A Splash of Exercise

A Splash of Exercise

by Ellen Resnick

 

“I’ll be right out,” my mother called from the bathroom.  A few minutes later, the door opened, and she shuffled into the living room where I stood waiting. 

“I didn’t know what to put on my feet, so I wore these,” she said, pointing to her toes.  “Do you think they’re okay?”  I looked down at her pink terry ballet slippers. 

 “Yes, Mom.  They’re fine.  We’re only going down to the clubhouse.” 

My eyes shifted back up to my mother’s face.  It glistened with color from the make-up she had just applied:  Peach-colored lips and rosy mauve cheeks.  The intense colors contrasted with the white full-length robe zippered top to bottom on her five foot, heavy-set frame.   A black patent leather pocketbook dangled from her wrist and she held a blue and green striped beach towel.  She was ready for her first water exercise class.

My parents had recently moved into a new, over-55 apartment building with an indoor pool.  A month before, a notice in the lobby announced the formation of a water exercise class to be held twice a week and boasted that the aqua instructor had been recruited from the local YMCA.

It wasn’t until two weeks after the start of the session that my mother told me about it.  “I can’t do that,” she said.  “I don’t swim, my balance isn’t good and besides, I don’t even have a bathing suit that fits me.”  The words came out with finality, as if daring me to challenge her. 

I had lost the battle on exercise many times before, but this time I knew I had to be persistent.  My mother’s life depended on it.  At 75 years old, Mom was 40 pounds overweight, diabetic and arthritic.  She suffered from chronic back pain and needed assistance when walking.  Despite this, she repeatedly ignored her doctors’ advice and the desperate pleas of her two daughters.  She didn’t know the first thing about fitness and had resigned herself to a sedentary life.  But deep down, Mom knew that if she didn’t do something soon, she would end up in a wheel chair.

I suggested that she observe the class to see if she might want to try it.  Afterwards, she called to tell me about it. “The women were having such a good time and the teacher took things really slow.”  Mom had spoken to the instructor after the class to explain her health issues and felt more confident with the teacher’s reassurances.

“I’m going to try it next week,” she announced. 

My reactions, in sequence, were:  surprise, happiness, and fear.  Surprise, because my mother had agreed to try the class so quickly; I had anticipated a lengthy period of persuasion.  Happiness, because she sounded so hopeful.  And fear, because Mom’s balance and agility were poor, and she didn’t swim.

“Mom, why don’t I go with you to your first class,” I suggested.  “I’ll help you down the steps and you’ll feel more secure in the water.” 

She sighed with relief. “That would be wonderful, Honey.”

On the day of her first class, we arrived early at the pool so Mom could take her time getting down the steps.  A gray-haired woman in a black bathing suit was already in the water, and she waved to my mother. 

“Hi Dorothy.  I’m so glad you came to class.  You’re going to love it.” 

Mom whispered to me later that the woman’s name was Phyllis and she was 91 years old. 

My mother put her pocketbook down on a table, unzipped her robe, lowered it to the ground and stepped over it.  She removed her pink slippers.  Leaning on my arm while we walked over to the edge of the pool, Mom confessed that her greatest fear was navigating the steps. As my mother eyed the metal bars leading down, I put my hand out for support. 

“No Ellen, I’ll need to be able to do this myself when you’re not here,” Mom protested.

Phyllis approached us and, in a soothing voice, gave my mother instructions on how to maneuver down the stairs.  “Hold onto the top bar with both hands and step down on the first step.  That’s the hardest one.” 

Mom bit her lip and grunted with pain as she followed Phyllis’s instructions. One down, four to go.  Phyllis guided my mother down, explaining how to stand and which bar to hold onto with each step. I stood close in case my mother needed help, but she didn’t.

With Phyllis’s outstretched hands welcoming my mother onto the floor of the pool, Mom took the last step and submerged her tense body into the warm comfort of the water.  She bent her knees and let the water flow over her shoulders.  As Mom closed her eyes, I quietly entered the pool and stood beside her.

“Aaahhh,” she sighed.  Then she opened her eyes and a grin appeared and spread across her face.  Mom thanked her new friend for helping her into the water. 

As we moved over where Mom could hold onto the side, more women came in.  They were probably in their 70’s like my mother, but clearly more agile.  They walked down the stairs with ease and greeted each other as they glided, arms outstretched, to the middle of the pool.  My mother introduced herself to the others and they exchanged names. 

After a few minutes, the women looked up at the clock on the wall, eager to begin the class.  At 10:25 a.m., a middle-aged, pony-tailed woman in a flowered tank and nylon shorts rushed through the door holding a huge sack filled with Styrofoam weights. 

“Hello, Pat,” the women sang in chorus. 

“Hi.  Sorry I’m late, but I’ll be with you in a minute.”  Pat dropped her bags and pulled out a pair of sneakers from a canvas bag.

“She wears sneakers in the pool?” my mother wondered out loud. 

“Those are special aqua sneakers that dry quickly and make it easier to walk in the pool,” one of the women explained.

 “What are you in the mood for today – rock or disco?” Pat asked the group.  It was unanimous: Disco.  As the music filled the room, the quiet, soothing ambiance changed to one of upbeat energy and fun.  My mother smiled and shook her head to the beat.

Pat quickly slipped into the pool and the women spread out in front of her.  “OK, let’s begin our stretches,” Pat announced, as she raised her arms over her head.  She called out instructions and led the class through a series of warm-up exercises.

Meanwhile, Mom stood off to the side and struggled to find her balance in the water.  She watched the smiling women and turned to me with worry.  “I can’t do this.”

“Mom, don’t worry.  This is your first time.  Just stand to the side, hold onto the edge, and do as much as you can.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, as she moved over to grip the side of the pool.

Pat recognized my mother and immediately came over to reassure her.

“Just take things slowly, Dorothy, and only do what you feel comfortable with.”  My mother smiled feebly at the rest of the women and they all smiled back. 

After the warm-up, Pat increased the pace in tempo with the music; it was time to get their hearts beating faster.  She had the women marching, and then jogging in place.  Then she instructed them to walk across the pool.  My mother held onto the side, but she watched intently as she lifted her knees in a slow march.  The music was blaring, the women’s faces radiated, and they moved their limbs with pure joy.  I watched my mother’s face as she absorbed the energy from the room and smiled along with the others.  She was having fun.

After the aerobic session, Pat got out of the pool and opened her black, netted sack.  She handed the foam barbells to the women closest to her and they handed them around until everyone had a set.  Back in the water, the instructor guided the group through a variety of underwater movements to firm triceps and biceps.  Mom held the barbells at the surface of the water, using them for support and balance.

When the class finished, Pat moved toward my mother and me.  “You see, I can’t swim,” my mother explained.  “And I have arthritis, so bending is painful.”

Pat showed her some movements she could practice: raising each leg to the side, lifting her knees in a standing march, stretching her arms and shoulders. 

“You did great today, Dorothy, and you’ll find that it will get easier with each class.  I hope that you’ll come again next week.”

“Oh, I’ll be back.  You can be sure of that,” Mom said with a smile. 

The next week I got a phone call from my mother.  “Is my swimming partner going to join me this week?”  “You bet,” I replied. 

 

Postscript:  My mother cancelled our appointment to go to the next water exercise class, and she never went again.  She died two years later after a massive stroke.