Swimming and Locker Room Etiquette

Swimming

I've never been a strong swimmer.  Lessons in the Atlantic during childhood did nothing to increase my skills or confidence: skinny, cold, out of breath from one rotation of the crawl, I used to make deals with God in the middle of winter before I went to sleep.  Dear God, I won't hide hangers under Christine's afghan if I don't have to take swimming lessons next summer.  Or in the summer, Please let it rain in the morning so swim lessons get cancelled, and then let it get sunny in time for tennis.

The first time I met Daniel, he lapped me.

So I never passed my final class of swimming lessons in the one year we got to take lessons in a warm pool at the Waltham Boys Club (my mom felt bad that I was the only one who didn't pass; meanwhile, I thought I had done a great job and didn't understand why they didn't pass me...I'm always amazed at how our children sometimes think that they are better than they are at certain things...I wonder, Where did they get that gene since I am always thinking I need to be better and I'm not as good as I want to be?...but this makes me see that I did the same thing...a strange hopefulness, quite sweet, because it really can only be hope), and I married a guy who swam for four years of college.

Pregnant at thirty-three, I started swimming again.  We'd go to the Chinatown Y and then the Waltham Y, where I'd swim a quarter of what Daniel swam.  Since then, I swam off and on, when on, about once a week.

Daniel's been swimming here in Viterbo twice a week at this huge pool at the Larus Gym since our arrival.  I do yoga and pilates on youtube (my current favorite is Yoga with Tim, who has videos ranging from 10 minutes to an hour, has a lovely voice, and somehow does not intimidate though he looks like he could hold a plank for an hour with no problem), walk most days, run once a week.

A few weeks ago, I was feeling grumpy, antsy.  School had gotten busy with the end of term, the Rome week was over, and I felt like I was going between home and school, home and school, other than walking kids to activities.  I needed both something more familiar to go to and more variety in my daily life.

On a Sunday morning, Daniel and I headed to Larus, the gym where he and Mary swim.  We signed me up -- inscrizione (sign-up fee) plus ten entrances.

I've swum twice: my slow and steady breaststroke, head out of the water or in the water with my eyes closed.  Goggles and open eyes under water are hurdles too big at this point (like driving a stick shift?).  Sidestroke a bit.  Elementary back stroke some.   Mental therapy once I get in the water and move.

The first time, I didn't have a bathing cap or flip flops.  The second time I had Mary's bathing cap, but I forgot my flip flops.  Tomorrow I'm hoping to remember both.

The Locker Room

I get lost.  There's one side for donne (women) and one for bambini (children).  There are toilets, lockers, showers, two ways out to the pool.  I walk slowly and hope that I don't inadvertently walk into the men's room, slip on the wet floor (since I don't have my flip flops), or spell my name wrong for the lifeguard (I really need one of the kids to teach me the Italian alphabet -- I want words and phrases and conjugating of verbs; Mary and Daniel learned the alphabet first...I need to go backwards and learn this now so I can spell my name correctly in these situations).

I go slow.  I hear a few songs I know as they blare during a class in the adjacent pool (e.g. "Fight Song").  I pull at my swim cap to keep it on (do I need a bigger swim cap?.

As I walk back into the locker room, I try to read the signs.  From what I can gather, they say to keep your bathing suit on and be appropriate in the locker room.  Back at home, we laughed about how Puritanical we east coasters can be while in Italy women may wear much less.  So the signs are confusing me.  I'm used to the Y where no one seems an exhibitionist, but the women take off clothing, take a shower, grab a towel, get dressed into clothing.

I look around: the women are keeping their bathing suits on in the shower.  I can't do this.  I'll never dry with my heavy skirted swim suit on (I've yet to see an Italian woman in such a suit); it weighs me down.  I strip down, take a quick shower, and wrap my towel around me as much as I can.  I'm thinking, "Will I get in trouble?"  (Will dutiful child mind ever let go of such concerns of getting in trouble?)

I discuss with colleagues a few days later: it appears I've read the signs correctly.  Stay as clothed as you can in the changing room. 

More to learn.