The Swim Goddess Club

 

“I wanna be a member of your club!”

We’re four women in the showers at Kennedy High pool, post swim, in various stages of shampooing, soaping and rinsing. We’d been talking about this or that when one of the women, I’ll call her PN, during a pause in the conversation, made the above request.

            “You mean the Swim Goddess Club!” Jess corrected her, laughing loudly before rinsing the shampoo out of her curly dark locks.

            “YES!” PN exclaimed, her wide warm eyes bright and eager.

            LS and I just smiled. We knew we were goddesses of the pool. It was so obvious. Everyone worshipped us: our swimming beauty and power; our lording over everyone in the water; our unmistakable royal demeanors.        

            Thank goodness Jess let PN know that the club was for goddesses only. And, PN? She could absolutely be one of us.

            Number one she was beautiful. Not that I’m superficial. Actually, I am. But aren’t goddesses inherently beautiful just by virtue of their status in the club? Think of the goddesses that you know: Athena, Aphrodite, Demi Moore. They’re all beautiful and they know it.

            Number two, PN was eager to join our club. Now this doesn’t automatically make her a goddess. Perhaps she needs to earn this over time. But I’m inclined to give her goddess status simply because of her enthusiasm. I mean, isn’t this what makes a swim goddess? Her total obsession with the pool, swimming and all things aquatic?

            Number three, PN swam real laps. She didn’t just float around, chatting and flailing. She actually donned goggles and cap, jumped into the water with determination and then swam for a good 30 or 45 minutes. She was serious.

            And part of the Swim Goddess Club was that seriousness about the pool, about swimming. How there was nothing else like it. That without it, life would be a dull, dry, stupid endeavor.

            “I think you can be part of our club!” I said now, nodding toward her as I turned off the shower and rung out my suit

            “Really?” she asked, clearly flattered.

            “Sure, why not?” I said. “You certainly seem like a swim goddess to me.”

            The other three women nodded in agreement, Jess making an affirmative “uh-huh”, before heading out of the showers.

            LS smiled and nodded. I could tell she was in total agreement about PN’s admittance into the club. After all, she was the reigning queen of the pool, with her king, GL, at her side in the lane, or lifeguarding on deck.

            Queens of the pool! That’s what we were.

            But a couple of days later, PN, slightly embarrassed, asked us: “What was the name of the swim club that you said I could be a part of?”

            “The swim goddess club!” I reminded her. “SGC!”

            “Swim Goddess Club, SGC,” PN repeated after me. “That’s right, now I remember. My brain is just a fog lately. I used to blame it on being pregnant, and then on having a baby, and then on having a small child, but now? I don’t know what to blame!”

            “There are a lot of distractions in our lives,” LS offers. “So many things to keep track of. Our brains get overloaded. We can’t process it all. We forget. It’s okay.”

            “Really?” PN, asked, relief flooding her voice. “Thank you! I just feel like I’m the only one who has this brain fog, that forgets things, you know?”
            “Nope,” I say, “you’re not. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast! And I have the same thing everyday!”

            They all laugh, PN mentioning how she could not for the life of her remember what she did yesterday.

            I think about how this happens to me all the time even though I was, of course, joking about breakfast. The days are all the same. Get up. Drink coffee. Read the paper. Go to the pool. Work a bit on tutoring, writing or Spanish.  Practice the piano. Take a nap. Read my library book. Eat dinner while watching Beyond the Gates.

            The routine is made for forgetting. Yet, for me at least, it saves me. If I had to think about what to do next everyday, I’d be a big confused mess. The stability of routine enables me to focus on what I want to do: the music, the writing, the reading.

            If I had a child on top of it to take care of?

            Well, there’s a reason why I never had kids! I’d never survive the life of a mother.

            PN is talking about how her sister chose not to have kids; she has cats instead. But she gets so sad when they die. They don’t live very long. “I feel so bad for her. I think it doesn’t matter if we love our pets or our children. Wherever that maternal instinct lands, it’s the same.”

            I’d never heard anyone say this before. I’ve always channeled all my maternal instinct into my cats. I guess I’m a Cat Goddess too.

            “See all of you goddesses next time,” PN calls out as she pulls her purple cap over her wet locks.

            She gives us a shy, warm smile as she heads out of the locker room, leaving a bright sphere of goddess energy in her wake.