Category Archives: small town USA

A Beautiful, Brief Community

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Decisions were made.

The early morning water class I joined in January attracted five women. We circled in the shallow end of the pool and did the pendulum swing, rockette kick, and cross country skis to the soft music of a CD so memorized we sang the lyrics of Jesse’s Girl while doing jumping jacks.

deep

And we talked to each other. In January we were five individuals keeping New Year’s resolutions. By February we were allies, chatting nine to the dozens as our fearless instructor Kim deftly inserted “inside ankle” between discussions.

One was a retired teacher, widowed. One took care of her Alzheimer’s mother, who thought her daughter was a rival for her husband (who was married to the daughter, not the mom). One was navigating family trauma, the pillar to which the rest clung as they tried to sort things out.

By March, we needed each other. The morning class became the high point of my exercise week. On other days I cycled strong (350 calories burned per class!) Zumba-ed with laughter and sweat, kick boxed shouting names at the bag. It was all nice, but the reward was going to that Tuesday morning women’s swimming circle.

In April, we were notified that low attendance would lead to changes. In May, the class was just like every other thing the gym does. The spontaneous community that moved from skimming the surface to deep water became an aquatics aerobics class where the music pumped as we were urged to give it our all.

A different kind of give, the one the gym is set up for. Mission drift, increased class attendance, all that had to be taken into account. The gym is there so people can exercise. Decisions were made, in keeping with its mission and presumably its financial needs.

But oh, what I would give to have that quiet Tuesday morning community back, five women swinging in time to the rhythm of our shared life stories, unparalleled strength, giving it our all in the most true sense of those words.

Nothing golden can stay. Sometimes, nothing aqua blue can stay. Life goes on.

The Monday Bike Ride

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Someday I will have time to read a book again. This month won’t be it. I literally forgot I’m in Albuquerque for a week; who forgets that they’re flying to Albuquerque?

Perhaps I can read a book on the plane….

Meanwhile, my Monday mornings start earlier these days, with a 6:15 a.m. cycle class. The first time, I arrived late, they had started, I got the wonky bike with no time to learn to use it, and the class was terrifying.

The next week, I arrived early for an orientation, got the swanky bike that tells you how many calories you’re burning, how many miles you’re traveling, and how hard your body is working, and the class was terrifying.

The instructor told us to set goals for the class. By week three, I had two: do not fall off this bike, and do not throw up.

The class is just on the edge of too hard for me, and after the first-time disaster, the only thing stopping me from a quiet quit was Becky, the teacher. Becky is one of those instructors you wish you could hate. Perfect hair falling in glorious beach waves around her face, you could add a watermelon to the scale and her weight still wouldn’t reach three digits. Barbie-esque in perfect exercise wear, she exudes confidence and strength.

And gosh darn it she is one of the kindest, smartest people you will ever meet. Which is annoying when you really need to hate her for doing this to you about halfway through a class where the bike is going 85 RPM with 8 resistance, and she says–in that reasonable tone that makes it sound like the best idea in the world–“OK, now I know your legs are on fire so we’re gonna get some relief and stand up, weight over the pedals, up you get, it’ll be great…..”

Have you ever (in adulthood) stood up on a bike going the equivalent of 65 miles per hour? It is an exhilarating experience, but only in the sense of survival. It can be done, despite images of my body hurtling across the room at said 65 mph.

Becky knows just what to say, when: at the beginning of class, “(mildly sarcastic tone) Come on, you don’t start your Monday morning this early for that little effort”; mid-way through, when we are all huffing and grasping blindly for water bottles, “(soothing voice) Give it what you got; you’re not competing with anybody but yourself”; and at the end of the class when we do the sprint speed spurt, “(exuberantly) You and your friend are on the flat stretch and it’s hot and you’re going to the pool, move, move, move! The faster you get there, the sooner you can get in the water!”

Becky sits with perfect posture and shouts these perfect encouraging words to the rest of us as we wilt across handlebars, trying to remember how to breathe.

So yeah, we love Becky. At the end of class last week, she said to me, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Being a words girl, I hesitated over the word, “enjoying,” but you know, when the music is pumping and she’s urging us to find that rhythm of pedals against the beat of the song and we’re burning a calorie every seven seconds and everyone is climbing that hill together, no competition, just you and the bike and Becky’s voice exhorting, “You are strong, you can do this, there’s a reason you get up so early,” well, yeah, okay.

Enjoyment.