Okay, you’re going to laugh at me.
But I don’t care. I can laugh your suspicious looks off my shoulders. All things feel liquid to me. I feel remarkably buoyant, alive, and tanned. Why, you might ask? What is my summer secret?
Water aerobics with senior citizens.
Nearly every day, at 11 am, I’m bobbing in the limpid blue water of the Magnolia outdoor pool. (More formally, the Lowery C. “Pop” Mounger pool.) Red ankle weights strapped to my calves, styrofoam buoys in my hand, I’m already dancing underwater. And over the course of the hour, I float and leap, execute awkward jumping jacks, and scissor kick my way to the shallow end. We fake being Kossack dancers in twelve feet of water. We pretend to be helicopters. We do crunches on our backs, with the deep end glittering below us.
Before you laugh too hard, you should know that it’s a damned fine workout.
In my previous life, I never would have done water aerobics. Oh sure, I love water avidly, but I used to body surf in the waves of Southern California beaches and do flips off the diving board. Always a water baby, I’m happy when I’m living languidly. But water aerobics? Too silly. Instead, I grunted at the gym, tried to love running, and pushed myself to more fitness. But a bad car accident in December of 2003 left me in crippling back pain, unable to move. The doctor recommended the pool. So I limped into the Queen Anne pool one morning to find dozens of snow-white heads bobbing in the water. I had misread the schedule–not lap swim, but Hydrofit. Oh well, I thought. How hard could it be?
The old people kicked my ass.
It’s a good workout, without being hard on the body. Those styrofoam buoys may look flimsy, but they take on the weight of the water. My arms have never been so toned. And you can do anything in water without taking pressure on your back. Within a few classes, I was hooked. I went almost religiously for the first six months. And now, my body healed and back to kayaking, yoga, and hiking, I’m still going to Hydrofit.
And by the way, those senior citizens are super cool. Mary, my 74-year-old friend, has a smoker’s laugh that fills the air when we talk about the missteps of the Mariners. Jean, who sounds just like Carol Channing, has been around the world a dozen times and shows no sign of stopping at 90. And there’s a 98-year-old guy there who’s in much better shape than I am. They have a wealth of living in them, and they’re centered, able to laugh at themselves, and alive. I’m starting to prefer them to my younger friends.
Since I’ve started writing this, I’ve looked out the window and seen at least a dozen guys on bicycles, sweating up the street, all of them pretending to be Lance Armstrong on his way to victory. Me? I’m planning on putting on my bathing suit soon, meandering over to Magnolia, and slipping into that warm water for another hour of bliss.
And maybe they’ll turn on the slide today!