Adjusting to the beginning again.

Yesterday evening after my swim, I was luxuriating in the shower—as one does when one is not directly paying for the water—when I heard some grunting and moaning on the other side of the curtain. I wondered about this. Am I hearing grunting? What is happening? And then I had flashbacks to seminary, where a student would masturbate in the corner unit, the only one that had been outfitted with a massager shower head.

I was brushing my teeth the first time I heard her. I knew what was happening, but I was thrown off by the murmurs of I love you! I love you! I was young and we didn’t discuss these things in the olden days. I spit out the toothpaste, grabbed my things, swung open the door, and there was Denise in the hallway. 

I gestured behind me and mouthed, What is happening?!

“Oh. Yeah. She does that. And everyone is too embarrassed to say anything. How hard is it?” Then she hollered past me. “HEY, YVONNE! ARE YOU OKAY?!”

*silence*

Denise shrugged.

Anyway, I had forgotten about Yvonne, which is obviously not her name, as I had forgotten that, too. But that communal bathroom scene was suddenly vivid in my mind.

This sound was coming from the changing area just adjacent, not in, the actual showers. I cannot see much without my glasses, but through the crack at the edge of the curtain, I thought I made out stretching. And who doesn’t enjoy a little moaning and grunting at the end of a workout? It feels good to celebrate our muscles.

When I stepped out of my stall, yes, it was stretching. Most women are smaller than I am, but this miniature Asian woman was about half my size. And she had an absolutely enormous voice.

“HOOO-BOY! HOT-HOT-HOT OUTSIDE!” She shouted, whipping off her top.

“It is!” 

In fact, we’re having a heatwave, something that used to be rare.

“I WAKE UP THIS MORNING AND LOOK AT THE WEATHER REPORT AND SAY TO MYSELF, HOW YOU GONNA STAY COOL TODAY, LADY?!”

“And it’s supposed to be hotter tomorrow!” Already I love her, and wonder how she answered herself. 

“OH, YAH. TOOO HOT.”

“The pool is lovely,” I ventured. 

It was colder than usual, a pleasant surprise. 

By this time, I was wringing out my suit in the noisy whirring machine. I could still hear her.

“YOU STAY COOL, HONEY!” 

“You, too!”

Yesterday I used the adult-women-only locker room at the Y—up a long stairway and around a corner. I hadn’t bothered before, because the family changing room was closer. But with the littles and the Delta, it seemed a good idea to minimize contact with other breathing creatures. Goodness groceries! It is super-fancy-pants up there! Luxurious. And mostly empty, aside from the grunting woman and a cleaner, who was masked. 

At the beginning of the pandemic I would put on my running shoes in the morning and putt-putt-putter along for hours until I felt a smidge less crazy in the head. Then, a year later, this past April, plantar fasciitis.

One of my chums asked, “Plantar fasciitis? What is that? It sounds like Mussolini’s garden.”

Even a fascist’s garden would be preferable to not being able to stand or walk without pain. Running was out of the question. 

By mid-June my weight and resting heart rate were up, and I realized something had to be done. So I joined the Y, which, in itself, was a leap for me, a whole thing. But that is a story for another day. The first week I swam every day, and my mood, weight, and heart rate all improved, hallelujah.

Until last week. I learned too much about the Delta variant and children, and I was angry. A different order of magnitude, all-consuming sort of WHAT-IS-HAPPENING?!

Because for a hot minute earlier this summer, vaccinated, I had eased up, felt hopeful, and, somehow, curiously, forgotten much of the loneliness of that first year. The human mind and heart—mysterious. Now I am waking up, again, to the reality that this is only the beginning. It did not have to be this way, and yet, here we are. I ate a lot of ice cream. Because this is happening.

Before yesterday’s swim, I had been considering giving up my membership and buying new running shoes with that cash instead. Because it felt like we would need to minimize contact with others, even if the governor didn’t mandate closures or such like. (Surely I won’t be living in Mussolini’s garden forever?!) But that brief encounter with a naked lady made me realize that even introverts like me need other human beings. So. Crossing fingers the Y goes back to some of the safety strategies they’d had in place before July 1, when the state “opened up” again.

How are you coping, friends?