Never Done: Swam at the Prospect Park YMCA
You all know I'm in love with the Armory YMCA, right? Well, it's just 8 blocks away from another, older Y -- the Prospect Park YMCA -- which other people are equally in love with. Among other things, the PPY has a pool, a sauna, and a steam room. (I don't know if you've noticed, but it's fairly common for women's locker rooms to have dry heat, and men's to have steam, which has always seemed to me to be one of the great small injustices of American society.) Well, my Armory Y membership comes with 10 passes/year to the Prospect Park Y, and since I started my triathlon rotation training this week (Bike 2 times a week, Run 2 times a week, Swim 2 times a week, Rest one day) it only made sense to go try it out.
I figured the pre-work hours would be most crowded, so I went on a mid-day break, but it was pretty crowded, with 3-4 people in every little lane. The pool is teensy: 20 yards, three lanes (ostensibly Slow, Medium, and Fast, but really more like Stationary, Intermittent, and Moving Steadily.) Figuring it really was S, M, and F, I slipped into the middle lane, and started off. If I would just skip to the end of the story, which I sometimes like to do when I am reading, I would tell you that I swam 1/2 mile in 25 minutes and got out, took a shower, took a 5-minute steam, and by the time I got back to work, I'd been gone an hour and a half.
If I would tell you the long, slow version, I would tell you all about how warm and thoughtful the pool staff was, and how natural it felt to be back in the water (tshuve) and how I swam 1/4 mile, stretched, and swam another 1/4 mile without stopping -- after not having swum at all since some wonderful ocean swims last summer. I would tell you how, when I got out, the lifeguard called me over and whispered, "You should come between 7:15 and 8AM -- that's the best time." Also, I would tell you about the quality of thinking I do when I'm in the water -- something between letting go of all thought and in the process, coming to my deepest realizations. But most of all, I would tell you about how it felt to swim in a crowded lane, trying to approach it from a Mussar perspective. Just like in most of New York City, all the swimmers in the pool were trying to accomplish something in a paucity of space. To be more specific, we were trying to accomplish individual, personal goals in a small public space. Just like when driving, there are lane sharing conventions when swimming. If there are only two people in the lane, you can split the lane, and just stay on your own side. If there are three or more people, you circle, clockwise. The problem with circling in a 20-yard pool is that if the swimmers are going at significantly different paces, there's really no way to keep moving steadily. In a longer pool, you can touch the foot of the swimmer in front of you and pass them on the left. But in a crowded lane in a short pool, there's usually someone coming toward you, and preventing you from passing.
At first, when I got into the teeny Y pool, I longed for the pools I've known and loved -- 50 meter pools where I've had an entire lane to myself. Then I started thinking about how it would be possible to communicate with a lane full of wet New Yorkers, to try to optimize our collective swimming experience. I tend to rest at the end of each length and wait for the slower swimmers to get as far from me as possible before I start swimming again, so I can have as long a run as possible. Most other people I encounter tend to swim at their own pace, come up on the person in front of them, get frustrated, stop and tread water, or turn around in the middle of the lane and go the other way. I think the most optimal Mussar (balancing out the needs of self and others) thing to do would be for everyone in the lane to find a common pace, and keep it steady -- but that's hard for recreational swimmers to do. It's also hard for New Yorkers to talk to each other in the pool. I think this because I tried it, and the woman I spoke to looked at me blankly, didn't respond, and then ducked under water and kicked off.
Maybe I will eventually figure out how to organize my swim lanes to simultaneously take care of the needs of self and other, but maybe the answer (to swimming and living in New York) is that it's not ideal, but it's good enough. My swim wasn't uninterrupted, and I did get kicked in the head a couple times, but I did get to swim 1/2 mile on my lunch break. And it felt pretty great.
Showing posts with label YMCA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YMCA. Show all posts
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
A whirlwind of terror and delight
Never Done: Story, Song, and Shimmy
I took Tabitha to the YMCA, where we took my first ever Baby and Me kind of class, Story, Song, and Shimmy, with a tumult of toddlers. Whenever I spend a couple hours with her, I remember that life for a little one is just so ... ongoing! She doesn't chill for an hour with the New York Times, and she doesn't fix her own lunch yet (although she can totally reach into her bag now and find the food she wants and make me understand that she wants it.) Usually when we hang out together, I'm the one coming up with ideas of things to engage her and help her develop language and fine motor skills. We only spend a couple hours together a week, so it's not like it's hard to think up fun things to do -- but I know that it's way more non-stop for her parents.
I took her to the class because I thought it would be fun for both of us, and educational for her, but what I didn't count on was that I would learn as much as she would. It seems so simple and potentially obvious, but the class is geared as much toward breaking the isolation of parenting (or nannying) solo as it is toward entertaining and engaging the children. You could see it happen: the adults in the room start to look out for children who aren't theirs, the kids start to tentatively interact with each other, and teacher keeps a steady stream of activities going that the kids can engage with at the same time, but at their own level.
Tabitha was on the younger end of the age spectrum, so she stuck pretty close to me the whole time. We sang I know a boy who had a dog and Bingo is his name-o and Itsy Bitsy Spider and Old McDonald and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (the American children's song canon hasn't changed much since I was Tabitha's age) -- all with hand movements to accompany the lyrics. She was totally into the songs -- not that she could do the hand movements without me moving her hands with her -- just transfixed. But when Chrissy the teacher pulled out the picture books and read them, Tabitha turned her interest to her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
And then the parachute came out. I think the experience of being under the multi-colored parachute while it billowed up and down must have been a lot like riding the roller coaster is for older kids: a whirlwind of terror and delight. She clung to me, and she smiled. She clung to me, and she gazed with wonder. She clung to me, and she laughed. All the other kids were under the parachute alone, but Tabitha was like a little marsupial, cleaved to safety, eyes wide open. I later found out that it was her first time playing under a parachute. I fully expect her to be skydiving by the time she is 16.
None of this seems terribly connected to my mide this week: decisiveness, although I have found it incredibly helpful to embrace the direction that once I make a decision, act without hesitation. It has kept me at the computer for marathon stretches, and has helped me take breaks. It's helped me set limits, ask for help, get exercise, make tough phone calls, and even, just now, before I wrote this paragraph, take a nap instead of drink caffeine (which I stopped drinking a year ago because of ways it badly affects my body) even though I am slammed with work.
It's also helped me write this blog every day. Most days I have way more to do than I can accomplish, and yet I think it is a combination of decisiveness and public accountability that has kept me here every day. Same with making a new menore every night. Speaking of which, here's another whirlwind of terror and delight:
I took Tabitha to the YMCA, where we took my first ever Baby and Me kind of class, Story, Song, and Shimmy, with a tumult of toddlers. Whenever I spend a couple hours with her, I remember that life for a little one is just so ... ongoing! She doesn't chill for an hour with the New York Times, and she doesn't fix her own lunch yet (although she can totally reach into her bag now and find the food she wants and make me understand that she wants it.) Usually when we hang out together, I'm the one coming up with ideas of things to engage her and help her develop language and fine motor skills. We only spend a couple hours together a week, so it's not like it's hard to think up fun things to do -- but I know that it's way more non-stop for her parents.
I took her to the class because I thought it would be fun for both of us, and educational for her, but what I didn't count on was that I would learn as much as she would. It seems so simple and potentially obvious, but the class is geared as much toward breaking the isolation of parenting (or nannying) solo as it is toward entertaining and engaging the children. You could see it happen: the adults in the room start to look out for children who aren't theirs, the kids start to tentatively interact with each other, and teacher keeps a steady stream of activities going that the kids can engage with at the same time, but at their own level.
Tabitha was on the younger end of the age spectrum, so she stuck pretty close to me the whole time. We sang I know a boy who had a dog and Bingo is his name-o and Itsy Bitsy Spider and Old McDonald and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (the American children's song canon hasn't changed much since I was Tabitha's age) -- all with hand movements to accompany the lyrics. She was totally into the songs -- not that she could do the hand movements without me moving her hands with her -- just transfixed. But when Chrissy the teacher pulled out the picture books and read them, Tabitha turned her interest to her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
And then the parachute came out. I think the experience of being under the multi-colored parachute while it billowed up and down must have been a lot like riding the roller coaster is for older kids: a whirlwind of terror and delight. She clung to me, and she smiled. She clung to me, and she gazed with wonder. She clung to me, and she laughed. All the other kids were under the parachute alone, but Tabitha was like a little marsupial, cleaved to safety, eyes wide open. I later found out that it was her first time playing under a parachute. I fully expect her to be skydiving by the time she is 16.
None of this seems terribly connected to my mide this week: decisiveness, although I have found it incredibly helpful to embrace the direction that once I make a decision, act without hesitation. It has kept me at the computer for marathon stretches, and has helped me take breaks. It's helped me set limits, ask for help, get exercise, make tough phone calls, and even, just now, before I wrote this paragraph, take a nap instead of drink caffeine (which I stopped drinking a year ago because of ways it badly affects my body) even though I am slammed with work.
It's also helped me write this blog every day. Most days I have way more to do than I can accomplish, and yet I think it is a combination of decisiveness and public accountability that has kept me here every day. Same with making a new menore every night. Speaking of which, here's another whirlwind of terror and delight:
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
This is for you
Never Done: Gave random gifts to strangers
I went around the apartment and found little things I felt OK about parting with, and then I took little note cards, on which I wrote "This is for you" and then I brought them all to the gym, and I left them in empty lockers.
A bowl of pink and white coral and rose petals.
An earring.
A dollar fifty.
A guest pass and a parking pass to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
And then I worked out for an hour on the elliptical machine.
When I came out of the exercise room, I hung around the lockers for a while, just in case someone opened one with a present in it, but nobody did, which made sense; it's a big bank of lockers, and I had closed the doors, because I wanted people to come by their presents by surprise.
Meanwhile, the music from the Zumba class filled the entire YMCA, so I went to watch for a while, along with about ten toddlers who were dancing in the doorway. You might remember I tried to take a Zumba class a couple weeks ago, but there was a sub so it was actually a strange hybrid Zumba-Cuban dance class that felt impenetrable and annoying. Real Zumba looked pretty fun -- and it's still on the list, so I expect to take a class one of these days.
And then I left the gym, knowing it could be hours before people find my little surprises, and it could be days or weeks. I read a story recently about a woman who donated her kidney through a kidney bank, saying that she didn't care who would receive her kidney. "I just wanted to give somebody else the opportunity that I have.... to get up every day, enjoy life, do whatever they want to do." And even though a day at the Botanic Garden doesn't compare with the gift of life, (although maybe the free parking in Brooklyn does) I can relate to this woman's impulse toward random generosity. My secret hope is that it will inspire more people to do the same, and that by the time Spring comes along, the lockers will be full of little surprises.
I went around the apartment and found little things I felt OK about parting with, and then I took little note cards, on which I wrote "This is for you" and then I brought them all to the gym, and I left them in empty lockers.
A bowl of pink and white coral and rose petals.
An earring.
A dollar fifty.
A guest pass and a parking pass to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
And then I worked out for an hour on the elliptical machine.
When I came out of the exercise room, I hung around the lockers for a while, just in case someone opened one with a present in it, but nobody did, which made sense; it's a big bank of lockers, and I had closed the doors, because I wanted people to come by their presents by surprise.
Meanwhile, the music from the Zumba class filled the entire YMCA, so I went to watch for a while, along with about ten toddlers who were dancing in the doorway. You might remember I tried to take a Zumba class a couple weeks ago, but there was a sub so it was actually a strange hybrid Zumba-Cuban dance class that felt impenetrable and annoying. Real Zumba looked pretty fun -- and it's still on the list, so I expect to take a class one of these days.
And then I left the gym, knowing it could be hours before people find my little surprises, and it could be days or weeks. I read a story recently about a woman who donated her kidney through a kidney bank, saying that she didn't care who would receive her kidney. "I just wanted to give somebody else the opportunity that I have.... to get up every day, enjoy life, do whatever they want to do." And even though a day at the Botanic Garden doesn't compare with the gift of life, (although maybe the free parking in Brooklyn does) I can relate to this woman's impulse toward random generosity. My secret hope is that it will inspire more people to do the same, and that by the time Spring comes along, the lockers will be full of little surprises.
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