The old man and the pool

I just turned 80. That’s the Rubicon of aging, the line you cross when things start really f—g falling apart. We’re talking way outside warranty. I don’t want to do anything that lets the old man in, as the song goes.

So, no cruises. No bingo. No early bird specials. No plaid jackets. I want nothing to do with anything that dramatizes the fact that I. Am. Old.

And so no exercise classes in a pool with seniors. We’ve all seen them. Oldsters in the water moving about sluggishly and bouncing a few inches to 1960s rock music while someone exhorts them from the pool’s edge to “Come on, you can do it!”

Never.

Never?

Last week, I was visiting my friend Deborah Attoinese, a brilliant filmmaker whom I’ve known for 45 years. She lives in Los Angeles. A few weeks before I arrived, she e-mailed, “I want you to take this exercise class with me when you’re here. You’ll love it! I take it every morning at a pool near me.” Such was her enthusiasm about the class, I said yes, why not, sure, I’ll do it. Despite my horror at the idea.

So it was that very next morning after I arrived, she drove us to the pool. I had my bathing suit on already. When we arrived, there were clusters of women, and two men, standing around near the door waiting for the pool to open. They were all of a certain age.

Mine.

Or younger.

Mary, our leader, smiling and energetic, arrived. Everyone walked to the spacious outdoor pool. I followed everyone as they descended concrete stairs into the water in successive waves. The pool, Deborah had told me, was heated. Debatable. There were about forty-five women, those two men, and me.

We all found our spots in the pool, spread out like someone had planted us, one by one, in a garden. I was up to my chest in water. The class would last an hour.

Part of our class.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, “What’s the big deal? It’s just an exercise class.” I suppose you have me on that one. There is also something healthy about doing something you vowed never to do, especially if ego is the prime resistor. It shows that you’re not intractable. And intractability is often a sign of old age. (“I want my tapioca promptly at 5 o’clock, goddammit!!”)

Well, there I was, and there was no use bellyaching about it.

Mary was mic’d and wearing an enormous floppy hat to protect her from the sun. She took her position at the edge of the pool. There was a boom box next to her. She turned it on, and Van Morrison’s “Brown-eyed Girl” blasted out.

And…we were off. Mary began issuing directions and orders at a fast clip, moving along the edge, all the while joking and tossing asides.

“How many of you have brown eyes? Hmm? Raise your hands! You? You don’t have brown eyes, honey. They’re green.”

I found myself bouncing a few inches in the water. Then I found myself spreading my arms in and out against the water as she told us to.

“Come on, you can do it!” Mary exhorted us from the pool’s edge.

Selfie, having just emerged from the pool. Neck is not my own.

On I went, bouncing and moving my arms back and forth, up and down, against the water. I wasn’t very good at it. Most everyone was better. They were following Mary step by step, move by move. I was going through the motions. Fortunately, being chest-deep in the water hid a lot of my gracelessness.

I suddenly had the bizarre concern that I wouldn’t be asked back. I was just too clumsy, too slow. Because none of these people seemed to be slow. In fact, I was a bit winded.

Mary, our leader, left, two of my pool mates, and the old man.

I wasn’t particularly enjoying this, but that was mainly, I think, because I don’t like exercising in the morning, especially in the water. The problem with water is that it’s wet. But if I don’t want to let the old man in, I have to make myself new in any way I can. And one way to do that is to venture. Jump in.

Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” started booming out of the boombox.

Everybody began singing along.

Sweet Caroline! Oh Oh Oh!
Good times never seemed so good
I've been inclined…

My hand went up in the air. I could hear myself sing,

Oh Oh Oh! To believe they never would!