The Upstory

I used to swim five days a week. Eight laps. 400 meters. Shower. Leave.

On my way out I’d look through the view windows and the Greatest Generation guy who was swimming when I arrived would still be swimming. I was told he sometimes swam laps for two hours.

There was also a Michael Phelps guy who swam about three laps for every one of mine.

There was a guy in a Speedo who swam with a snorkel and fins. And let’s not forget the woman who wore a shower cap and never got her hair or face wet. She used her lane to do water aerobics and she had no one to talk to so if any of the rest of us took a break in between laps, she would crank up a conversation.

We each had our own gig and there wasn’t much drama.

Except for the time the gym staff tried to close the pool. They posted signage that said “Pool will be closed for repairs.” The key words were “will be.” That doesn’t mean “now.” So, a couple of us bypassed the sign and proceeded to do laps.

Oh my! The staff, from their vantage point at the front desk, can see through the enormous wall of view windows that overlook the pool. One of them, a tall athletic blonde Amazon came running.

She stuck her hand in the lanes we were using and waved underwater for us to STOP. I did but the other swimmer, the Michael Phelps guy, kept going. He got to the “stop” hand, executed a mighty flip turn, splashed Madame Amazon, and shot off down his lane. Mind you it’s 5:30 in the morning and way too early for a mutiny but here we were.

With Mr. Phelps out of reach, the focus switched to the other lawbreaker, me, and I was getting a lecture about following the rules. But not for nothing was I a professional wordsmith for 37 years and I stood my ground explaining that “Pool will be closed” is not the same thing as “Pool is closed.”

Amazon Woman conceded the point and radioed back to base camp to revise the signage and get it posted pronto.

She was still trying to flag down Mr. Phelps who was still flailing away at warp speed and she’s got me still there wanting to know why we have to get out of the pool. Finally, it occurs to her to explain what’s happening. It turns out that someone had dumped too many chemicals in the pool and we were going to need medical attention if we didn’t Get. Out. Now.

Well alrighty then. That should also be on the sign. In fact, the sign should say: Pool contains sulfuric acid, hydrochloric acid, sodium hydroxide, lime, silver nitrate, and hydrogen peroxide. Swim at your own risk.

By now I was curious to see how the battle of the sexes would end so I stayed to watch and Amazon did indeed prevail. Michael Phelps finally churned his way to the end of his laps and then exited the pool telling her that he was in the water and couldn’t hear her.

Evidently, he still couldn’t hear her after he got out of the water even though it sounded like she was speaking through a megaphone. He must have thought she was telling him to escape to the men’s locker room because that’s what he did.

Lane Sharing
My gym pool is sectioned off to create lanes for swimmers and a sign says to not hog the lane for too long if there are more people than lanes. There’s no mention about lane-sharing.

But let me tell you, it’s a thing. My first experience with sharing a lane was with a woman who had brought her dog to the pool. Ostensibly the dog was a therapy dog, although he wasn’t wearing any therapy dog signage and was running around the pool deck barking at his owner like regular not-therapy dogs do.

Dog Lady said she was going to be swimming for a while but I was welcome to join her in her lane. So, I gave it a try. We didn’t have any luck swimming side-by-side. We tried swimming from opposite ends of the pool. I had to watch where I was going so I didn’t bump into Dog Woman (although, from the barking, I could kinda figure out which end of the pool she was in).

Anyway, I discovered that lane-sharing wasn’t for me. I’d rather wait for a lane to open up.

Then came the day when someone asked me if I minded sharing my lane with her. There are all variations of swimmers at my gym. Some are there to soak-and-gab, some are there to get exercise, and some are swimming like they’re training for the Olympics. This woman was going for the gold. She came on strong and urgent. I hesitated a fraction of a second too long while I tried to come up with a palatable version of “yes I mind” and Lap Woman said “Never Mind.”

Alrighty then. And I resumed my laps.

But “never mind” meant that she actually did mind. The next thing I know she’s motoring past me in the next lane. She had asked the guy who was in the shallow end next to me, working out with aquatic dumbbells, if he would be so kind as to let her swim in his lane.

She must have given him an earful because he intercepted me when I came up for air at the end of a lap.

First, he told me I “wasn’t a nice person.” What? Of course I’m a nice person. Look at my credentials. I have a dog. People with dogs are notoriously nice people. I’m still married so I must be nice or why else would my husband put up with me? I eat healthy. Oh wait. Scratch that. I let other drivers merge into my lane. See, that’s nice.

He told me Gym Pool Law required me to Share My Lane when someone asked. He pointed to the signage that said “50 swimmers maximum” and did the math for me explaining that four lanes divided into 50 swimmers means lane-sharing has to happen. Really.

There was more and I was getting antsy. I wanted Mr. Pool Monitor to break eye contact and be done. So, I came up with a brilliant idea. Well it was brilliant for 5:30 in the morning and for someone who hadn’t yet had her pot of coffee.

I told Pool Monitor Guy that, OK let me make things right with Olympic Woman who had been powering back and forth doing laps between us while I was being re-educated.

He liked that idea. Now we were getting somewhere. He was Sir Galahad helping damsels in distress. He was Henry Kissinger brokering détente with foreign countries.

But now we had the problem of getting Olympic Woman to come up for air for her apology.

I stuck my hand in the water where she could see the “stop” motion. She swam up to my hand, did a flip turn and swam off. Oh my!

Mr. Pool Monitor looked concerned. I tried again further down the lane and she swam around my hand.

Now Mr. Pool Monitor realizes he can’t broker a peace treaty if he can’t get the other side to the table. Mind you Mr. Pool Monitor is a large man. He is tall and almost the width of the lane. So, when he decided to take matters into his own hands, he had the girth and the substance to do so.

He could and did block the lane.

Olympic Woman came motoring up to the blocked wall of Mr. Monitor. She stood up and stared at him and with a grand gesture worthy of Sir Walter Raleigh he stood aside and waved her over to me.

I introduced myself “Hi, I’m RaMar.”

She looked at me and I think the thought balloon over her head said: “And I care why?”

Me: “I didn’t realize lane-sharing was a requirement but our friend here has explained to me that you didn’t even have to ask me to share my lane you could have just jumped in and I had no say in the matter.”

Her: (as I’m talking, she begins rapidly bobbing her head at me and saying “uh-huh, uh-huh, ok, ok” which is the universal language “hurry up and shut up.”)

Me: Sorry about that. Now that I know I’ll be happy to share a lane with you next time.

Her: Uh-huh, uh-huh. (Bob, bob.)

Me: (Thought balloon over my head: OK, I’m done. Are you going to accept my mea culpa so we can be friends and Henry Kissinger can retire with a chest full of mediation medals?)

Her: (Thought balloon: Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.)

Her: Swims off like she’s being chased by sharks.

So that concluded that morning’s drama. Mr. Pool Monitor and I parted ways and I haven’t seen him since. I do see Olympic Woman from time to time and so far, surprise surprise, we haven’t lane-shared.

The Locker Room
Hi. Bye. Have a good one. That’s about all you need to say to your sistahs in the locker room. These women are busy and focused. They are running hair dryers. They are applying cosmetics. They are climbing into the outfit they’re going to wear to work. They are on the clock.

Except for one woman who I call The Mayor. This lady makes it her business to meet everybody and works the room like she’s running for office.

I know she’s arrived at the gym because she’s either draped over the check-in counter talking to the check-in person or she’s parked next to a piece of gym equipment chatting up whoever is doing their work-out.

She makes the rounds and does more monologues than Jay Leno. She has all the news and gives all the news. Everyone else just nods and listens.

Every so often she will do a few minutes on a stationary bike but only if the bike next to her has someone on it that she can talk to.

No one seems to mind except for one time when it got a little loud and she could be heard saying, “I was just trying to help” before she shoved off to her next chat station. A few times she’s come my way and I had to think fast before she got to me.

I may seem friendly and approachable and most of the time I am. But this isn’t one of those times. I don’t want to be #43 in the conversational circuit at the gym where I’m trying to get something done and then leave for somewhere else.

Fortunately for me #26 on her list suddenly crossed her path and she swerved off to do a #26 monologue.

Odd gym moments

There’s a guy who walks on the treadmill while he’s reading the newspaper. Yes, I’ve seen people read screens on their phones while they work out and maybe they’re looking at digital news. But this dude, who looked like Donald Sutherland’s brother, opens a print newspaper and spreads it across the grab bars of the treadmill. He walks and reads. He turns pages and walks and reads. He is well informed and well exercised just like the people listening to ear buds and watching flat screens.

Our gym installed giant tires used for an exercise aptly named “tire-flipping” The way it works is that you squat down and lift the tire onto its side, then push to flip it over. If you’re not winded after the first flip you can keep your workout going by flipping the tire repeatedly and quickly over a certain distance. Glenn watched a guy vigorously struggle to flip the tire, then struggle to flip it some more. When he finally flipped to where Glenn was standing, sweating and out of breath (the guy, not Glenn), Glenn said, “Hey wouldn’t it be easier if you just rolled it down the lane?”

Fortunately, the guy appreciated Glenn’s humor and they both had a laugh.

Going back to the gym

Anyway, the gym has reopened now and I am girding my loins and getting ready to plunge back into my aquatic fitness routine. Wish me luck!