The Pool Plot for the Palace Hotel

So PP got to thinking about this supposed policy she has about swimming in every pool that she discovers and you know what? It’s just not so. However, she can only think of one pool that she’s discovered that she hasn’t (yet!) swam in.

The pool at the Palace Hotel in downtown San Francisco.
Did you even know there was a pool in that fabulous old establishment?
Well, there is.

PP had discovered it one evening after drinks in the bar of the hotel with a colleague at FFU.
“Hey,” KP had exclaimed after a couple glasses of Pinot Grigio. “Have you seen the pool here?”
PP almost spit out her Cabernet Franc. “There’s a POOL here?”
“Yup. Wanna see it?”
“Are you kidding? Of course.”

And so, KP had gulped down her wine, paid the bill and off she led PP to the 4th floor, easy as you please. Like she owned the place. (Or the Palace.) PP really admires her friends that can do this. Waltz into any establishment, money and reservations aside, and act like they belong. No one questions them. Just cuz of their je ne sais quoi.

PP, on the other hand, while she has on occasion done this (sneaking into the Newport Beach Tennis Club Pool for example. But then, she was 16, very tan, blonde, in tennis togs—she could ‘pass’ for a member. Even back then, she was completely pool driven—so when she walked into the clubhouse lobby, smiled and grabbed a couple towels with a cheery ‘Hello’ to the handsome tennis instructor behind the counter—he just gave her a sexy grin and waved her in. No questions asked.)


Whereas here at the Palace Hotel?
PP definitely felt like a fish outta water!

It was so old money. All the chandeliers that would be laughable if it weren’t for the 1930’s art deco ceilings. All the long quiet corridors leading to lavish rooms where affairs of intrigue and high finance were going on behind closed doors.

PP didn’t belong at the Palace Hotel.
Unless of course she were in the pool. And after their ride up the gold-mirrored elevator and meander down the long carpeted corridor, upon first sight, she belonged in That Water.

“Cool, eh?” KP had sighed as they both stood outside in the hall gazing longingly at the utterly charming little pool, with white columns, turquoise blue fancy tiles, and a totally William Randolph Hearst feel to add to the enchantment of such a discovery. Who knew there was a pool here? Buried in the catacombs up here on the 4th floor right above San Francisco’s bustling downtown Montgomery Street arena?

PP had sighed. “I’ve got to swim here!”
KP had nodded. “Of course. Let’s see….” She glanced around at the empty hall except for the front desk guarded by a Serious Filipino Woman folding towels.
“Excuse, me,” KP had marched up to SFW, her tone easy and confident. “We just want to swim in the pool. Is there a day pass or some other way we can just go for a swim without being guests here at the hotel?”
SFW gave her an Evil Look. Why PP didn’t know. Was their request that outlandish? Didn’t swimmers come from far and near to swim at the hidden pool of the Palace Hotel?
Evidently not, as evidenced by both SFW’s glare and the lack of swimmers actually using the pool. (One lone businessman, on his cell phone, was lying on a lounge chair; a woman treading water in a floral cap was in the far corner of the pool.) No one else was anywhere. Wouldn’t you think that their request to partake of a swim would be welcomed?”

“You can pay for Spa Day,” SFW grunted.
“Great!” KP had grinned, winking at PP. “How much is that?”
”$99.”
“$99???” KP had scoffed. “My, that must be some spa day. Do you have a brochure?”
SFW reached under the counter, continuing her glare as she handed KP the brochures.
“Isn’t there a way we can just pay to swim?” PP asked. Hell if she was gonna pay $99 for a spa day. The pool was stupendous, but she drew the line at paying nearly a hundred bucks to swim!
“Spa day. Only way,” SFW turned, reaching for another stack of towels.
“Unless, of course, we were guests here!” KP announced cheerily.
SFW nodded, not even looking at them. She knew they weren’t guests! She could smell the lack of wealth and power and see the Bohemian Professor drunkenness in an instant. PP thought about how there was no way in hell they were gonna be able to sneak past her like she did at the Newport Beach Tennis Club.

And, so, KP had led her away from the pool, chatting breezily about how sometimes she and her husband stay at the Palace Hotel and so maybe they could arrange a guest swim. PP sighed inwardly, knowing this would never really happen. Why she couldn’t say for sure, but she’d been right. She hasn’t heard from KP for months now, and so another plot must be hatched if her mission to swim in every pool she discovers is to be realized.

Driving the Lovely I to Mills on Sunday, PP had mentioned this Mission and of course, the Lovely I had been intrigued. They’d been talking about the new Pool in Campbell that PP had discovered last week, and the Lovely I had nodded when PP said that she just had to swim, but didn’t know when what with her schedule and all.

“Of course, you must swim there,” the Lovely I had asserted. “That goes without saying. Why not swim at Lunch time?”
PP soaked this suggestion in. Sure, Lunch could work if she got there early and swam for a short time—after all the writing center at WWU was only 100 feet away. Maybe this would work.

But the Palace Hotel Pool? PP told the Lovely I about this one. “And so, I thought that I’d swam in every pool I’ve discovered but then I remembered this pool and damn! I haven’t swam there and I need to figure out how.”
Lovely I had nodded seriously. “Yes, I see your dilemma. The $99 Spa Day does seem exorbitant for a swim. Even for you!”
Giggling, PP turned left into the Mills Campus. “I did have this fantasy that I could just go the Palace Hotel Bar and pick up some rich smarmy businessman who’s only staying the night and telling him that I need a swim before we can have sex and then after my swim, just ditching him.”

The Lovely I let out a long series of “Hee heee heeees!”
“That’s a fantastic idea! You are so funny!”
PP nodded, laughing along with the Lovely I, always delighted by her enthusiastic giggles.

But could she really go through with it? It wasn’t like she was 16 anymore. Maybe the smarmy businessman wouldn’t go for her. Or maybe he’d just want sex first and then let her swim….

Umm….for a moment PP considered this aspect of the fantasy. Would the swim in the Palace Hotel be worth such a sacrifice?

Grinning, PP parked the car and turned off the engine, glancing around for her fins and Hello Kitty Kickboard.

Maybe, just maybe, if the smarmy businessman were cute.

Then such a sacrifice could be made.

All in the name of swimming.
Of course!

Campbell is a'Callin!

The excitement is building, but will PP have the energy to swim after her long day at WWU?

She does have this policy to swim at every pool she discovers even if it means only once. Sometimes, once is enough. (Remember the Heinous Unpleasant Hill YMCA?)

~Stay tuned for her swim at the Campbell Community Center POOL!~

Custard and Hearts

She smiles at PP from across the gym. PP’s in the hot tub. She’s getting undressed at the lockers directly in front of the tub. The smile is shy, yet familiar. PP thinks, do I know her? Perhaps. PP chats with lots of women here at the Oakland Y, and while this ample
African American Woman in her sexy lacy black bikini ensemble doesn’t upon first glance, seem familiar, you never know. Could be that PP’s smiled at her in the pool, or here in the hot tub or in the dark hot confines of the sauna.

Sometimes it’s just hard to keep track of all the people that she kinda knows. And at the Y, post swim, blissfully soaking in the hot tub, it’s even harder.

PP closes her eyes and drifts off into Hot Tub space-out land. Ahhhh……till she feels the Presence next to her. Opens her eyes, and yes, it’s She—Smiling Woman from across the way, now seated next to her in the tub, her own bliss oozing out of her in a happy grin.

“It feels so gooood,” she sighs, giving PP another shy smile.
“Oh, yeah,” PP agrees, not really encouraging chat, but then maybe a good story is in the offing.
“Yeah, it does. Especially after working out upstairs for over an hour. Whew!”
PP nods, eyeing her ample expanse. She’s strong and round all at the same time. Well over twice PP’s size, she’d guess. With soft folds up and down her arms, legs, and waist. But she does have a waist, most definitely. Lots and lots of curves, this Smiling Woman has.

“What do you do upstairs?” PP asks, now intrigued. She can smell a story, even over the hot tub chemicals.
“I used to do the weights. But I don’t much do them anymore. Today I did the treadmill. For over an hour!” Pleased, she chuckles to herself.
“Wow!” PP enthuses. “That’s fantastic! Good for you!!” It is actually very impressive. Must be so hard to keep the mass of weight she has moving for an hour. PP thinks it’s hard enough for herself, let alone if she had to haul around twice her weight. She knows this must be why so many of the Y’s ample women swim. The water is so buoyant and supportive. Unlike the damn machines upstairs with their heavy clanking and confusing apparatuses screaming at you to keep it up!

“Yeah, I still got a ways to go, but I’m down to 260 now from over 300 and it’s a challenge. Esp. as I’ve really got a Sweet Tooth. Ummm….ummm…I just love that Custard. Give me anything with custard and I just cannot refuse.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Chocolate is my weakness.”
”That too!” She chuckles heartily, nodding in firm agreement. “But you know, I found out from some alternative medicines that if you just eat a bit of Cayenne Pepper, it will take away that chocolate craving.”
”Really?”
”Mmmm….mmm…” SW nods emphatically. “Who knew that a little Cayenne, Cayenne I tell you, could do that?”
”I never knew.”
“Me neither. And there’s others too that will take that Sweet Craving away, like cinnamon and oh I forget what else!” SW laughs heartily. It’s all so silly. Imagine taking away Sugar Cravings with Cayenne Pepper. How the hell does that even work? PP wonders. Do you, instead of opening up that box of Oreos, take out the bottle of Cayenne and shake a bit onto a spoon and swallow it down? Hell, that would take away any and all cravings for anything, sugar not withstanding, if you survived the Heat of it.
“But the fact that I’m a Pastry Chef does complicate Matters,” SW continues.
Delighted, PP glances over at her. A Pastry Chef? Hell, no kidding that would complicate matters! “A Pastry Chef? Wow! What a wonderful thing!”
“It is and it isn’t.”
“Yeah, I can see what you mean.”
“Cream puffs, chocolate and like I said, custard anything with custard and I just have zero willpower.”
PP nods. Maybe a Pastry Chef isn’t the best occupation for SW? But who knows. Could be that she was a more normal weight before she became a pastry chef. Though somehow PP doubts this.

“My doctor says the Cayenne can help with my cholesterol and all. Lord knows, I don’t wanna become Type II Diabetic. That’s for sure.” She chuckles, but PP can sense an underlying fear, which must be very real indeed. Not knowing anything about diabetes, thankfully this isn’t one of PP’s health issues, she knows very little about it, other than it can be debilitating and even deadly. But mostly, PP thinks it means No Sugar. She remembers a coworker of hers at the bookstore who was diabetic and would bring in candy for the staff. One day, PP was hanging out with her, munching down See’s Chocolates when A said, “Please. Eat up! My mom keeps sending me these chocolates even though she knows I’m diabetic. I think she’s trying to kill me.”
PP had laughed at the morbid humor of it at the time, but then worried that in fact A’s mom was trying to kill her. A did seem like a nice enough person, though a bit off. So it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that her mom was trying to kill her with chocolate. Thank goodness PP had been there to save A!

SW sighed deeply, beginning to move around in the tub. “I got to get me a swim suit,” she announced. “But can’t find one that fits.”
“Isn’t that one you have on?” PP asked, knowing that it probably was a bra and panties set but still, it was black.
SW chuckled. “This? No. This is my underwear. I tell you about these panties though. With the little red heart on them?”
PP nodded. She’d noticed some red color on SW’s triangle area, but hadn’t picked out the shape of a heart.



“Cuz I really like hearts. Hearts are my thing. But I had these panties for years in my drawer and I didn’t wear them cuz I thought they were too small but then the other day I pulled them out and said to myself, girl you losing weight, give ‘em a try, and you know what? They fit!” She giggled shyly at PP who wondered vaguely about why she was getting the low-down on the panties at such length? Maybe SW had a crush on PP? She hadn’t thought of this at the time, but could be. Or more likely, SW was just pleased as punch at her weight loss and wanted to share her new pantie freedom. This was more likely.
Grinning, PP started to make her way out of the tub. “Well, I think you could get away with wearing those in the pool. No one would know they were panties.”
“You think so? Maybe….”
PP floated past her toward the stairs, “It’s been really nice chatting with you.”
“You too, Baby. Take care. I gotta go get me some steam now.”

Grinning, PP headed for the sauna. The steam room scared her. Too much Hot Fog. But maybe if SW was gonna be in there? More stories might unfold?

Nah, she had enough material for today. Shaking her wet hair out, PP grabbed a towel and made her way into the soothing dry heat of the woodsy sauna, her craving for chocolate hitting her hard as she settled down on the toasty wooden bench.

Baboons, Menopause, and Antidepressants

“They say that we’re more like Chimpanzees than Gorillas,” New York Times Guy (PP will make it clear why he’s called this later on) nodded, serious and informed. PP sinks into the hot tub, grinning mightily. This is gonna be good! While she enjoys the Women Only Hot Tub Talk at the Y, these Mills College Guy Talks are definitely missed. Esp. when the Guys are talking about Chimps and Gorillas.

“Why is that?” Dashingly Handsome Boyfriend asks, completely serious.
Guys. Apes. It’s Manly Hot Tub Talk. (Though Guys at Mills College hits her a bit strangely still even though they have been around the campus for years now.)

Out of the corner of her eye, PP spies AO, locally (maybe internationally?) famous Jazz Pianist, dipping into the tub right as NYTG makes his Gorilla Assertion. PP can’t look at AO. For some reason, she thinks he’s laughing. But this could just be her projection; he’s probably just nodding in Serious Guy Bonding Unison.

NYTG thinks for a moment about DHBF’s question, then plows on. “It’s cuz Chimpanzees will swim. Gorillas won’t. So since we swim, and granted we don’t really belong in the water, and neither do the Chimps, but we both can swim. Not the Gorillas.”

DHBF nods. Mulling this one over, but before he can respond, NYTG continues. “And this other article, also in the New York Times Tuesday Science Section, talked about how Baboons are helping Menopausal Women with their depression and instead of taking anti-depressants, the Baboons will….’

Wait a minute. PP got that dialogue wrong. But she had ya going there, right? Were you all gonna run out and buy the next Tuesday NYT to read about Bestiality and Menopausal women?

Here’s more like how the dialogue went, though still could be slightly off, knowing PP. “Baboons, unlike some other apes, will also swim, but they like to swim in groups. Safety in numbers they say.”

PP still can’t remember how the menopausal depression connects to the baboons. Sorry. Maybe if she keeps writing it’ll come to her? She does remember asking about the baboons, even though she’s always thought baboons were completely gross and slutty with their bright red bare asses in your face on Wild Kingdom.

Disgusting.




Maybe that’s why menopausal women all have to take antidepressants? They’re all of the generation that watched Wild Kingdom as girls and those disgusting Baboon Butts are buried deep within their psyches causing untoward subconscious images of horror and shame.

Hence the only answer is tons of Well-Butrin.

“I have this friend that buys the Tuesday NYT for just that reason!” AO pipes in.

PP glances up at AO. His friend buys the NYT to read about Baboons? Is this the purpose of such an erudite publication? PP hadn't thought so, but hell, you learn a lot in the hot tub.

But for her, she's never gotten the Big Deal about the goddamn NYT. She's just not impressed. Maybe cuz she’s from LA. Maybe cuz she’s Blonde. Maybe cuz she’d just rather not read all that teeny tiny print about Baboons! In any case, NYTG is always quoting the NYT like he’s some impressive intellectual, which obviously he’s not or he wouldn’t be in the Hot Tub talking about apes, but would be spouting off about Plato or Wittgenstein, or who the hell else do Intellectuals spout off about?

PP has no clue since all the intellectuals she hangs out with are poets or teachers and all they talk about is food and cats.

Giggling to herself, PP glances around the tub. Pretty African American Orange Bikini girl, Silent Macho Hot Tub Man. Both completely ignoring the Baboon talk.
Or not?
PP thinks she detects a sly smile on SMHTM's mug. He's listening. Recording?
Hell, PP thinks she ought to add a woman's perspective here.

“Maybe all the menopausal women are taking Antidepressants cuz their husbands or boyfriends or whatever remind them of baboons!” PP announces into the Hot Tub Air.

The men all look anywhere but at her. Silence. PP starts to giggle. “I was just kidding you guys.”

They shift around, eye each other sideways, still not answering her.

PP laughs. Sinks into the bubbly watery warmth.

Men. They may not be baboons, but they still can drive a girl to drink and drugs.

Women, on the other hand……

Orange Bikini Girl glances up from her book, gives PP a sly smile, before standing, stretching and climbing out of the tub.

Delighted, PP watches her saunter sexy across the deck.

Women. Definitely not Baboons, as PP watches her open the door to the locker room and disappear into its showery steam.

Kismet at the Pool

“Dora? Is that you?” PP approached the pretty bubbly middle-aged (PP hates that descriptor; but hell, guess it's their reality now) woman with the perky bob, chatting in the center of a large group of teenage swimmers and what looked like their parents.

Tentative, shy, PP smiled. She knew that her dear friend from undergrad days at UCSC was going to be here at the Swim a Mile with her swimming daughter, Callie. They’d emailed back and forth the week before the swim. Dora had pledged PP an enormous amount for this all-important event, and then, they’d discovered they’d both be at the swim on the same day at the same time.

It was Fate!

But it’d been such a long time. PP couldn’t even remember when last she’d seen Dora and her husband, Tim, another friend from undergrad whom Dora had married. 15 years? 20 years? 25 years?

Could be.

Would they recognize each other after all this time? Yet this woman, so animated and in the center of it all, felt like her. PP couldn’t say exactly why. Same hairstyle? (A cute brown straight-haired bob, with a touch of gray about the sides) Same pretty round face? (Yes, a few wrinkles round the eyes and mouth, but hell, 25 years! That was a long time!)

Glancing up from her conversation now, Dora jumped up, beaming and bright. “CAROL!!!!” (PP is gonna use her real name in the dialogue here for simplicity’s sake. Why not? It’s not like you don’t know her name anyway, right? Dora and and daughter’s name have been changed cuz….oh, hell, cuz you’re supposed to!)

Bouncing over to PP, Dora gave her a big hug and kiss. “OHMYGOD! You look exactly the same!”

PP blushed shyly, knowing this couldn’t possibly be, but it was nice to hear. And after all, Dora must look pretty close to the same since PP did spy her in all this crowd of several hundred swimmers, family and friends at the Mills Swim a Mile Event. Though PP wondered if she woulda recognized her old friend if she hadn’t known she’d be here?

Maybe not. But hell, this didn’t matter as she hugged Dora close, feeling her familiar warmth even after so long. “Wow! You too! I wondered if we’d recognize each other. Where’s your daughter?”
“Oh, over there.” Dora gave a cheerful, dismissive wave behind her. “She’s here with her high school swim team and a new Boyfriend. You know how that goes,” she giggled, her other arm still slung round PP’s shoulder in friendly welcome.

“We’re over on the other side of the pool,” PP pointed across the water, the tables, tarps and swarms of swimmers milling about. “My boyfriend came to cheer me on. Is Tim here?”
“Nah, he had work to do,” Dora grinned.

PP nodded, of course. Tim was the only one of them that had gone into ‘business’—Dora and he had lived in Hong Kong even, wheeling and dealing with the Asian bigwigs. But that was a long time ago. Now here they were, settled in SF, with 3 teenage daughters, one of whom was a swimmer, which to PP was, of course, an added bonus of Delight!

“Here's my boyfriend!” PP exclaimed. DHBF had ambled over, his tall good looks and easy smile giving PP a moment of pride. At least after all these years, PP could still snag a winningly wonderful BF. “This is Ian,” (Name not changed, K honey?) “And, Ian, this is Dora!”
Shaking hands and exchanging their ‘nice to meet you’s PP stood grinning at the wonder of it all. Here she was, at this amazing swim to raise money for women with cancer, and in the midst of it, or yes, because of it, she’d reconnected with her dear friend, who was chatting amiably with her DHBF.

“Ian?” Dora was asking, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, Dora, right?”
“That’s right,”
”I didn’t know if we’d recognize each other,” PP interrupted, “but we did.”
”Of course we did!” Dora laughed. “We haven’t changed that much.”
“Well….you haven’t,” PP shook her head, thinking just how much has changed since she last saw Dora.
“Besides, we’re here!” Dora chuckled again, draping her arm round PP again and hugging her close.
“That’s right,” Ian agreed, “it’s certainly better than the alternative.”

They all laughed as PP remembered how Dora’s mom had died when she was still at UCSC. PP couldn’t remember what she’d died from. Maybe it’d been cancer. Brain tumor stuck in her memory. But whatever the cause, Dora had lost her mom at a very young age. Probably her mom was about the age that Dora was now, and in spite of all the vibrant energy and life surrounding them at the pool today, this swim was still all about those who had passed on because of cancer.

But also those who had survived. PP being one of those lucky ones!

“Here’s Callie,” Dora grabbed one of the teenagers. A pretty bronzed girl with shinning brown eyes and dimples—it was Dora as PP remembered her. Only not.

“Nice to meet you,” she took PP’s hand warmly and gave it a firm shake, her voice echoing her mom’s.
“Yes, you too! You look just like your mom and…..”
Dora started to laugh.
Suddenly shy, PP smiled at Callie in amazement. Guess this is one of the reasons people have kids? To keep themselves alive and swimming? In another form that’s more youthful and energetic, granted, but all the same, it was a little eerie in a miraculous sort of way.

“Well, I should get ready to swim,” Callie glanced behind her at the group of teenagers milling about. Putting on swim caps. Rubbing on sunscreen. Giggling in anticipation.
“Yeah, me too.” PP grinned. “Have a great swim,”
”Yes, you too!” Callie called back as she skipped over to her friends.
Dora sighed, smiling tiredly for a moment. “Teenagers!” she sighed, glancing over at Ian. “You got kids?”
”Oh, yeah, two boys.”
”How old?”
“Well, I have a stepson who’s over 30 and then my two boys are 15 and 22.”
Dora nodded, “Well, then, you know what I mean!”
“Oh, yeah.”
And they began some parental exchange that PP zoned out on. So much not a part of her world as she glanced around at the other parents seated comfortably on the white plastic lounge chairs, sipping Diet Pepsi’s and munching on chips. This was Dora’s world. And PP had to think that because of this, they’d lost touch. She had so little in common with the parental paradigm. Yet. DHBF was a parent. Some of the friends were parents. Hell, her parents were parents.

So, just because Dora was a parent didn’t mean that they couldn’t reconnect.

“Guess I better get changed too,” PP glanced over at the clock. 2:55. She was scheduled to swim at 3. Yikes! She better get going, especially given her slow poke changing routine.


“We’ll watch and cheer you on!” Ian hollered after her as she gathered up her stuff and headed for the locker room.
“Yeah! Go CAROL!!!” Dora called after her, eyes bright and excited.

And PP had to wonder as she weaved her way across the deck, covering her ears slightly as she passed the blasting DJ music of Donna Summer’s “I WILL SUURRVIIVE!!!!” how strange a thing it was the passage of time. On the one hand, it was like Dora had never been absent from her life. That they were just right back to the place they were 25 years ago, studying, playing and hanging out in the dorms of Stevenson College. All that warm camaraderie of spirit was still there.

Yet, on the other hand, over 20 years had passed and they were not the same young women they’d been back in Santa Cruz, with so much passion and hope and fun. Now, opening the locker room door for shy 6-year-old girl, hugging a plate full of food to her tiny chest, PP smiled down at her, watching as she toddled off to find her family.

But here they were. And they were swimming. And Dora’s daughter was swimming. And the swimming was going to carry them through the years and decades and be the line that holds them altogether.





Okay, maybe that’s laying it on a bit thick, but PP has to wonder, once again, how the magic of swimming has the power to accomplish the impossible so often.

Like bringing together two dear friends, who for whatever myriad of reasons may have never seen each other again if it hadn’t been for swimming.

Go Swimming! Go Callie! Go PP!

And yes, Go Dora!






A light tap on the shoulder woke PP from her waiting for her turn to swim reverie. “CC! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!”
“Yeah. I was really hankerin’ for a swim,” CC beamed shyly, clutching her Swim-a-mile Tote Bag and cap.
“Wow! That is so cool!” PP continued in amazement. What a day. First her friend Dora and her daughter, now CC, who, as far as PP knew, had never swum a mile before.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can swim a Mile though….” CC admitted, reading PP’s mind.
“Oh, sure you can,” PP went into Swim Coach mode. “Just go get the LONG cheating fins and kick a lot with those. You’ll make it and you’ll make it super fast!”
“Really? You sure?” CC was dubious, glancing around at the hundreds of swimmers, timers, counters, families and food booths that filled the pool deck.
“Yes. I’m absolutely sure! When do you swim?”
”3. …. Guess I better go get dressed.”
Laughing, PP glanced up at the clock. “Yeah, since it’s 3:15 now.”
“Running late as usual,” CC joked as she headed over to the pile of long fins in the giant plastic basket next to the front gate

“What’s your name again?” PP’s lane mate asked, a petite (can a man be petite?) pleasant guy who turned out to swim at the Y too.
“Carol,” PP answered. “I’m no EVE for your Adam!” she joked. (Actually she didn’t really say that, thank goodness. Though it did occur to her. But the connotations involved in such a joke, well, PP did not want to go there. This Adam, while cute in a sweet hairy sort of way, was simply not her type.)
“Nice to meet you and have a great swim,” Adam grinned before hopping into the lane ahead of PP who still had to wait for her turn. Eyeing his mighty splashing, PP shook her head. Would she be able to breathe without swallowing all his whitewater? Oh, who cares today! She thought to herself as the woman who she was waiting on finally finished her mile and the Cute Counter Girl with the blonde ponytail and big yawn told her she could start her swim.
“Do you want me to time you?” CCG asked.
“Nah, that’s ok,” PP answered. Hell, she didn’t need to know how goddamn slow she was even though Dora still thought she looked the same as 20 years ago. PP knew she sure as hell wasn’t as fast a swimmer as she was even a year ago, let alone 20.

Today, though, PP wasn’t gonna get down on herself for being slow or old or any of those negative thought patterns that usually ran through her water soaked brain. Today was all about the Swim and raising money for this important cause and hell, getting CC to swim a mile!

Now, that would be an accomplishment. And as PP easily swam her mile, (DHBF spinning insanely loud and obnoxious noise makers in her watery ear with every lap in between taking pics of her on her mile long journey) she marveled at the wonder of it all again. Swimming. It was the reason for living and the celebration for surviving.

Okay, that’s pretty hokey, but you know what she means.

Donning her Angels visor and sunglasses, PP slipped on her long cheating fins and kicked a few easy laps, the CCG laughing at her and snapping pics on her phone. Pleased, PP hammed it up a bit. Waving and grinning. Hell, maybe she’d get on the Women’s Cancer Resource Center’s Website. Maybe those cell phones are good for something after all!

Glancing around, PP noticed that swimmers were finishing; Adam was out. Now PP had the lane all to herself and relished in its buoyant embrace. Finishing her mile, she ducked under backwards, floating for a moment, before surfacing to head off to the hot tub to warm up, Ian and Dora cheering her on as the announcer read her finishing card: “Carol Swimkitty Jameson is outta the water swimming in honor of Samantha Archer, a breast cancer survivor.”

Grinning, PP had a pang of worry. She hadn’t actually heard from SA for a long time and while she felt, intuitively, that she was a ‘survivor’ knowing her all these years (another friend from UCSC), she had a nagging worry that what if she hadn’t? (Note: PP got an email from SA this morn sounding very much alive and kicking! Go SA! And what a relief!) Another happy result of this swim---PP’s getting this email, full of sassy tales of cancer treatment. Leave it to SA to be able to make a joke out of it. But PP knew that everyone must have their own way of dealing with cancer. Hers had been to keep swimming. SA’s was to joke. Whatever worked was what they all had to do. Otherwise, well, PP didn’t want to think about the Otherwise. Esp. today!

Hanging out in the hot tub now, PP hears the announcer, “AND the LAST Swimmer is getting out of the pool and it’s CC –of course pronouncing CC’s last name wrong—but no matter, CC gets out of the pool, takes a long dramatic bow in her cute Hawaiian sporty two piecer before heading over to the hot tub to join PP.

“You made it!” PP exclaimed.
“Yup. You were right about those long fins. No prob.”
“That is so awesome.”
CC giggled.
“I’m starving,” PP whined. “Ian’s getting me some food. You want anything?”
”Nah, K made me a big breakfast.”
“What’d she make ya?”
”Bagels and lox and coffee and fruit and….”
”Don’t let that one get away!” PP joked as Ian arrived with plates full of shiskabobs, rice, fruit and ice cream.
“YUM! I’m so hungry!” PP grabbed at a shish kabob and started to chew off a piece of delicious grilled chicken as CC giggled in relaxed delight.
Ian stood by, taking more pics and eating little cups of Hagen Daz. Yum. “They have lots of these if you girls want me to go get more?”
“Nah” PP chewed happily on the chicken as she spooned up a piece of fruit. “We’re already breaking all the rules here eating in the HOT TUB!”
CC giggled again as she pulled herself out of the tub and lay down on the warm cement.
“You sure you don’t want any ice cream?” PP teased.
“Ok, I’ll have a bite,” CC climbed back into the tub as they shared the cup, Ian taking a pic for posterity. (And proof that Rules can be broken if it’s for a Good Cause!)

But the packing up had begun. The food tables dismantled, the DJ’s breaking down the music stand in process, the pool manager giving CC and PP the You-Better-Hurry-Up Eye. “We’re going!” PP called out to her, sneaking a last mouthful of rice and chicken before packing up and heading for the locker room.

Hugging Dora and her daughter once more before leaving, they all made promises to keep in touch. Or, if not, PP thought, there was always next year’s Swim a Mile for Cancer Women.


Though, secretly, she hoped that it wouldn’t be that long before she saw Dora again, or CC swam a Mile, or….she

broke all the rules, by EATING in the HOT TUB!!!

Mills Swim-a-Mile for Cancer Women Today!

Pool Puss is supurr excited to be swimming in this event today! It certainly has added weight for her being a LUCKY cancer survivor herself! What a happy kitty she is!

More stories on the blog this week about this wonderful swim to benefit the Women's Cancer Resource Center in Berkeley!



Go kitty! (Don't worry! She won't forget her Hello Kitty Kickboard with her little thumbs up for inspiration on her Mile!)





PP hopes she gets to swim in the Hot Pink Cap lane! Especially if it's full of awesome Studettes like this woman. Talk about inspiring. Hello Kitty better get on her little kitty flippers to keep up!

The Utopian Police

“You take shower before get in!” Hot Tub Mama commanded, her imperious echo shocking Beauteous African Princess, who had just emerged from the steam room, into instant Shower Submission.

DL’s eyes widened in surprised delight behind her dark glasses while PP giggled under the guise of the bubbles. “Guess I better go…..” DL pointed to the showers as she scooped up her clothes and followed BAP to cleanse their hereto concealed germs with the help of the shower's contamination prevention properties.

HTM sunk back into her corner of the tub, her ample bosom pressed against the jets, her hair wrapped in a turquoise turban. PP wondered what was up with her sanitation commands on this otherwise mellow Monday afternoon. She wasn’t usually so vigilant. In fact, even though there were signs all over the hot tub and sauna area with instructions about “NO scented Products allowed to respect those with environmental sensibilities” (PP always wondered about this what with the chlorine fumes enveloping the entire area –weren’t these gases a bit hard on those with these environmental sensibilities?) and “Showers MUST be taken before entering the Jacuzzi or sauna.” and “NO Hair products or Lotions allowed in Jacuzzi.”

Everyone always seemed to ignore all these written commands but went blithely about their hair product and non-shower business.

It took a STERN Command from HTM to put the fear of serious repercussions into their otherwise lax sanitation standards.

DL, back from her shower, big grin on her mug, sunk into the tub, her eyes still wide from her near miss with HTM. “PP, you have to orient me to the Ritual down here in the hot tub. I never come down here, so I don’t know.”

PP nodded, “Of course, just follow my lead.” DL usually just worked upstairs on the torture machines, which she’d spent the last hour showing PP so she could work on her Menopausal Loss of Muscle Mass. But mostly they’d giggled and gossiped. Weight Training was just not PP’s thing.

“Have you been in the Sauna?” PP asked DL.
“No, can we?” She glanced around for HTM—where’d she go?

In the sauna, that’s where, as PP and DL took a seat on the warm wooden benches, the piney smell of redwood permeating the tiny heated room.

“Where your towel!?” HTM questioned imperiously. Ever vigilant, she immediately had noticed PP’s and DL’s naked bums oh too casually sitting on the bare wood.
“Oh!” DL exclaimed, giving PP another wide-eyed giggle, “mine are outside.”
“The Table. It is not Clean!” HTM snorted, her scorn filling the close room.
“Well, we’ll take our chances this time. Thanks,” DL answered as PP just giggled, reminded of China once again.
“When I was in China, I was always being admonished for sitting on the bare wood without a towel. The women in the sauna there would always get me to sit on a plastic bag and then it would stick all gooey on my ass from the heat. ”
“You in China?” a Familiar Asian Woman sitting in the corner asked. PP often shared a lane with her, and was always greeted with smiles and nods, but had never actually conversed with her before.
“Yes, a long time ago.”
”Where?”
”Dalian? Do you know it?”
”Dalian? Yes…no…I not been there…. Shanghai…. Beijing.”
“Cool. Are you from China?”
“No, Taiwan.”
“Ah, yes, those are very different countries.”
DL started to giggle uncontrollably.

“You been to Utopia?” HTM asked.
“We're in Utopia right now,” PP answered.
“You in Utopia?” HTM repeated, confusion in her tone.
“We just feel like we’re in Utopia right now,” DL clarified.
“I from Utopia,” HTM asserted.
The epiphany hit PP and DL simultaneously. Oh! Ethiopia! Not Utopia. Duh!
Giggles took over, replacing the confused scorn with magical hilarity.
“No, we haven’t been to Ethiopia,” PP managed to get out between giggles.

HTM sighed and rolled her huge mass over onto her side. Grunted in boredom as Taiwan Woman pointed to the shredded sweated-on paper towels that she was using, still worried about PP’s and DL’s germ contamination potential.
“You get towel now?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern.
“No, no, I think we’ve had enough,” DL answered, glancing over the top of her dark glasses at PP. Maybe PP usually escaped all this Towel Concern cuz she wore her suit in the hot tub and sauna after swimming. But to keep DL sexy naked company today (“But I don’t have a suit!” she’d protested when PP had first mentioned meeting in the hot tub after their respective workouts—DL wasn’t a swimmer—YET!), PP had happily tossed off her wet suit while in the Hot Tub. After all she was hell of clean after her hour-long chlorination immersion!

Rising with DL, PP shook her head as she held the sauna door open for the two of them to exit. “See y’all next time,” she called out as DL slipped by her, the giggles cascading after her as she hurried off for her second shower.

“Oh, PP, you really must instruct me better on the Ritual of the sauna next time.”
“Hey, you got it now,” PP grinned. “Thanks to the Utopian Police.”
And with a final hearty guffaw, DL shuffled off to the shower, after retrieving her clean, non-sauna used towel from its hook on the locker room wall, giving PP one last startled glance over her sexy dark glasses.

Sauna Talk

“Naaaht chaatt kaa ghaaa.”
“Quaattt….naha nah haummm…..”

Giggles, eyes shining, nods. PP closes her eyes and slumbers in the spacey sauna zone to a language completely foreign. Maybe some African language? Ethiopia? Eritrea? Ghana? PP knows that Oakland has communities of all these countries. The two women are dark skinned and ample. Their towels spread out under them on the warm wooden benches. The one closest to PP has some sort of silvery glitter substance spread all over her body, the tiny fragments falling at her bare feet looking like little bits of jade broken glass. The smell of pine and incense. Her face is covered in some sort of green goo mask.

What women won’t do to look beautiful? Or feel better? Or just commune?

“Nahhhatt…cha cha queee….”

More giggles. The gossip of women in saunas is such a part of the swim experience for PP. Has been for so many years. These women, because PP can’t understand even one word of their conversation, not only lull her into a spacey musical relaxation, but also take her back to her days in China, sitting in the sauna after one of her crazy chilly chaotic swims. The women chatting and laughing in Chinese, of course. PP completely cut off from the specifics of their gossip, yet a part of it too in some homey periphery sense.

Today, Glitter Substance Woman turns and smiles over at PP while her friend sighs as she wipes herself off with paper towels. “Ugh! So much sweating!” she exclaims.

PP smiles in happy commiseration. That is the idea, right? Yet, PP rarely can last long enough in the sauna to work up any kind of sweat. Especially after her long swim. She’s just beat and needs to warm up the neck muscles a bit before taking a shower.

“You swim, yes?” Paper Towel Sweating Woman asks.
“Yeah,” PP nods, glancing down at her bright pink Speedo. Duh!
“Swimming. It is the best!” PTSW exclaims. “Where I come from, swimming is what people do in lakes.”
PP means to ask where she comes from but is too spaced out to follow up with the clarification question in a speedy enough way, and can instead only muster a nod and murmur, ‘Oh yes. Swimming is the best.”

PTSW nods and rises. Off to get another batch of PT. So, PP has the opportunity to ask Glitter Woman what she’s got all over her. Which she does.
“Sea Salt,” she answers. “It is for the itching of the skin. 24 hours I put the sea salt on. Then no itch. Till go to doctor.”
”Wow, that’s cool,” PP nods in wonder. She had no idea that sea salt had such anti-itch properties. The things you learn at the YMCA!
“Yes. And the mask it is green mask.”
”What’s that for?” PP asks.
“For the pores. To open the pores.”
”Ah….”

PP sees women at the Y with various strange masks on, white, green, orange (no, she’s just making that one up.) Never having tried one herself, PP has always thought them a bit weird. But hell, whatever works, right? Earlier she’d seen two women applying some sort of red dark gooey substance on each other’s hair. Then wrapping up their heads in towels (what does that do to the snowy white Y towels, PP wonders) and ducking into the sauna for a heat set- in. (At least that’s PP’s assumption. Who knows what the heat in the sauna does to the red goo. Maybe it just melts all down their faces, necks, and breasts, and creates some kind of healthful skin film.)

Suddenly exhausted, PP sits up and stretches in the warm, sexy glow of the sauna as the unknown foreign gossip starts up again, “Naahggtt…..cha cshhaa….”

Funny how women the world over all behave the same in the gym. It’s a place to relax, catch up on gossip, get a beauty treatment.

Oh, and sometimes, a little bit of a workout happens along the way.

Nice & Easy

Drying off in the locker room, PP was trying to get warm. Sure, the Perfect Postcard Pool had been enchanting, but the mountain air was definitely not Waikiki! And the showers. Ok, they’d been warm enough, but frankly, PP coulda used a bit more water pressure. (Though she understood how the Tahoe area was in semi-drought mode.)

Ducking her head down to wrap her wet hair in the towel, she heard the quick wet steps of another swimmer hurry into the shower. Must be her, Super Fast Swimmer, PP thought to herself as she slipped on her clothes and started to brush out her hair. Wonder if she got cold too even with her wetsuit on?

Probably. Wetsuits helped but they weren’t a complete answer to the brisk air temp.

Out of the shower, and yes it was she, SFS, PP smiled over at her as she toweled off. “You are SO FAST!” PP exclaimed, surprising herself. Usually she didn’t engage strangers in the locker room so immediately, but SFS had been impressive.

Shyly she grinned. “I really don’t like to swim that fast. My favorite is to swim 2 or 3 kilometers at a nice slow steady pace.”

PP nodded. 2 or 3 kilometers. Shit. That was a hell of a LONG way to swim at one time. PP usually swam a little over a mile, so maybe this was close to 2 kilometers, but honestly she didn’t know how far a kilometer was. Was it a little less than a mile? Or a little more than a mile? PP could never remember. And why was she talking in kilometers anyway? Was she from Canada?

PP didn’t mention any of her musings, but continued nodding to encourage more chatting. She’s found that this is often all that’s needed to keep a conversation in motion.

“But I get so cold,” SFS continued as per PP’s conversation strategy, “and one evening I was complaining to Don and he just laughed at me and said, ‘You’re NOT working hard enough. And he was right!” she giggled. “I wasn’t. So ever since then I’ve been trying to swim faster and I do stay a little warmer, but we skinny girls, “ she glanced PP up and down in a friendly comradely way, “get cold!”

“Oh, yeah!” PP agreed, happy in the familiar temperature surrounding swimming conversation. “Though you really are a very beautiful swimmer!” she exclaimed.

Did SFS blush? PP thought so, but maybe not. Though her demeanor was blushing. “Swimmming isn’t really my sport,” SFS admitted. “I’m actually a triathlete.”
“Oh? So you run and bike too?”
”Yeah.”
”My sister did a triathlon in LA one year,” PP said, “and I was really impressed. I could never do all those sports.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really very good at any of them.”
PP laughed. “It’s only when you put them all together that you’re good?”
”Exactly!”
They both laughed. PP didn’t quite buy this modesty at least as far as her swimming was concerned. But her humility was cute. PP had to admit this. And so was she, with her lanky leanness, chin length auburn curls and sparkle in her dark eyes.

“I think I really want to join the Master’s Team this fall and get some instruction. I don’t think I’m actually very efficient in the water.”

PP nodded. “I used to swim on a Master’s Team down in Oakland years ago. I really liked it for the social aspect. I didn’t really compete very much.”

SFS nodded, deep in thought? Was she thinking about PP’s lack competitive drive? Or her own desire to improve her stroke? Probably the latter, PP mused. Most people didn’t really think about what the other person was saying but were already onto their own thoughts without really analyzing.

Or was this just PP’s mode of operation in the world?

Projection. It worked for PP. Especially at the Pool.

“Well, it was nice chatting with you,” SFS gave PP a charming smile.

“Likewise,” PP grinned, noting how she was fast getting dressed too, unlike PP and many of her swimming cohorts back in Oakland. Sometimes, PP wondered where the Hell JL had disappeared to in the Locker room, or if the Lovely I could really be slower (it was all that Hair!) than PP getting dressed.

But no such nonsense for SFS. She was ready to go and out of the cold locker room lickety split.

“See you next time,” she called out.
“Yes, next time,” PP echoed after her, knowing that there would probably be no next time. At least not with SFS. And she felt, for a moment, a little wistfully sad about this. That she wasn’t gonna hear about her next triathlon, or her workout with the Master’s Team or watch in rapt admiration as she zoomed down the lane next to her.

Following her back into the homey office, where DH was sitting waiting for PP, reading The Sun Also Rises (how cool is that?), PP nodded to where SFS had disappeared out into the piney night.

“Did you have a good swim?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, perfect. And I had a fun conversation in the locker room with the cute super fast swimmer.
“She was cute,” DH agreed as he packed Hemingway into his gym bag and slung his arm around PP. “Ready for some dinner?”
”Yes! I have a couple ideas!” PP grinned.
“I just bet you do.”
He hugged her tightly to him, as he opened the door to venture out into the crisp mountain eve.

PP scanned the dark piney parking lot. No SFS in sight. She’d completely vanished.
Fast in the pool. Fast in the locker room.
And fast into the night.

PP admired this speed. In other people. But for herself, she was all about swimming her less than 2 kilometers nice and easy.

Perfect Postcard Pool

Alas, the swimming lagoon at Squaw Valley was closed for the ‘season’ but this certainly did not deter pp from finding another pool. This is what she did. Find pools as soon as she landed. And while Lake Tahoe’s turqoisey blue called to her, PP knew she was not robust enough to venture into its clear magical waters.

Too goddamn COLD!

So, off to the South Lake Tahoe Recreation Complex! Heated Pool. Six 25-yard lanes.

And……when PP and Dashingly Handsome BF arrived, completely EMPTY!!!

PP was in Heaven and hardly able to contain her excitement as she rushed into the homey office where a friendly pool girl was pouring over her algebra homework from the local Community College.

“Hi!” PP bounced up to the counter, DH following in happy contentment. After all, he’d found the pool for her on the Internet before their arrival. “Two for lap swimming. You do have lap swimming, yes?”
PP glanced through the windows at the lovely empty pool surrounded by tall dusky pines under a cool and breezy mountain evening. What if they were closed? No one was swimming. Could it be that they’d gotten the times wrong? But no, DH had phoned ahead. 6-8 p.m. M-F. What day was it? Tuesday? Yes. PP loved it that vacation took away the days of the week, but then feared that this could backfire.

“Do you own a home in Tahoe?” Studying Girl had asked.
Huh? PP frowned and shook her head. Why the hell was she asking about home ownership at the pool? Could only homeowners swim here in Tahoe’s Picture Perfect pool?
This seemed a little far-fetched, PP had to admit; yet in her non-homeowner status, she felt a little panicked.
“Uh…. no….we’re just visiting here.”
“Cool. From where?”
“Oakland.”
SG giggled. “That’s a long ways a way.”
“Yeah, but I really needed a swim, so it’s worth it.” PP joked. Why the hell didn’t she just take the $4.25 and let them in to swim? Was she trying to establish their residency here because she was gonna charge them more? PP seemed to remember this happening somewhere else. That residents got in cheaper than non-residents to a particular pool. But maybe SG just was making small talk. Though it was kinda weird small talk. Even for Tahoe. PP doesn’t know what they make small talk about in Tahoe, but guessed it might be about skiing, or partying, or gambling, right?

Since PP couldn’t make small talk about anything except swimming, she was in trouble!

“What’s the water temperature?” she asked, thinking this would be a safe topic. Or at least one of her favorite topics, remembering how at Mills she and all her fellow swimmers loved to analyze the water temp. Art J, said it so succinctly one day: “I like to ask everyone I meet what the temp is. Then I like to ask the lifeguards. Then, of course, finally, I like to stick my hand in and guess. It’s all part of the ritual.”
“And one of our favorite topics of conversation,” the Lovely I had quipped. “No matter how many times we talk about the water temp, it’s always the same, but always different.”

Ok, maybe the conversation didn’t go exactly like the above, but you get the idea. Water temp is crucial.

This evening, SG’s cohort informed them, “It’s usually 80 or 81 degrees.”
“But the air is chilly, so you better bring your towels with ya out on deck,” SG added.
“Ah, that’s manageable,” PP had nodded. Now if she could just pay her $4.25 and get in the pool, please?

And she does. For the two of them. Shoves a ten dollar bill across the counter and forces the issue.
“For both of you?” SG asks.
“Yes, please,” PP is too excited to get cranky at the delay. Actually, it wasn’t that long of a delay, but it felt like it as she pocketed her change and hurried into the dressing room.

Does she need to describe it? Nah, nothing special. A public pool definitely with concrete floors and puddles oozing out from the toilets. PP hurriedly dressed and rushed out to the pool.

And SG was right. The air was chilly. They were definitely in the High Sierras. Diving into the pool, PP almost shouted in delight. It was so perfect. No one else was there except for DH, and the pine trees surrounding the pool’s structure. Kicking on her back, PP could see the sliver of the moon rising over a magnificent stony mountaintop between the tall green pines.

Why, it was like swimming in a postcard!

PP had never swum in a postcard before.

She liked it. And decided that she was never gonna get out.

Till she got cold.
Which she did.
But not before a few other swimmers joined them, one of whom was a super sleek fast young woman in a full wet suit zooming past PP in the next lane.

Wow! PP thought as she noticed her lapping PP even with her fast fins on.
She’s speedy! Wonder how often she swims? Or if she swims in the Lake too?

But more on her in the next blog.

You wanna know about her, don’t you?
PP thought so.

till then.....

Playful Pool Pandemonium

Did the entire city of Oakland decide to go swimming at Mills Pool today? Granted, it did turn out to be a lovely Sunday afternoon after the morning grays, but c’mon. Weren’t there any other activities going on today?

What about the farmers market?
Or Chabot Space Center?
Or a nice bike ride up at Tilden?

Was Mills Pool the only choice available?

Evidently, as PP nervously splits a lane with Dashingly Handsome BF and the Lovely I good-naturedly circle swims in the next lane even though she’s trying to do her aqua jogging. Lurking on deck are several perspective swimmers surveying the unusually crowded pool. Mills is never this crowded. Even on the hottest summer days. And what’s today? September 16?

What’s up with that?

PP thinks it must be cuz she’s been absent so long from the scene and even though she thought the Lovely I had only called her to go for a swim, in fact, she’d called ALL of her friends to come too!

Glancing over at the Lovely I’s lane, with the continued chaotic circle swimming, PP dismisses this speculation pretty quickly. Nah. The Lovely I wants her OWN lane, just like the rest of the swimmers, as PP tries not to make eye contact with the Too Tan Guy standing on the deck in front of her lane, swaying back and forth in scanning for a lane mode.


Yet, finally, Studly Bikini Woman does ask to join their lane, PP thinks she’s fine. So, yes, it’s fine. But then, DHBF doesn’t know how to circle swim. PP tries to explain it. Seems simple enough. Up the right side of the black centerline, then back down the right side again. Is that right? Is that a circle?

But to give him credit, he does get the counter clockwise pattern; it’s just the waiting at the wall if a swimmer wants to pass etiquette that eludes him. SBW is cool and patient. Doesn’t start yelling at him as he obliviously turns at the wall and starts a leisurely breaststroke back down the lane directly in front of her, serenely blocking her path.

PP feels nervous though. She needs to make sure that all goes smoothly. Though why she cares amidst all the anarchy she has no idea.

“Hey, DH,” she hollers at him. “You need to let her pass at the wall if she’s going faster than you.”
He shrugs. “She didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“That’s just the point. She can’t. She’s swimming. You need to be aware and….”
DHBF grabs PP by the foot and starts to playfully tug at her. Giggling, she easily sprints away, trying to keep their blatantly non-circle swimming play out of SBW’s path.

And PP has to remember, swimming is serious, yes, it’s exercise, yes. She must complete her 2200 yards every time she works out, but on the other hand, the water is wondrous and freeing and silly and wet! All sexy good fun.

So, when she’s in The Big Swimming Hole up in the Sierras this week, she’s gonna keep this in mind as she hops out of the Mills pool and heads for the hot tub, the Lovely I soaking up the conversation about how the dirt in the tub must certainly be better for your hair and skin than the chlorine in the Pool!



See you all next week!

(Checking out three pools in Tahoe in addition to the Big Swimming Hole itself. This 'swimming lagoon' in Squaw Valley looks like an adventure for PP!)

YMCA Values Resuscitated

“I see there’s a third person joining your lane.” Mole Man gives PP a toothy grin as she pauses at the wall to turn around, spying the ‘third’ waving at her from the other side of the pool.

PP probably frowned. At least she thought a frown. MM picked up on this, Mr. Intuitive that he is. “I tell you what, you can have my lane here and I’ll just move over and swim with the third in your lane.”
Gaping in astonishment, PP’s mouth drops open. Is he for real? He’d give up his split own lane for her circle swim one?

“You’re a Good Swimmer,” he continues, nodding and grinning. “I really admire Good Swimmers. So you should have your own lane to get a good workout in.”

Dumbfounded, PP smiles in massive appreciation, “Wow, that’s so nice of you! You sure?”
“Yeah, my pleasure,” and before PP can thank him again, he’s ducked under the lane line to allow her to trade with him.

Swimming in MM’s lane, PP shakes her head underwater. (Well, not really, but you know what she means.) The wonder of it all. That someone would actually Care enough about her, a total stranger, albeit a Pool Stranger, to give up his lane for pure unselfish reasons.

Wow! PP thinks, the YMCA values are alive and well here in the pool after all, embodied in the Magnanimous Mole Man. They don’t need to be written up on the wall. These Values are swimming in the pool, ripe for the taking, invisible yet oh so tangible. Who needs them painted up on the wall?

Certainly not MMM! And while Admiration might not be a usual value at the Y, it led to sharing which is of course, caring, and so, PP muses, who needs these boring mundane old values repainted up on that glaringly white wall?



Hey! Since the values don’t need to be painted for all to see, couldn’t the YMCA do something more aesthetically pleasing than just the boring white wall? Why not paint some little underwater scenes of yellow striped Zebra fish, and bright orange puffer fish, and blue angel fish swimming in amongst green wavy seaweed, with a giant sea tortoise to liven up the wall? Then little swimming cats floating in inner tubes, trying in vain delight to catch the too fast little fishes? And on the ceiling, she thinks as she turns on her back, kicking kicking kicking, why not a blue blue sky with white puffy clouds and some lovely sea birds flying overhead or a cute V of ducks?


This would make the Pool experience so artistically pleasing and display some much needed Aesthetic Values that would make one’s workout a more multi-layered, visual experience.

PP grins and waves at MMM as he chats up a Pretty Chinese Girl hanging out at the wall. That MMM, spreading his version of the YMCA values all around the pool.

Wonder what his Aesthetic Sensibilities might be? PP thinks to herself as she pauses to grab a kickboard, the Pretty Chinese Girl’s giggle echoing in the chloriney air.

Smiling to herself, PP shakes her head. Judging from his engagement of such a specimen in PCG, his Aesthetic Values are right up there with his Caring ones.

Or are they the same thing?

Watching MMM climb out of the pool, his rolly poly self heaving up the ladder, the large brown moles covering his bare wet back, stopping to whisper one final comment to PCG, who responds with appropriately tinkling giggles, PP thinks Yup, MMM has his Values intact.



And so does the YMCA, PP decides as she turns around and starts kicking toward the Giant Sea Tortoise she imagines swimming toward her on a aqua green wall, with dozens of darting colorful fishes eluding a large white cat floating on his tuna shaped sea raft.

WHERE ARE THOSE YMCA VALUES?

After being closed for an entire week, PP expected Big Changes at the YMCA pool, so when she entered into the Pool Auditorium and was greeted with the overwhelming smell of fresh paint, she thought, well, guess at least the walls are whiter.

So what?

Getting into the pool, she noticed right away that the water was freezing. What’s up with that one lately? Is it just her pool karma that every pool, whether it’s the normally warm Y or the unknown Heather Farms, is out to envelop her with goosebumple chills?

PP hates hates hates being cold!

But as she jumped into the icy Y this afternoon, sharing the lane with a lounging on the side French accented guy, she thought at least I’m at the Pool! This is really what matters, right?

Yet her shoulder and neck began to ache in earnest as she pressed on in the chilly water, glancing over at the poor pretty Asian lifeguard shivering in the lane next to her teaching teeth chattering little fish. Damn! She must really be cold just standing there!

Grabbing her zoomers, PP began the back kicking segment of her workout, staring up at the glaringly white washed walls and thought, hey! Where the hell are the YMCA values? The colorful primary colors of red, blue and yellow? They painted over them?
No more RESPONSIBILTY?
No more CARING?
No more HONESTY?
No more what the hell was the fourth one anyway?
See what happens when Values are painted over?
The go right out the window. Or deep underwater.
And as PP looked around, sure enough she saw the loss of These Values all around her. Sure, swimmers were sharing lanes –hey was that the missing value?
SHARING?

Well,if this wasn't it, no matter since PP wasn’t much for sharing herself. Lanes or anything else for that matter. She’s never liked sharing. Not her living space. (She’s lived alone now for how many years? 12? 13? 15?) Not her food. (Fortunately she lives alone so she rarely hasta worry about this.) Not her cats. (Well, actually she’d share Pablo if anyone wanted to partake of him. That big white cat had plenty of catness to go around.)

And didn’t the YMCA have plenty to go around too? PP often thinks not as she sees the swimmers pile into the pool now, the after 3 O’clock time crunch beginning.

She just wants her own lane. And her own pool. And her own house. And her own owness.

She’d never survive in Communist China. But this she already knows as she takes off her zoomers and tries to fit the stupid mask to suction her face so it won’t leak.

NO, sharing is for other people, not PP, as she tosses the mask off in leaking frustration and swims a couple more cold laps to try to warm down.

But what about the other painted over Values? Are all of these lost upon her too? PP thinks, yes, with the exception of HONESTY, but only in certain circumstances did she embrace this particular one.

Like when she was super cranky and needed to vent her crabbiness about the goddamn trees being chopped down, or the landlord losing her rent check or the Stomper upstairs.

Then she was all about HONESTY—she’d yell out her anger at the top of her lungs, bang Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# minor as loudly and as badly as possible, write nasty irate letters to Wells Fargo Bank for charging her a $25 processing fee to stop a check that she didn’t lose!

GRRRRRR!!!!!

Lordy, it’s time for a swim! she thinks to herself as the crashing tree chain saws close in on her and the Landlady pounds on the door looking for the lost rent check.

Where does everything go? How do these Values get lost? Why is it all such a mystery?

So much loss, here on Sept 11, the national day of Loss, as she closes up the computer and makes her way back to the Valueless Pool courtesy of the YMCA.

Now if only she could find her lost equilibrium?
Smiling to herself, she shrugs. If she’s gonna find this anywhere, it’ll be at the pool. Values or no values.

NEGATIVE EXPECTATIONS

“Did you have a nice swim?” PP asks her Lane Mate, now across from her in the shower.
“Oh, yeah….I needed it.”
Laughing, PP nods. Knows what she means. When you need a swim, you really need a swim.
“Yeah, I didn’t know what time the pool closed today,” LM continues, stripping off her bikini bottoms. PP tries not to stare. Even after all these years of swimming and communal showers, she still works hard at the Nonchalant Shower Etiquette. But LM is sexy in that swimmer works out way. Lean and muscular, with barely an ass but the flat tummy and wait, she hasn’t seen her breasts yet…..
“….so, when I got here, I thought the pool closed at 4:45 (it was round 4:20 when they’d gotten in the lane together), “cuz last year they did.”
“So you were pleasantly surprised?” PP finishes for her.
“Yeah. I had Negative Expectations.”

PP nods as she tries not to watch her take off the bikini top. But she does anyway, just a little out of the corner of her soapy eye—her breasts were surprisingly large with those big round brown circles surrounding the nipples. PP likes looking at breasts. They all have such different personalities. These were decidedly athletic, too, but with a touch of womanly vigor about them.

Tearing herself away from her nipple analysis, PP nods again, “Yeah, I know what you mean about Expectations. I wasn’t too hopeful either when I got here. It was so crowded. But then it worked out…..” Her voice trailed off as LM soaped up, involved in her shower toilette now. The chit chat over.

And PP has to wonder, what is it about these expectations that we all have surrounding swimming? For she too, often has ‘Negative Expectations’—today, for instance, at the Golden Bear Pool. Besides the crowds, she couldn’t get her goddamn mask to not leak….grrrrrr……and this pool, while cute and scenic with the eucalyptus trees surrounding the redwood decks and the grassy hillside with Mr. Yoga man doing hilarious balancing exercises, had way too much chlorine. PP had to wear her mask or she’d go blind from the chlorine red eye.

So was a trial, esp. with sharing a lane. And then Mr. Yoga got in their lane and here we go again with the dreaded circle swim. The lanes at Golden Bear were narrow and claustrophobic and PP knocked into the Serious Butterfly Guy in the lane next to her a couple of times when she finally threw the mask off in a fit of frustration and tried swimming with her eyes closed.

Yet, it all worked out in the end. The end lane opened up and PP got it all to herself, leaving her sexy LM to split the lane with Yoga Man. The water temp was cool, but not as cold as Heather Farms, and so though there was no Hot Tub like the Y or Mills, PP knew she could look forward to a Hot Shower here at Golden Bear.

And who could really complain as she watched her sexy LM, towel off in an efficient sporty way right outside the shower so as to not get the floor wet. (Like it mattered; the floors at Golden Bear were pretty yucky, though they tried with those plastic wholly mats.)

Negative Expectations? Sure PP had had them too when she’d started her swim this Sunday afternoon, but then, with her own lane, Sexy LM shower and even despite the leaking mask (What to do about this? Any ideas fellow swimmer readers? Goggles bruise PP’s eyes, and the masks leak….it’s a BIG dilemma!) Golden Bear Pool had been a good back up choice for this week without the Y.

Sometimes Negative Expectations can actually work in one’s favor. If you always expect the worst, when the happy positives happen, why, it’s even more satisfying and delightful.

Especially when the showers are HOT!

Satan or Savior

Ok, can PP just state for the record that Yahoo Maps is the Devil Incarnate? (And who exactly is Yahoo Maps? Too bad PP can’t find out, cuz she’d go and bomb their corporate offices, but how the hell do you bomb any entity in Cyberspace? )

Satan is the mastermind behind Yahoo Maps; she’s sure of this. All she wanted to do was find the beauteous Heather Farms Pool in Walnut Creek that she’d heard such rave reviews about so she could swim this week while the Oakland Y was closed. She looked this pool up on line. 20 Lap lanes! 50-meter pool. And the enticing picture of the Butterfly Guy (see insert in previous blog). Well, needless to say, PP was very excited and full of Pool Anticipation after her long day at WWU.

So, she’d gone to Yahoo Maps and gotten the ‘directions’. 11 minutes from WWU—perfect.

45 minutes later, on the insane Ygnacio Valley Road that had turned mysteriously into a goddamn freeway, PP was near tears and cursing Yahoo Maps.

45 minutes = 11 Minutes?

Not in her book!

But where to start? Yahoo Maps is NOT where to start. PP can tell you that. But let’s just for instance pretend that it is. Well, here we go.

Start at WWU—ok, she was there. So she did. Easy. Bear R on Longbrook. Already this was wrong and circuitous, so PP ignored this direction and just headed for Contra Costa Blvd. Next, there were 4 points listed that she just ignored since they made absolutely no sense. R on longbrook way. L on Massolo Dr. It was insane and shoulda given her a clue that Yahoo Maps was gonna be the WRONG to follow.

But did she listen to her Intuition? She did not. This was her first mistake. And as she ignored the direction to get onto the 680 freeway for 100 yards and instead opted to just head on down Contra Costa Blvd since she knew it would hit Treat Blvd. , PP felt pretty smug about her decision.

Little did she know that Treat Blvd was definitely NO TREAT! Here was where she made her first wrong turn. A right instead of a left. Yahoo Maps just said to take #48 Treat Blvd exit offa the freeway, but since she hadn’t gotten on the freeway, well, she took a guess and turned the wrong way. Here was her first U turn. Back down Treat Blvd after turning around in a scary suburban cul-de-sac with a lot of For Sale signs in front of the tract homes and a mad guy trying to get his motorcycle started.

But once headed down Treat, PP thought, ok, this is right. What next? Glanced at the directions—no L or R instructions. Yahoo Satan just listed “Continue on Bancroft. And then Continue on Ygnacio Valley Rd.” Ok. Wouldn’t you assume (And of course this is where she got into trouble. All those Assumptions. But, wouldn’t you assume that since Yahoo Satan hadn’t listed any turn directions that Treat Blvd just turned into Bancroft and then Ygnacio Valley? All the streets in the Burbs had at least two names. Why the hell was this? One way was Treat Blvd. and one way was Geary? Hello? Why isn’t the street just the same goddamn name the whole length of it? Screwy suburbs!

So, naturally, PP thought that Treat was gonna turn into Bancroft and Ygnacio Valley cus it already was Geary and Treat.

Damn.

Do you see why Yahoo is Satan? Or is it the Suburbs? Yes this could be so. Hey, maybe Yahoo is the Suburbs? Okay, off the track a bit, but hell this entire quest for the Pool was off the track so it’s Thematic. PP likes this. Usually. But not when she’s tired, and hungry and in desperate need for a swim. Is finding the pool so much to ask?

Evidently.

So driving along Treat, looking for it to turn into Bancroft, she of course, passes a street called Bancroft where she coulda turned R or L, but doesn’t cuz Yahoo Satan didn’t tell her to.

This is her next mistake.

Driving driving driving. Away from the freeway, PP starts to think, this doesn’t seem right. Glances down at her watch. 20 minutes have gone by and Heather Farms Pool is supposed to be only 11 minutes from WWU.

Shit.

So, she does her second U turn and heads back down Treat. Turns on Bancroft when she gets back to it. Of course again, she turns the wrong way. Hell, isn’t there a 50/50 chance of choosing the Right way? But no, PP does another U turn on Bancroft after driving for several minutes. Again, this doesn’t seem right cuz she’s not in stupid Walnut Creek any more and at least she knows that the Pool is in WC.

Waiting at the signal on Bancroft to do her next U turn, she spies a couple teenage boys on their cell phones. Should she ask one of them where the Pool is? They look busy and bored. That teenage specialty. So she doesn’t ask and makes her U turn, heading back down Bancroft again.
Okay, now. Is this directionless pool story going on too long?
You bet it is as she heads back across Non-Treat Treat Blvd, now looking for Ygancio Valley Blvd. Hey! Yes! Here it is. PP turns what turns out to be the WRONG way again! Heads up Ygnacio Valley. It turns into a goddamn freeway. No place to turn around as she tries to choke bag the frustrated tears.

WHERE THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN POOL?

Not out here in the god forsaken brown-weeded hills of Contra Costa. Though there was a nice view of the red sun that was setting amidst the fire sky. But no opportunity for a U turn for at least 5 miles. All the huge SUV’s were on her tail eager to get home to their suburban martinis and barbeques and brats. PP glanced down at her watch. 45 minutes since she’d left WWU.

I don’t know about you, but 45 minute may be 11 minutes in Yahoo’s Hell, but not in her world as she finally hit the crest of the hill and a signal where she could do a final U turn.

At this point, near tears, tired, neck aching, PP wonders, should she just give up her quest? Is the pool really worth all of this? But she’s nothing if not stubborn as she heads back down the hill. She’s gonna find this pool if it the last thing she does and it might be as a Mean Black Chevy Tahoo guns past her, causing her to catch her breath as she stops for yet another infinitely long signal. (What the hell is it about signals in the suburbs? They’re all at least 5 minutes long! Another part of Hell, as far as she’s concerned as the light finally turns and she shifts the Geo into gear.)

PP shivers. Part of her feeling like she’s just gonna get back on the freeway if she ever finds that ( she does know that Ygancio Valley hits the freeway home to Oakland since she passes it everyday.) Now she thinks, WHY THE HELL didn’t YAHOO maps just direct her to get on the freeway, then get off on Ignacio Valley?

Because they’re SATAN. Only explanation as she starts to look anxiously for her final direction. ‘Turn R on N. San Carlos.’

Is that it? Yes! N. San Carlos one way, and San Something else the other way. Again, why the hell are there two names to all the streets in stupid Walnut Creek? Something to do with the creek no doubt. It runs two ways. So all the streets have two names.
No logic there which makes perfect sense at this point as PP turns on N. San Carlos and then thankfully spies the sign “Heather Farms” and then “Swimming Pool!”

Pulling into the parking lot. (One good thing about the burbs---parking lots) PP turns off the Geo and sits for a moment in front of a long building that must house the Pool. Many teenagers running around with wet heads and cell phones as their parents sit idling in gas guzzling Suburbans chattin with each other.

Was it worth it? PP pays her fee and changes in the bare bones locker room as a group of VERY LOUD teenage girls scream over their hairdryers, still dubious at this point.

But then….

Pushing open the door to the pool, PP stops for a moment in absolute wonder.
The most beautiful pool greeted her. 20 laps and several of them absolutely empty. A lovely green hillside behind it and the water smooth, clear and inviting.

A smile came over her tired face as she plopped her gym bag down and grabbed a kickboard and pull buoy.

Now for the important point--Where was the Butterfly Guy advertised? She glanced toward the middle of the enormous pool as what looked like a Master’s swim team working out. Bet he was over there, she thought to herself but suddenly too cold and tired as an almost wintry wind whipped across the deck to give much more thought to him. Next time.

Jumping into her own lane, PP zipped quickly down the smooth coolness. The goose bumps rising on her arms. Damn it was cold! But no way was she gonna get out now.
Not after the Lengths, (or should she say ‘Laps’) she’d gone to to find this pool.
Giggling to herself, she turns and heads back down the lane, the underwater lights coming on to guide her through her workout; the welcoming water already working its magic on her tired, stressed out Yahoo induced breakdown as she stopped to turn around, spying out of the corner of her eye a Grinning Handsome Guy in the lane next to hers.

Yup, it was worth it as she kicked off the wall and headed back down the lane.

Anticipation

Collapses

Technically, this isn’t a pool story per se, but it’s a coming home from the pool story, so it counts. At least as far as PP is concerned and frankly that’s all that matters.

After an especially relaxing swim at the Oakland Y –own lane for a 1000 yards or so-- a definite rarity-- and then splitting the lane with the Beautiful Smiling T—more on her in another blog---PP hops, no actually she just sorta languidly slides into the overly warm Geo to make her way back up Broadway. She always pauses at the stop sign at Webster and 24th. Should she turn here and then make the turn on Broadway without the aid of the cute right hand turn arrow, or should she just mosey on up to the turn arrow and wait so she doesn’t have to think?

Today, she opts for not thinking.
Little did she know.

There they were. A Lovely Anxious Helping Woman holding her silver dashboard shield (later PP marvels at her ingenuity—what a wonderful idea to come up with in the middle of a crises—PP could never think so creatively and quickly, esp. given her usually spaced-out state, post swim) standing near the curb but still not outta traffic shading a Collapsed Chinese Man sitting on the hard hot asphalt. Damn. Wonder what happened?

Helping Woman sees the Geo approaching and steps outta the road enuf to wave her on to pass, which PP does, initially thinking she has help, but then sees the Collapsed Man sitting on the asphalt all hunkered over in his too hot black jacket and black pants and thinks to herself. That situation doesn’t look too good.

Heat exhaustion? Could that be what had led to his collapse? It was a warm day, but not as warm as it had been, but still, it was hot, particularly if you were wearing long black pants and a black jacket and black shoes and why the hell did some people wear so many clothes in the Heat? Could everyone be trying to protect themselves from the sun?

PP thinks not. It’s just elderly people. They were always cold. She got that.

So, because HW had waved her past, PP had pulled around them. But then sitting at the signal on Broadway, staring back at them in her rear view mirror,she thinks, Damn. What the hell are they doing just standing/sitting in the middle of the street on a blazing Hot first day of September at 3:30 in the afternoon in front of the Ford Dealership? (Afterwards, PP wonders why no one at the Dealership called 911, but more on that later.) So she swings a U turn and heads back to them, pulling in back of them and parking the Geo so no one will run them over, turning on her emergency flashers as a warning to other unsuspecting drivers.

Hops outta the car now, her former languidness completely dissipated. Another Good Samaritan, an Emerald Green Tank Top African America Woman was at the scene now, all business to PP. “I called 911,” she announced.
“Oh thank goodness,” PP exclaimed as she peered around the silver dashboard screen at the poor confused collapsed man, maybe 60? 70? Hell, PP can’t tell. And, yes, definitely overdressed for the day. Couldn’t they somehow get his jacket off at least?

But he doesn’t budge. Confused. Scared? In shock? He doesn’t speak nor look at any of them, but continues to sit kinda cross-legged, his head bent down, his heels propped into the asphalt. ‘It is so pity’ as one of her students from China would say.

“What happened?” PP asks Shielding Woman.
“I’m not sure. I just saw him lying here in the street so I parked my car and came over to help.” She angled the silver shield over him. “Thank God he’s sitting up now. When I got here, he was just lying here not moving at all. He didn’t look too good.”

PP thought how he still didn’t look too good as she glanced anxiously around. Should she go get someone at the car dealership to help? But then, African American Green Tank Top woman had called 911. For the second time in a week, PP wished she had a cell phone to call about Collapses on city streets. Yes, maybe it was time to join the 21st century, resister that she was.

“And his companion,” SW nods toward a slender Chinese man, elderly and gray, sitting on a bench in front of the dealership, staring anxiously over at the little group gathered around his friend. “He’s very worried. But their English isn’t so good. So, I don’t really know what happened.”
“Did you ask?” AAGTTW eyed the companion and SW dubiously.
”I did, but I don’t really think their English is good enough. I mean, they may understand English, but speaking it……” her voice trailed off as they all turned at once to the sound of the ambulance’s shrill siren.
“Wow!” PP exclaimed. “That was fast!”
The two other women nodded. “I hope they brought a translator,” SW murmured as the ambulance pulled up and out hopped two Movie Star Beauty Paramedics, the guy with muscles and tattoos, Brad Pitt watch out, the woman looking like a young butch Liz Taylor. PP thinks, Hell, maybe I better arrange a Collapse for myself on Their Shift for some much-needed resuscitation. Though then they’d probably just cart her off to Highland Hospital where there certainly were NO Movie Stars.

PP watched as they knelt down to help, immediately all business, ignoring the little group of helpers.
“Let’s see if we can get this off,” Butch Liz took charge right away, prying away his heavy hot jacket as Tattoo Brad Pitt reached into Collapsed Man’s pocket and retrieved his ID. Began asking his name. Address. Etc.

PP sighed. Thank goodness that help arrived so quickly as she got back into the Geo knowing she wasn’t needed any longer if in fact she ever was. But at least she felt like she had done something. Is this a theme lately? Seems so. And as she drove home, PP marveled at how three total strangers had come together to help another stranger in need here in Oakland, which has the reputation of a big, alienating urban war zone.

Yet, what was it about the human capacity for compassion? Strange is what it was. And here in Oakland, where you’d least expect it, it all happened so fast and naturally. Unlike SF when she had watched helplessly as all the Cell Phone business people walked around the poor homeless man, collapsed on Market Street in the middle of the afternoon rush.

Was it Oakland that had the compassion? Or just Kismet that these three women all converged together at this particular point on a Saturday afternoon? Later PP thought about how it had been all women, no men had stopped to help. Now of course, this could just be gender coincidence, but then again she had to think that women were just more helpful. They were raised this way, right? Frankly, PP hadn’t thought herself particularly compassionate, but then where the hell were the guys at the Ford Dealership? Didn’t they notice that an old Chinese Guy had collapsed in front of their dealership?

Maybe not. After all it was a Sat afternoon. Labor day. Big balloon sales. Busy busy busy selling selling selling. And this brought PP back to thinking about SF and the poor collapsed man there on Market ST. Everyone is so busy, making deals, talking a blue streak that they don’t even see the life or lack of it in their paths.

It was a sorry world sometimes.

Unless of course, you’re in downtown Oakland, on a certain Saturday afternoon, with Two other helping women, making a small hopeful difference in one poor man’s unfortunate collapse. (With a little help from the Stars, too, of course!)