When you've got your health. . . . .

My water aerobics class at the Y finally returned today.
We’ve been on hiatus while they cleaned the pool. It’s been unavailable for two weeks; they’d better be able to perform brain surgery in there after making us wait so long.

          We go there to improve our fitness, or at least maintain the level we’re already at, so it’s only logical that conversation often turns to health. A., one of the regulars, was her usual sweetly pudgy self, and treaded water like a pro with the rest of us for 15 minutes. Her white hair has grown in nicely after her bout with ovarian cancer.

 M. stayed in the warm pool; the hip she had replaced years ago has been acting up.

P. relayed to me that a mutual friend’s husband is rebounding well from his prostate surgery, but that this friend had just had a patch of squamous cell melanoma removed from a spot close to her eye.

          Another M., a faithful attendee, I first met at the gym 5 or so years ago. She stands out since she’s not only in great shape, she’s a rare and welcome person of color in our too-white-bread suburban YMCA. She’d told me that she’d once lost 100 pounds, hard to believe when you saw her trim shape. I hadn’t seen her there for quite a while, but people come and go in the summer with vacations.

          She had to leave early, and when she left the pool I was surprised to see that she’d gained quite a bit of weight. Too bad, I thought, after her earlier achievement. My thoughts turned to the series of too-tight pants I’d tried on the night before and I resolved to myself that I wouldn’t let that happen to me.

          She was still in the locker room when I finished, and was chatting with a friend one row over.

          M, “You look like you’ve lost some weight.”

          Friend, “Oh, thanks! I’ve been trying.”

          M., “Yeah. I’ve put a lot on. I haven’t been able to get to the gym. They took out a quarter of my lung this spring.”