Aqua Women

Yesterday I had a cortisone epidural to relieve sciatica caused by a herniated disc.

Next week, I am having my left hip replaced.

Eight years ago, I had my right hip replaced.

I feel like an old jalopy that keeps landing in the shop for repairs.

It’s not so much age as it is years of athletics and an unlucky genetic draw that has worn me down. So, I no longer run or cross-country ski. I swim for exercise, because it hurts the least. It also soothes me like nothing else.

For as long as I can remember, water has been my salve. Seeing it, hearing it, touching it. As a homesick child at sleep-away camp, I swam laps in the lake to keep from crying. When my nerves are jangled, when I can’t make a decision, when I’m inexplicably blue, I swim.

No matter how cold or tired or irritable or resistant I feel, I submerge myself in the nearest body of water. And without fail, after the first stroke, I am at peace.

I am not alone.

I swim in a community pool alongside a handful of women every morning, many of them older than I by a decade or more. They are heavier, frailer, slower, more arthritic than I. Some have new hips and some, new knees. Some of them I know by name and most, by their water routines, the way they tread or kick in place.

We are compatriots, bound to our morning ritual. We tote our suits and caps and goggles and fins; peel back layers of down jackets and wool scarfs; toss our hats and mittens; slide off our furry boots. We gingerly tip-toe poolside to avoid stepping down on the cold wet tile floor, and sit along the edge, quietly negotiating with ourselves about how good it will feel once we’re in, nodding to each other across lanes that the water is indeed chilly, and groaning in unison before sliding in. As a rule, we do not chat, because we have a job to do: lapping back and forth, back and forth, like a mantra. When we’re done, we high-tail it to hot showers, whooping and hollering; so deserving, so relieved, feeling accomplished and proud of ourselves.

Funny how, at 55, my role models have changed: no more pining to be a tall, thin, dressed-for-success woman who can sail down the sidewalk on high, stacked heels, I draw inspiration from an older crowd, for whom working joints and a good day's swim are reasons to celebrate.