Hi friends and welcome newcomers!
I am dripping wet from water aerobics. And smiling.
Surprised? I am. Just nine weeks ago, I published “Do I Look Like a Water Aerobics Person?” I felt indignant at being seen as the sort of person who would take a water aerobics class. “When you look at me, I want you to see a swimmer,” I protested.
The pool ticket-taker who had mistakenly assumed I arrived for water aerobics “seemed to glimpse a Future Mariah who doesn’t swim anymore. Which scared me. I think I’m afraid of losing Mariah the Athlete.”
And I may be. Losing her, that is. Technically, I already have. I don’t compete anymore. I just swim, bike, or hike daily for fitness and for the immense joy of gliding through water and air. (I also relish a Ping Pong match now and then — such as a recent one, complete with trash talk, with my friend Robb.)1
“Athlete” is an identity that has shaped my entire life and career. I competed in five varsity sports in my two high schools; age-group and masters swimming; water polo; rowing; golf; and college and professional basketball. I published my first article about women’s sports in 1980.
“Think of yourself as an athlete,” I’ve preached to countless audiences. “I guarantee you it will change the way you walk, the way you work, and the decisions you make about leadership, teamwork, and success.”
But maybe the ticket-taker was right. Maybe he intuited that I could benefit from downshifting just a tad. Maybe, in my scarred shoulder, scarred and swollen knees, and knotty hands, he saw a former athlete who just might be wise enough by now to integrate some foam weights into her water workouts instead of freestyling and flip-turning all day.
Sometimes, we resist and resist until the resistance itself becomes absurd. Only now do I understand that the things we resist can become signposts, pointing us toward where we need to go.
The dripping point arrived when a friend invited me to join a water-aerobics class2 for people over 55. I’m over 55. I love water. I hopped in - leaping right over my big bad self.
What fun. What a good workout. And what a shock. Surrounded by ten unselfconscious elders, not one of whom explained defensively, “I’m really a swimmer,” I relaxed – and enjoyed marching in chest-deep water while swinging submerged foam barbells to the beat of Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family.”
When my joints hurt, I modified the exercises – as did others. With our simple presence, we supported each other. Six classes later, we continue to.
Fortunately, it’s not either/or. I’m still eager for the ocean-swimming season to commence once the Delaware Atlantic warms up a few degrees. (Currently: 65.)
Meanwhile, I’ve expanded my fitness regimen – along with my mind.
Think of yourself as a water-aerobics person. I guarantee you…
During a layover at Milwaukee’s Mitchell Airport, which offers free Ping Pong, Robb won our hotly-contested best-of-three match. I challenged him to best-of-five, of course, determined to come out ahead, but we would have missed our flights – which, in the heat of competition, almost seemed worth it.
Many thanks for the warm welcome from everyone in the Truitt community.
“The dripping point”. Lol. Love all of this!
Ditto what Jen said! Plus, I LOVE the cartoon Mariah.