide if required. (Also, I think he was sick of me complaining that I was working out so hard and not losing weight and just in general complaining.) So he came and walked along side of me while I swam a length of the pool. When I reached the end, I looked up hopeful he would have one or two easy fixes. Instead he says,

‘What are you doing??’

I have no response to this because I thought it was clear I was …swimming…

He says ‘I mean, you are moving along, slowly, but you are like a foot below the surface. Every time you want to take a breath, you have to doggy paddle your way to the top.’ I agree this is what it feels like and then he just shrugs his shoulders and offers no further advice except ‘maybe you should try some other form of exercise.’
So, because I am in significantly better shape than those dark days, I think swimming should be better… but I was wrong. I arrive at the gym and say, to the perfect bronze god at the front desk, ‘Hey it’s my first time using the endless pool. Is there anything I need to know, like how to turn it on or is it pretty straightforward?’

 

‘Umm yeah someone needs to help you,’ he says, calling for backup.

I am led down the hall trying to explain why I am limping in ten words or less. I find it awkward to have a disease that no one really understands but think they do. It would be better if I could not limp at all but I digress…

The back up bronze goddess leads me into the room with two pools and explains I am in the shallow pool. I think to myself, I wish I was in the deep pool because that seems like the grown up pool… She walks me through how to turn it on and etiquette for changing room use. (Apparently leaving your clothes in there - bad but judging by the state of it, leaving tiny curly hairs everywhere - fine…) Then she says, ‘Now, there is an emergency button up here,’ she says reaching up high on a pole outside the pool. ‘So if you are drowning, get out of the pool and push this.’ (To be fair, she clearly realizes this is ridiculous but is contractually obligated to have the conversation with me.)

I am excited and dressed in my new bathing suit that I bought about twenty-pounds-heavier ago so it is a little loose but loose clothes make me happy. I struggle with the pool’s stupid bubble wrap cover because my hands have ceased to be functioning as hands and have decided to be stumps. Eventually I get in and turn on the current. I am confident and turn that puppy up to ten miles per hour. And I start “jogging”; well, more like just trying to stay upright. I notice that the current is in the middle and so I think to myself, on the edges it must be going the other way so maybe I can do something like laps! I try running along the outside edge against the weaker reverse current and my plan is to run up against the fast current from the back of the pool. Unfortunately, when I reach the back of the pool I lean down. I have no idea why but I do. The full force of the current slams into my chest pinning me against the back wall of the pool. I cannot get up. I am flailing and eyeing the emergency button which is 15 feet away and, let’s remember, out of the pool. I flail my arms and legs and charge forward against the current when another swimmer enters the room. I do my best to look like I should be in the pool but he is not buying it. I struggle forward to turn down the current and decide I better swim if this guy is going to be in here because the loose swimming suit is doing nothing to hold important bits in place as I flail/run. I put on my daughters goggles, only one size too small, and start “swimming”.

 I notice this little pool has a mirror. I am not sure what for … watching your form? Or, what I used it for, watching my wobbly bits wobble and making sure my swimming suit stayed up as the current was determined to pull it down. (As a side note, it also helped me figure out I was wearing the tiny goggles upside down which was why they were cutting into my nose.) But most of the time, I watch as I sink below the surface flailing frantically and then lose the view because the current is tossing me to the back of the pool again. I spend the rest of the hour trying not to die and switching between jogging when no one is looking, “swimming” and trying to fix the mat that keeps slipping every time I run on it.

It is at this point that I looked up and saw the sign that said “warning: this area under video surveillance.”

I may be paranoid but the golden god at the front desk looked awfully giggly when I returned the key…

 

As far as swimming being better for me, I am now nursing a blister on my foot from the stupid mat... perhaps another form of exercise…