EVERYBODY BACK IN THE POOL
I’m somewhat of a middle-aged cliché (I prefer visionary) in that I’m a few weeks shy of my 50th birthday, and a couple of months back I decided to start writing my bucket list as part of my mandate to grab life by the balls. I was going to have some experiences, damn it, come hell or high water. First on my bucket list: swimming with whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium. I studied geography and the environment in university, and I have always been drawn to the ocean (yes, even despite Jaws in fact, probably because of). However, I have enough brain cells still firing to know that swimming in the open ocean is a bad idea. Just ask anyone who had a guest spot on Shark Week. However, these huge, beautiful, gentle giants are there for all to see, and dive with, at the aquarium. And, other than cage diving with great whites (also on my list), this is something I ache to do.

Let’s reverse engineer this dream: Dive with whale sharks. Get SCUBA certification. Be able to swim 200 metres. Try on one-piece bathing suit which hasn’t seen the light of day since 1998. Get a bikini wax. Cry. Try on one-piece bathing suit which hasn’t seen the light of day since 1998. Fortunately, I belong to a gym which boasts a pool. It’s like I knew someday having a pool accessible would help me fulfill a lifelong dream. Also, it’s close to home and the office, and they waived the sign-up fee. Off to the gym I went.

Going to the gym at 50 is different than when you’re, say, 30. First, I am nothing if not efficient. So, I wore my bathing suit and a pair of sweat pants to workout in so I could warm up before I went swimming. I was wearing a pantyliner while working out and I don’t need to go into detail, but if you’ve had children or are over 40, you know why. In any case, once I stowed my sweats in my locker, I tucked my hair up under my swim cap (very fetching), and fastened my goggles to my face.
I should point out that I’m near-sighted and so thought it a grand idea to wear my contact lenses under my goggles so I wouldn’t crash headlong into the end of the pool as I prepared to do those somersault things to reverse direction. I climbed down the ladder in to the shallow end, positioned myself at the end of the pool, and pushed off in a surprisingly fluid front crawl. It seems it was like riding a bike, and the two decades between pool visits meant nothing.

Two things happened immediately. 1. I realized I’d forgotten to remove the pantyliner from my suit so now was swimming with something that felt like a wet sponge between my legs (and not in a good way). 2. I hadn’t created an airtight fit with my goggles so water had seeped in, and slipped the contacts from my eyeballs. Now all I saw ahead of me were two little half-filled aquariums, little blue-hued discs bobbing tantalizingly in front of me. There was no fear of my crashing into the other side. I couldn’t make it the entire 25 feet without stopping.

Hanging my head in shame, I exited the pool blindly with a saggy bottom. As I wrapped my towel around my waist, I also realized I’d forgotten that I’d worn a dress to work that day. Between the spider veins and varicose veins, I can’t go bare-legged without using Spray-On Legs (which is superb by the way), and so I took note that my legs were beautifully tanned from mid-thigh down. Above that was lily white, untoned skin. Thank GOD , there was only one other swimmer, a woman doing laps at the far end of the pool. Oh, how I longed to look sleek and competent, rather than bedraggled and spackled.

However, as I drove home, I felt a kind of euphoria kick in. I DID IT. Despite the odds, despite the discomfort, despite the jolt to my comfortable routine, despite the embarrassment, I DID IT. And I went back again and again. And I’m getting closer to those 200 meters.

Sharron Richardson is a passionista, writer and speaker and can be contacted at: forsharron@rogers.com her blog is located at: www.fashionista2passionista.com