Nirvana

 

“Do you know what time it is?” Witchy Woman has just gotten out of her Cube Car after pulling up behind me. I’m still not sure if she’s really a witch. She seems less witchy the more I talk to her, but you never can tell. Witches are everywhere. They live across the street from me, or at least, they introduced themselves as witches. And they are very nice and funny, always waving hi to me and chatting when we take out the garbage cans. Maybe most witches are like this, just normal women going about their day. Yet, they can spring up and wreak havoc. I’ll never forget the Wiccan in my Research Writing course at Woo Woo U who threatened to report me to the Dean cuz I didn’t stop the student sitting next to her from looking at Facebook during class.

            Tonight, though, I’m mainly worried about talking to anyone at a less than socially distant range. Witchy Woman and I both have our masks on, but still, she seems to be edging toward me. I back up slightly as she continues to engage. “I forgot my phone tonight,” she continues. “But I don’t want to wait around outside, you know?”

            “Yeah, it’s cold. I don’t have a watch, but hey, wait a minute, I do have the time on my Fitbit.” I wrestle it out of my pocket from under my big fuzzy swim coat. Pulling it out, I hold it out under the streetlight, but I can’t really read it. I take a guess. “Well, I think it’s 7:20.”

            She nods.

            “I can’t really see very well,” I laugh, going ahead and opening the hatch of the Fiat to grab my stuffs. I don’t mind waiting outside even though it’s a chilly 46 degrees out. By the time I get my stuff and walk up there, it’ll be 7:25, only 5 minutes before our reserved time. And, here, at King Pool, they sometimes let us in a few minutes early to set up, unlike the Time Sticklers at El Cerrito!

            Witchy Woman has gotten her stuff too, and is now falling in step with me as I walk toward the pool. Again, I’m a bit nervous about the Social Distance Protocol, but we’re both masked and it is outside with a chilly wind blowing.

            “Do you like your car?” she asks.

            “Oh, yeah, I love it!”

            “I want a car like that. It’s so cute and small.”

            “Yes, the Fiat is easy to drive and it’s zippy too. It gets pretty good gas mileage and cuz it’s fairly new, it starts!”

            She laughs, “I have a Honda. It always starts. Is yours an electric?”

            “No, I couldn’t afford that. It was $10,000 more.”

            “Yeah, I hear you. I just think I need to do something about my Carbon Footprint.”

            I know I’m in Berkeley when a casual conversation on the way to the pool delves into our Carbon Footprints!

            “Yeah,” I agree, “I drive so little, that I figure that’s my contribution.”

            Nodding, she’s thoughtful. “Yeah, I drive quite a bit.”

            “Really? I drive less since the Pandemic.”

            “I drive more. I just need to get out of the house. Go places. On errands.....” Her voice trails off.  And I think how strange this is. That people want to get out of their houses during this pandemic. I know it’s fairly common, and in fact, probably the majority of folks feel this way, but for me, I like being home and not driving anywhere. Who needs it?

            “It’s interesting how the Pandemic influences our behavior differently,” I comment non committally.

            “Yes, and it’s going to be another year of it. Not till 2022.”

            “Gosh, I hope not, but you could be right.”

            We both are at the stand in line point now. Stopping to the 6 feet apart situations. She is just so familiar to me. “Do you normally swim at this pool?”

            “No, at the Y.”

            Oh, I think, this is where I know her from. “Which Y?”

            “Berkeley usually, but sometimes Oakland.”

            “Me too, I mean not Berkeley but Oakland. Maybe I’ve seen you there.”

            She doesn’t respond to this possibility. “I like Oakland better than Berkeley. The people are nicer.”

            “Yeah, Oakland is a friendlier Y than Berkeley.” I don’t elaborate, but think of how warm the women at Utopia are. How much I miss them and DL!

            “I had this whole routine,” she continues. “Swim and then sauna. It was my Nirvana!”

She cackles, her witchy one.

            “Yes, that’s right,” I grin.

            “I just don’t know when that will ever happen again,” she sighs. And I have to agree. It seems like a wonderful dream now. And we’ve all woken up in this nightmare with no end. Even with the vaccine beginning to be administered, the reality is that Utopia or Nirvana is a long way off. If ever.

She moves forward in line now as the lifeguard with his blue forehead laser thermometer calls her to be tested. I wish her a good swim, but she doesn’t hear me. Is on the pool deck now chatting to one of the other swimmers.

I head over to the Dive Tank, the steam rising from it in magic glowing puffs.

As I undress, shivering in the cold, I glance up at the half-moon. Its pale light drifting down through the foggy pool puffs. Dipping my toes into the water, I grin.

At least I can swim! And, as I plunge under the surface, the warm water embracing me, I think how this is as close to Nirvana I will get. At least for tonight. And, maybe till 2022!

Swimmer's Grin

 

“M’am? …..M’am??....Hello????”

I’m shivering on the deck beside the Dive Tank. Grin as the lifeguard tries to get super swimmer lady to stop. She won’t.

            “M’am!” He’s a bit more forceful this time. She stops. Looks up at him.

            “It’s time,” he informs. Like she didn’t know. But maybe she didn’t. She was really into her laps!

            

We’d been swimming together in the Dive Tank for the last 45 minutes. She lapped me about ever 20 laps? (It’s hard to tell in the Dive Tank.) But she was a bit faster than me. Even with my fins on.

            Now, as she pulled herself out of the Tank, she grinned at me, a distinct difference from when we had gotten in. I’d said “Hi”. She’d glared at me. Or maybe she had said “Hi” back and I just hadn’t heard her behind the muffled mask that is our world now.

            Recently, Ian had just been talking about this not understanding what anyone is saying anymore behind their masks. He’d been at the Vietnamese restaurant, picking up our #56, Ginger Chicken with garlic rice and extra broccoli. The young woman who always serves us had chatted with him. He didn’t understand her except that she was saying something about not going on vacation. Which he could nod and agree with. But other than that, he was just nodding. Not understanding. Not really having a conversation or communicating.

            It’s our world now.

            Except when you get out of the pool. We don’t have our masks on. Yet. And, so tonight, when super swimmer woman grinned over at me, I grinned back. We could see each other’s grins. It was communication that was unique to the pool. I took advantage.

            “It’s hard to get out,” I offered, trying vainly to dry off in the dark windy night.

            “Yeah, it is,” she agreed. Then she glanced over at where the lifeguard had gone to start pulling on the pool covers. “Hey, do you know how many laps in the Dive Tank make a mile?”

            He looked at her blankly. “No, not really,” he muttered,  before continuing his arduous task.

            “I asked the same question the other night,” I said. “The lifeguard just laughed at me and said, ‘It’s not really made for swimming laps’!”

            Super Swimmer was also trying to pull on her sweats over her wet suit. “I did 172 laps tonight but my Fitbit said I did 44!”

            Here we are. Slaves to our devices. And they’re wrong! “Well, maybe it just counts how many times you turned around?” But as I said this, I knew this couldn’t be right. She had to have turned around over 300 times! Maybe Fitbit doesn’t count up that far with lap swimming? I have no clue. I only wear my Fitbit for counting my steps. But with the Dive Tank, I have sorta given up counting. Even though all athletes count! Swimmers count their laps. Runners count their miles. Bikers count their miles. It’s a serious athlete thing. And Fitbit cashed in on it.

            “I guess we could walk it out,” I offer. “You know, measure out the long pool and then this Dive Tank and see what the difference is…..” My voice trailed off. This seemed plausible on the surface but in reality, probably not. “Though we never have that much time when we come here under the strict 45-minute time limit!”

            She laughs. “Yeah, but that’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll try that next time. In the regular pool I usually swim 80-85 laps. So, it’d be interesting to see how that translates to this pool.”

            I yank my big fuzzy coat on over my wet towel wrapped around my waist. I haven’t figured out yet whether it’s better to put my pants back on over my wet suit or to just leave the wet towel wrapped around me. Oh, for a hot shower at the pool! Then being able to change into dry clothes. Gosh, we took so much for granted.

            “Maybe I’ll see you next time,” I say to her. “I try for three times a week, but I often don’t make it that much. It’s hard.”

            “Really?” she says. “I am swimming more since the Pandemic. Before I was swimming 2 times a week but now, I’m doing 3 or 4.”

            “Wow, that’s great. I am swimming less. I was swimming 4-5 times a week and now it’s only 2-3.”

            We both laugh. “I never swam 5 times a week!” she exclaims, grinning ear to ear. The ‘Swimmer’s Grin’ as Julianne calls it. It’s still true. Even in the night. Even after over 300 turns in the Dive Tank. Even during the Pandemic.

            Swimming. There’s nothing like it.

            Now if we could only figure out how many laps are a mile in the Dive Tank!