Thursday, October 17, 2013
THE WILDLIFE THAT YOU CAN FIND IN THE WATER.
And, once more, Mary and I lugged ourselves to the pool. I don't know about her but it took me some fancy talking to myself to make me do what's good for me. Today, though, there were no kids. It was a day for the adults' water exercises and laps' swimming. A lady-trainer stood by the side of the pool where ten or so aged or infirm or weight-enhanced (I too can be politically correct!) women stood in water and followed her commands and example. Others, who just wanted to swim, did so in the back of the pool. Because I am so short and nautically challenged (there you go, I'm getting better and better at it!), we were given a very narrow lane in front of the exercising group to walk in and do what we wanted. I find that, with age, I became somewhat of an exhibitionist. It was such a weird situation: us moving between the exercise leader, who kicked her legs and shouted admonishments to her group, and the ladies in the water. I offered Mary to do a little dance for them, a can-can, perhaps, but since I had trouble just staying on my feet, she laughed and refused. I then said that we might as well follow the exercises, but she was too conscientious for that: "No, Dina, we didn't pay to be in the group!" Fine! We walked and talked for about an hour. Mary took an opportunity to go to the deep end and swim, but, after a couple of laps, she was done. Cooked. Tuckered out. And so was I.
We made our way to the bathroom and the showers. I find that the hardest thing in swimming is getting dressed afterwards. Mary, obviously, shared my feelings, judging by the epithets I heard from her stall. It turned out that her wet foot got stuck in a pant leg. She stood on it but couldn't push the foot through. I offered to help, and she offered me the captive appendage under the stall's door, where I began to dig in and unravel her pant leg to find the foot.
As she and I hobbled, blowing out air like a couple of whales, to a bench in the front of the bathroom, I saw a lady there who seemed to be ill. She sat too still, with her head down, rubbing her chest and looking really pale. I asked her if she was OK. She replied that she didn't feel good, but will get better after some rest. I didn't think so. She began to gag, as if she wanted to throw up. I dragged a trash can to put in front of her. She threw up a little, and I ran (well, almost ran) to get a pool attendant. As we were leaving the place, the attendant began giving a lady some oxygen.
Do you also think that my life is too eventful? Is it me? Am I looking for trouble or do everyone also get things thrown at them all the time? Or am I just too preoccupied with myself to think that?