Chapter 2: The Bob and Blab

The only relief from work stress these days is swimming.  As I sit at my desk doing my daily round of a cabillion new-found duties, I find myself anticipating the solitude and the calm of my lap lane at the rec center pool.  Okay, so I have to wrestle a lane away from the old dudes over at Golden Acres Rec Center--the battle is worth it considering I wear my body out to match the already-worn-out brain. 

While the old guys are floating/snorkeling/side-stroking like Ester Williams in the lanes, the other half of the pool is claimed by the senior women--for "exercise class".  But it's not really--there isn't a whole lot of working out going on. Well, unless you count the jaw hinges.

I'm thinking that space is a huge issue for Seniors. Take a gander at the early crowd at McDonald's some weekday morning. Is there some strange, unwritten rule that Seniors cannot sit at the same table? Why must they all grab their own table and yell across to the other tables to talk?  Is this some ownership deal? Because it is weird and it transfers to the pool. Observance #4: Seniors have huge personal space.

These women sit on their noodles (or two. or three.) and they yak. And yak. And yak. They yak in the shallow end and they yak in the deep end. They yak in the locker room, while they are taking showers, and while they are neck-deep in the warm waters of Golden Acres Rec Center pool. And they yak at a distance.  We can't float too close to another Senior--there is that unwritten McDonald's rule, remember.

Oh, they "water-walk" (whatever the hell that is) and they move their arms around a lot, but their yappers are moving more than anything else.  And while they consider this "working out"--I can tell you that not one blade of hair on their head is wet. I swear the only calories burned are those used while struggling to get in and out of their skirted swimsuits in the locker room.  Unless you count the talking calories. Then you've got yourself a workout.

I refer to this Senior exercise class as the "Bob and Blab". Observance #5: Perfect hair does not equal working out.

Every so often, one of those blabbers gets weary of yappin' and they sort of just float. You know, on their backs with their arms out.  And they float----into the lane markers. And their arms and/or legs just happen to float under the lane markers and into my lane. And when I come a kickin' and splashin' by, they get all miffy because I have gotten them wet and ruined their hair--which is half wet.  Observance #6: Floaters have wet hair in the back, dry in the front.

There is a hot tub at Golden Acres, but it isn't really needed because the water in the pool is so darn warm to begin with. I think they must keep up the water temps for the Senior crowd that dominates this pool. But why then, the hot tub? 

For more talking.

After the Bob and Blab, the whole crowd gets up and meets with the guys over in the hot tub for more socializing.  It's hilarious. I swear they are waiting for a waitress to show up.