Humility, thy name is Lane 3

I was bragging about getting invited to join the Bossche Zwemvereniging (BZV for those in the know) -- or the local swim club. Last week, during the Monday lap morning lap swim a nice man -- one of the other few swimming something besides breast stroke -- and fast, too! -- came over and complimented me on my form. Said he was a pentathlete (what could the other two events be?? For me: TV watching and hanging out with Charles-Willis and Jelly) and a trainer for a swim club. And I should come. Would fit right in. Left the pool feeling pretty good about myself -- I'm getting out, meeting people beyond the compound here and staying fit, even though the steady diet of cheese and yogurt and bread is telling my pants otherwise.

So last night I go. Tell everyone here I won't be around for dinner because I am Going To Train With BZV. Admittedly, stuffing my ipod buds in my ears, and setting out for the pool, the stomach was a little nervous because years have passed (think High School) since I Worked Out with a team, but a little excited, too. This could be my ticket to better health here, and relief from the stress of the art-making. Running is getting boring and with a yoga teacher who just makes things up, and no bicycle, options are limited.

After some confusion with the staff at various checkpoints (the Sportiom is a different world at night: there are people in every corner, and a bar filled with smoke) perhaps because I kept saying, I am here for the BVD, I ended up in the same locker room as I do every morning I swim. But yet, at night, with so much expectation, it felt different.

I should have known when I stepped out onto the deck and saw all the parents.

Found Ronald, and for those of you who are pronunciation-specific, roll that R. They do it here. The roll. And I can't, but I try. Found him, he gave me a warm hello, and says he thinks lane 3 would be good. 'May be a little fast, but we'll see.' Ok. Sure. Clutching my cap and goggles in the confusion of the crowded deck and noise, I picked my way through to Lane 3. And at this point, I'm still expecting to find a lane of 20- & 30-somethings trying to get in better shape.

Instead: Tweeners. Maybe they're fully-fledged teenagers, but they're not out of puberty yet. They're more like rubber bands than girls. And then there's me. Lording over them in size and age, definitely *not* a rubber band. In the minutes while we waited on the side to get our workout, I tried to sort through my horror and the absurdity of the situation to know avail. Stubbornness took over. So in I jumped, feeling a bit like a troll amongst fairies. I let them go first.

I'll spare you the further details, except that
A. I did keep up...for the most part.
B. They were all much better behaved than their elders who swim in the morning. Polite, well-trained, and know how to pass in the center.
C. A massive leg cramp saved me after 40 minutes.

God bless Ronald, who, as I struggled to get rid of the cramp, walked over, shrugged with a smile and said, I thought it was good to try. Maybe you can come with us to the Masters swim Saturday.

Yes...maybe...but only if they're out of college.