I joined the YMCA today. It’s a first. It’s free because of my retiree medical coverage. My body has been telling me I need movement but not just any kind of movement. With arthritic joints screaming at me daily and nightly, my body was clear that movement in water was the only way to go.
I had very carefully deciphered the Y’s webpage for senior activities. It’s somewhat inscrutable. However, there is a drop in class three afternoons a week called “Joints in Motion.”
Those who know me might be surprised to learn I am totally intimidated by gyms. Exclusive clubs make me paranoid. Historically, I’ve also been uncomfortable in pools having been too cold in them. The cold bothers me less in my older years.
I gathered myself up. Ronnie accompanied me to the front desk as she was already a member. The receptionist signed me up while I watched the seniors enter for their pool gig. I, too, came equipped with shorts and T-shirt ready to rumble.
I am not one who hates being a senior. I don’t get that “I can’t possibly be one of them” feeling. I’m not thrilled with what my body is doing but I don’t mind being older. Seeing the smiling, slow moving seniors greet each other in various states of mobility felt like seeing old friends. These are my people. Everyone was friendly and apparently glad to see each other.
I found our slow, cautious, careful movements both endearing and hysterical. We’re a creeping, slightly bobbing and weaving, grinding parade. It is clear we will get there with or without our walkers. It is less obvious how long it will take us. We have been moving determinedly through life for a lot of years. A few set backs on the way to the pool will not deter us. I take comfort in that. We look decrepit but we are a force of nature. Just try dissuading your grandmother from a path she’s determined to follow and you know what I’m saying.
The usual warmer pool was having a chlorine event so we were in the cooler, deeper pool. This delayed the launch at the entry steps as aging bodies prepared for cooler water. I was stunned when a woman who looked vaguely familiar asked if I was Joceile. I wondered if there was a warning sign about me somewhere. Many people look vaguely familiar to me now. I have more trouble differentiating faces. But no, it was a retiree from a state agency I worked at. Naturally, there’s no escaping the locals.
We all got our noodles to accompany us in our exercises. I exchanged names with a few women. Lots of my standard introduction, “It’s Joceile…It’s Joe-Seal as in Joe and Lucille put together.”
“What nationality is that?” I thought the Joe and Lucille might have been a hint.
“It sounds French but it’s my grandparents, Joe and Lucille put together.”
Sounds in gyms are terrible with or without my hearing aids. “Did you say your name was Carly or Carla?”
“Carla.”
“Car-LA?”
“Yes, Car-la.” Note to self, remember Carla with “LA” as in California, a nemonic trick.
Women strangers with similar hairstyles look the same to me as do balding men with grey beards. It doesn’t help that I’m not wearing my glasses in the pool. I have to get to know people so I can recognize them from more data points. There was one other person I knew, a lesbian from my specific Olympia demographic. We are everywhere. It was nice to see her.
During our class, a woman walking around outside the pool slipped and fell. She stayed down. All eyes swiveled to her laying there with the unfailing interest of cars passing a traffic accident. A life guard picked his way slowly over to help her up. None of us made a move to assist. After all, any one of us would have arrived ten minutes after she was up, recovered, and in the locker room. I was more interested in my classmates attention than watching the play by play. She appeared unharmed. I saw more than one person slip and catch themselves. “Walk very carefully,” I told myself. My mantra is, “No falling!”
Once spread out and settled, we proceeded to get instructions from our fearless leader, Teresa, which we promptly talked through, modified, or ignored altogether. It’s wonderful to be able to pay attention or not as the mood and competing interests strike. There are no penalties for not following directions or proper comportment. We were exempt from expectations. Just making it safely to the pool was a huge success. The fun lasted 45 minutes. A friend of mine remarked we sounded like a bunch of kindergarteners. That’s exactly what we are and like the younger set we are having a grand time unless one of us falls down and goes boom.
By the end, I was a bit cold. We all slowly climbed the stairs to make our creaky tortured way to the locker room. I basked in the hot shower 20 seconds at a time. It has an auto shut off feature. I got quickly attuned to reaching to turn it back on just before the 20 second mark enabling me to enjoy a semi-steady stream for several minutes.
We move slow. We dress slow. We leave slow. All of it was punctuated by smiles of encouragement to the tune of short narrations of our last injuries or surgeries. We are a lucky bunch. We’re still kicking, metaphorically speaking. Unless we’re in a pool, then we’re wholly inattentive, wriggling five year olds. I can’t wait to come back Wednesday!
Yours in Aging.
~ Joceile
12/12/23
[Random picture of older women in pool with noodles.]
