It came to me this image: the dancing hippos in the Disney movie Fantasia, as they rose from the water, buoyant and graceful, unapologetic and delighted. dressed in tasteful tutus and ballet shoes.
Yes, this is the image that flashed in my mind as I scanned the ladies in my water aerobics class. Thirty women who were, shall we say, robust. Rubinesque. Round. All wearing bathing suits in fifty shades of gray.
Some donning sports bras or mastectomy prostheses underneath their suits, some with little skirts draped from their ample hips. Many wearing water shoes to protect their toesies from the rough pool floor.
I thought, If this is the “After” picture, it’s not a great endorsement for the transformative effects of exercise.
I prepared for the class by selecting my foam hand weights, which actually weigh nothing until they push against the water, creating the resistance that disciples of water aerobics praise. I also picked up my noodle, a purple one, which would later loop under my thick thighs and fleshy armpits to achieve something akin to zero gravity.
My body was encased in a Miracle Suit, a brand of swimming costume designed to camouflage and slenderize and glamorize and reconceptualize and, it would seem, paralyze the mature figger.
But the ruching at hip level did not miraculously hide the apron of fat drooping from my belly. The tourniquet torso did not miraculously produce an alluring decolletage, but rather pushed my boob fat out and over the molded bra cups into the cool water at the YWCA.
I shivered and actually looked forward to the warming effects of exercise. I have never, ever looked forward to exercise.
The women were already huddled in watery clutches, gossiping and comparing diets and working hard to keep their hair dry. Their bodies were submerged—their fleshy arms, their cheesy thighs, their dimpled bottoms, their unshaved legs—and their talking heads were animated and convivial.
Then, a young man, large and lumbering, pushed a walker into the room and, like the ladies, selected his weights and noodle, then clung to both handrails as he descended the steps into the pool. He walked purposefully to the deep end, setting himself apart from all of us ballerinas.
The buff male lifeguard, perched on his stand, twirled his whistle and looked vaguely in our direction, though I doubt if he saw us. If one of us were drowning, could he save someone who was invisible to him?
The young instructor, in spandex shorts, tight tee shirt, and neon gym shoes, strides in. She gets in position on the pool deck, not into the resistant water, which doesn’t seem the least bit fair.
We stake out our places, a good distance away from each other in the shallow end. We have learned to spread out, because as our bodies drift with our exertion, we might hit someone with our whirling arms or flailing bosoms.
The instructor turns on the music which is swallowed up by the tall ceilings and fans and chattering women. Only occasionally can I make out a phrase:
“Michelle Pfeiffer that white gold . . .”
“Eh, sexy laaady. . .”
“Billie Jean is not my lover. She’s just a girl who blub blub blub blub blub blub…”
The instructor works hard in the humid chlorinated air. She is yelling commands which we can barely hear and do not follow.
“Bend low! Hop high. Try to skkek and make dldkfkfk.” Kick, kick, kick.
Her chest is glistening. A drop of sweat slides down her face which she swipes with the back of her hand.
But we are not sweating. We are bobbing in the cool pool, revealing only our shoulders and serene faces. Nobody can see if our bottom halves are doing graceful pirouettes or the hokey pokey or the Charleston — or nothing at all.
We are moving, but it doesn’t hurt, and there is no sweat pooling under our breasts, and our thighs are not chafing.
And, for this hour, we are taking care of ourselves. We welcome the water resistance. And we are not ashamed. And, can you believe it, we are having fun!
When the hour is over, we trundle up the steps and out of the pool. We return our exercise equipment (We’ve used exercise equipment, by God!) and then cocoon ourselves in towels.
We cautiously navigate the slippery pool deck to make our way to the dressing room.
We are no longer a Sisterhood. Now we are individual women hiding our bodies. We go into isolation, first to shower, (pulling the curtain shut, minding the gap), then into a changing room (pulling the curtain shut, minding the gap).
We hide our wrinkles and creases, our cesarean and gallbladder scars, the evidence of our living.
We are shy about peeling wet suits down over our loose bodies, arranging brassieres over pendulous breasts, pressing panty liners in our underwear.
We leave in our separate cars. We go to pick up dry cleaning or to eat salad with fat-free dressing or to touch up our roots.
But we will be back tomorrow in our waterlogged fantasia.
Because in the water, we love our bodies for all that they are and all they can do and for the hope of what they can yet become.
Because in the water we are strong. We do not fear the resistance. We know the resistance will make us stronger.
Yes, we will be back tomorrow. We will persist.
Been there! Miss it! Fabulous flab gets tighter with water resistance. We will persist.
Oh my goodness, Sandy! You’ve done it again. You’ve made me laugh out loud – and I forgot that panty liner today!! Thank you, thank you for being so candid, hilarious, honest – for just being YOU. You’re so easy to love!!
Wish you could laugh and splash with me!
Ah, how I long for the day that women, all women are not ashamed of their “fearfully and wonderfully made bodies.” Recently I had someone use the term “thin privilege” to describe me even as I struggle day after day to stay in recovery from Anorexia. What I look like is very different than what I “feel” like. So, not only am I uncomfortable in this “recovered body,” but now I should feel shame because I am “thin privileged?” The fact that any women’s feelings about their body aren’t validated and their true selves celebrated is the real shame.
Keep on writing, keeping on sharing your voice that echos so many women. Liz
I am so honored by your words, so grateful that I was able to convey the subtext. Thank you for reading and responding.
Sandy, you are a hoot.
Thanks, Nance.
Well said. Can’t believe how your stories are SO TRUE! That’s exactly how I see it as well. I have to admit I only did water aerobics once but frankly that was enough for me to totally relate to your “exercise class”.
Oh, you should try it again! Exercise without sweat! It’s pretty sweet!
I thought the hippos were pink too! I can relate to all you said. The only addition I’d add is my fake boob often drops way down to my waist (but hasn’t fallen out) and I have to give it a push up discreetly in the water. At least we are all exercising fat and all. When I took lifesaving a lifetime ago the more blubber on a person makes it easier to save them due to the the fact fat has more floating capacity. I was thin then – ha!
Thanks for sharing! So I would be easy to save, right?
You are so brave to bring out into the open what so many of us try to hide. Then if that isn’t enough, you do it with such levity that we have to laugh at ourselves. Folks like you make life worth living!
Oh my gosh. Wouldn’t we laugh if we were in a class together?
BEEN THERE; DONE THAT!!!! Hilarious as true as always!!
I seem to remember you live in Northern Kentucky. You should join me in the shallow end of the deep end at the Ft. Thomas Y. Boy oh boy would we laugh!
Truth -delightfully written! It ALMOST inspires me to pull on my miracle suit and join the “water babes!”
When you’re ready, we can splash and laugh together at the Ft. Thomas Y.
Thank you for the laughs. It always nice to know I am not alone. I would wear my spandex capris in the water if it didn’t take 15 minutes to get back into them after I use the bathroom. I already wear a 3/4 sleeve swim shirt. The days of throwing on a bathing suit are over. It takes a lot of work to look this bad in public. 🙂 Keep the humor coming Sandy. I really look forward to your posts.
I have to say this is the ONLY setting on the planet where I feel relatively comfortable wearing a bathing suit. Wish I could get over myself.
Sandy, I love your brazen honesty! As a former, current, and future feminist, I hate that women have been socialized to be critical of our bodies. You made me laugh and that can only be good. Thank you! Phebe
Yes, society has socialized us to be critical of our bodies, but we are complicit in this. Read my next blog in a few days where I explore this.
The little details kill me–struggling to keep hair dry (so true), being shy about peeling-off swimsuits in front of other women in the locker room (so true!). Another Sandy Lingo slice of life. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks, Ellen, for reading. I am glad you can relate. Turns out that I have a lot of friends who splash.
You nailed this one, Sandy! My class is EXACTLY like this, only without you there to make me laugh. “I thought, If this is the “After” picture, it’s not a great endorsement for the transformative effects of exercise.
So let’s go together and laugh and splash.
You have described my water aerobics class with uncanny accuracy! Added a humorous twist as always.
I wish we could be in the same class. There would be lots more laughter!
Love it, as always! <3
Thanks to you, writer friend, for making it better.
In reading this blog you made me feel like I was back in the water class I attended years ago, Sandy. You make it all so-o real. Thank you for sharing your gift of writing which helps us live and re-live such delightful(?) times.
It am so honored that you read my blog and am glad if it brings back good memories.
Love these classes. Mine plays volleyball in the water for 20 min on Fridays & folks get hit in the head. Back. Fall when we jump for the ball. I feel like a 10 yr old again. Nothing quite like it! Harmless but helpful,
Great write!👍
I love to think of you taking these classes and playing volleyball in your new home. Thanks for reading and responding. Miss you, Kaya.
This is a slice of life or a bucket of water? I love my water class! It is one place we all accept each other, every size and shape, every freckle and mole. Our Y has a heated pool,; guess we are lucky. I wear my sporty water shoes so I won’t slip, my suit with a skirt to camouflage my hips- nice try. Some folks even let it all hang out and dress sans changing room- the hussies! This is as delightful and relatable as are all your pieces! Thanks for brightening my day!
I love your comment! I was hoping to capture how free and confident we all feel when we do water aerobics. If you do it at the Y, we should do it together some time.