“Little by little one walks far”

Day 61

Friday

“Hija! Cuando te vi en esta calle, pensaba pobrecita, ella no sabe nadar. Entonces, cuando te vi pa’lla pensó, ella es campeona!! Venga hija, venga!”

It’s nice to still be able to surprise people.

Standing dripping wet, an old man with a grin as wide as the pool was deep had tapped my arm, wanting to speak with me. I thought, oh geez, great, did I accidentally take his lane? Did I take his floaty toy? Did I not properly exit the pool? What harassment would I endure?? Instead he shook his head, flabbergasted and then sputtered, with wet lips and wisps of grey spraying me with drops of freshly chlorinated water as his head tossed in amazement, said, “My girl, when I saw you in this lane, I thought, poor girl, she doesn’t know how to swim. But then, when I saw you over there in that lane, I thought, wow, she’s a champion, well done!” I just laughed as he hobbled off right and I hobbled off left, saying that I liked to change up my routine when I could. Aqua jogging has become my new favorite hobby. I snap a big ole green float around my waist and bob up and down the lane, mimicking the fastest racers, pretending to round the last 100 meters as I came down the lane, flying in slow motion. Going in slow motion in the lane where it was a 50/50 chance whether the person next to you had either a full set of teeth or full head of hair (never both). I’d bounce off the wall to circle back down the lane while the wrinkled, not from water, but from life, bodies, held on for dear life, catching their wise old breaths. Being the anomoly of activity in the lane, I suppose I looked odd. It certainly earned me smiles from the old ladies and men, being so chipper in the slow lane. But it also gave me a wonderful hidden vantage point from which to watch the rest of the aquatic drama. No one bothers to look at the slow lane; they all know we swim slowly. No use watching, they rarely make progress. So I could do my slow motion laps while watching the clearly apathetic to her job life guard instead flirt with the boy who clearly comes to the pool not to swim laps but to drown in her love struck gaze. They chat, he swims a lap. Maybe 2. She selects the best fins and brings them over to him. He says something funny and she blushes as red as the cross on her shirt. She sits down, he swims a lap. They chat. And I look around to see how many people have drowned. None yet. I wouldn’t like anyone to drown, but I would like to spitefully point out to her that she should earn her pay and spend her hours staring down her little lover. The rest of us would like some attention too. You never can tell when a cramp will hit and you’re out of luck. But I don’t worry; I’m in the slow lane, with a floaty around my waist. Safe in my invisibility. But then later, tiring of my incognito slowness, I meander under lane divisions and swim a few laps, daring my foot to start hurting in zero pressure water. And I’m good, but after using crutches for the past week my arms are aching and beg me to relax into a gentle back float. I acquiesce because I know someone has to crutch it home and these arms are about to mutiny.

And then I with about the grace of a fish walking on land, get out of the pool and am stopped by the grandfather who calls me his campeona. And just as I surprised him, he surprised me. What gentle kindness. And you better believe the arms of a campeona were able to crutch home. It’s nice when people remind you of the strength you forgot you had all along…

A Peruvian proverb:

Little by little, one goes far.