Day Forty-Three

I got to the pool in time to do my customary and ideal ninety minutes.  The problem was, it was super busy.  All three lanes were filled with swimmers.  I hung up my towel, crept into the close lane, and started walking along the side.  The swimmer in that lane was very courteous to me, and very skilled.  He barely splashed on me at all, even though he passed by very closely.  It is true that having other swimmers in the pool disrupting the water provides more of a challenge to balance against the current, and a further opportunity to gain strength.  I tried to look at the bright side.

It sounded like someone was having a sneeze-fest at the other end of the pool, and I started to think, "What the --?"  But I soon realized that it was occupied by The Cougher.  She was pausing at the end of each lap to cough about twelve times, directly into the water.  She made no effort to not cough in the water.  Not that coughing into her hands would have done any good, because she was swimming.  In that case, I am pretty sure Miss Manners would say the polite thing for her to do would be to get out. 

I wanted to say "Get out" to her, but I couldn't think of a polite way to say it, and she wasn't going to listen to me, anyway, so I said nothing to her.  I did compliment the swimmer who was next to me, because he splashed on me less than half as much as she did, from the other lane.  She swam like a street sweeper plowing through that middle lane, then she coughed like she had tuberculosis at the end of each lap.  A few times, she coughed so deeply, it sounded like she was going to throw up into the pool, because it brought up that gagging sound.  It was highly unpleasant.

Often, when the pool is crowded, other people get out at some point. I could only hope.  An old man came out of the sauna and plopped himself down on the stairs, which meant I had to pass very closely by him as he just sat there, looking at me.  At one point, he lay down on the stairs.  If I'd had to get out of the pool at that point, I would have been unable to, unless I leapt over his body.  I don't know why people do that.  Anyway, he was on and off the steps a couple of times.  The woman who once rudely overtook my lane, kicking me out of it, came in, and, though she messed around in the jacuzzi and sauna for a while, she did eventually get in the middle lane with The Cougher.  

So then there were six of us in the pool.  It occurred to me then that, since the two people in the far and middle lanes were obviously fond of each other, maybe they could have shared a lane instead of taking up two-thirds of the pool with their splashy swimming.  But that did not seem to occur to them.  I started to hope, contrary to what I usually think, that the considerate swimmer in my lane would stay in my lane for the whole ninety minutes, to protect me from a whole lot of other people infiltrating it.  But, at twenty-five minutes, he exited.  

I knew this was going to happen, and it did: the bossy lady stepped over to share my lane instead of sharing with the splashy, sick girl.  She didn't take it over and kick me out, though, and she was only there a few minutes, fortunately.  However, with fifty-eight minutes still to go when she got out, I knew she might get in again before long.  My shoulders started knotting up.

The Chinese woman and her husband entered the pool area at about the time they always do, and I was happy to share my space with her.  Her poor husband got in the middle lane with The Cougher, who clobbered him pretty roundly with her clumsy flailing.  The Chinese woman, whose name I know but am not going to publish here, actually made a joke to me about The Cougher's swimming, so I knew I was not alone in my observations.  Whenever the splashy Cougher was going to pass her, she crowded closer to me to avoid being clobbered from the next lane.  I couldn't blame her.

The obvious, best relief would come, of course, when The Cougher and her boyfriend left.  They did not cut it short.  Sometimes, they teased me by pausing at the far end, or even taking off his cap, but, though they were in the pool when I got there, they remained in the pool until my fifty-seventh minute.  They were both wearing wet suits for some reason, and the guy started RUNNING around the pool, which every six-year-old knows is dangerous.  When an old man got in his way, that didn't slow him down.  He just ran around him.

It was a relief when they finally left.  The Chinese people had given up and gotten in the jacuzzi.  I was tempted to call over to my friend as The Cougher was walking out of the room, "You can get back in now--she's not going to cough or splash on you," but I lost my nerve.  Maybe I should have said it.  Maybe not.  I never know how to handle these things.  

But I did end up with thirty-three minutes alone in the pool, which was nice.  I didn't feel calm, because my feeling of peace had already been rattled, but it was far better than dodging other people had been.  I only had a guy with a scar on his belly to amuse me with his antics for that last half hour.  He alternated shower, sauna, steam room, jacuzzi on a pretty rapid schedule.  In the shower, he literally jumped up and down several times in rapid succession.  Or got down on his hands and knees.  Or moaned and indulged like maybe he forgot he was not at home.  I thought about reminding him that that particular shower is just to rinse off before getting in the pool, but I knew that was pointless.  

Twice, he dipped one of the filthy paddles that people sometimes use in the pool and more often use to sit on in the sauna into the pool to get it wet.  I decided I definitely would speak up if he did that again. That seemed like something that could be done in the shower, the purpose of which is to rinse off, rather than contaminating the pool I was walking in with it.  

Perhaps I am too shy.  Or perhaps I am just barely on this side of polite.  I can't tell.

I am finally putting on the birthday party for my middle son today, as soon as he gets home from his trip.  I don't know if he could tell if I used Swerve and part whole wheat flour in his cake, but I didn't, just in case.  I would not want him to think I had ruined his birthday cake for my own purposes.  It helped to immediately plunge the bowl and scraper into water as soon as I had emptied the bowl of batter.  I'll do the same with the frosting.  The confectioner's Swerve is way too sweet, and I know he would notice that, so I will be doing regular frosting.  And there would be no point in making the cake edible to me if the frosting on top of it were not.  

However, it has recently occurred to me that, even though it might seem like I am not losing weight, I probably am.  I think it quite possible that as people gain weight, if they are gaining it partly from exercising less, as I did because I hurt my knee, they are probably gaining more than they think.  As they lose muscle tone and it is replaced with fat, they might see the scale and think they are not doing so badly, and keep on replacing heavier muscle with lighter fat until they are actually much fatter than twenty or whatever pounds more than they were.  I think that might have happened to me, and that even though it seems I've only lost five or six real pounds, I am likely rebuilding muscle through never missing an abs session and trying to work out more, while more fat is disappearing than I think.  At least, to think this way gives me hope.  And hope is what I need.