thoughts on lap-swimmers

In an effort to maintain my cardiac fitness and mental well being, I recently joined the Wang/Theater District YMCA in Boston's Chinatown, which resides conveniently across the street from the hospital where I work.

I've taken to going to the Y in the mornings before work to swim laps to replace the now life-threatening activity of winter running, and the experience has been on the whole relatively drull. Aside from the rush of endorphines that sends me into a charged yet ethereal state as I prance through the revolving hospital doors at 8:30 am, there is little to speak of with regard to my mornings at the Y, save recent events.

You might glean from the institution's name that this is no ordinary Y. The ubiquitous conceptions of dim, halogen lighting, screaming children with pool noodles, and the occastional unsavory character/YMCA resident all hold true. The pool is heated to the temperature of old bath water to accomodate the sensitivities of the most populouso group of Y-members, the old people. The Wang YMCA is unique though, in comparison to the regular under-funded, after-school-nightmare-ridden Y that we all know and love. I enjoy being in the minority (as a white person) among the mostly Asian morning-workout contingency. Most people look as though they are about 152 years old, and plan on living another 200. I tower above most other women in the locker room, standing a grand 5 feet and 3 inches above the ground. Very little English is spoken in that locker room, and there are very few people at the Wang YMCA at 6:30 am. And this is perfectly fine for the average lap-swimmer, or runner, for that matter, who thrives on quiescence. Further, the consistency of such an environment is soothing - be as it may the hobgoblin of my little mind.

There was a change, however, yesterday in this atmosphere that I had become accustomed to. I swam back and forth, letting my mind wander wherever it would; all I remember now of the many thoughts that were percolating in there is the observation that "lap-swimmers are utterly oblivious to everything, self-included." This brilliant gem crossed my mind just after almost colliding with the wall at the end of the pool for the second time that morning; if it weren't for the big fat lines on the ground (that stop when the end is near) I surely would have given myself a subdural hemmorhage by now. I was able to generalize this thought after thinking back on the slow-moving oaf from the previous day who failed to recognize that his flailing limbs, a vast entanglement taking up the entire width of the lane, nearly pinched my head off on a couple of passes. Further, I thought, "but, how could anyone who was constantly oblivious make any kind of generalization about others, based on observations of their behavior?" Quite the conundrum.

Anyhow, this stream of brilliant philosophical thought was interrupted as a saw the body of a plump young Asian man drift underneath mine, skimming the bottom of the pool like a nurse shark. In a world where the black line on the bottom of the pool is a hypnotic vision, this was significant. There he was, practically diving for pearls at the bottom of the YMCA pool at seven in the morning. I came to the end of the black line (no longer as thrilling as it once was) at the same time as he did, turned around and pushed off as if I were still oblivious.

It was after a few more laps that I noticed that he was keeping up with me on every length, popping up from the murky depths every time I turned around. A bit more keen to this strange activity, I noticed that he was no longer skimming the bottom for algae, but actually staring straight at me, paddling sideways under water and watching my very-almost-naked body's every move. I did a blase' flip turn.

On land, this would have presented a Situation. However, in my blue, diluted world, I somehow remained aloof, letting the warm, chemically altered water act as a barrier between us, as if its density accounted for the lack of distance in between.

There is no firm ending it this story, most likely because I'm sure I lost interest in my Lochness stalker and drifted back into my incognizant lap-swimmer's world, engrossed in the life of the magical black line.