After a couple of months of swimming laps, followed by a good long sauna in the women’s locker room, the unthinkable has happened: I have been seen, naked, by someone I know (also naked).
In this town of 90,000 or so, I have been enjoying sauna anonymity. It is the one benefit of being nearsighted, and because I am not looking at anyone directly anyway, I really can’t see them…and therefore assume they cannot see me, either.
But today, it was my distinctive voice that gave me away. I said something about excuse me, I need to be hot on the top shelf. “Is that Laura?” she asked as I climbed, clumsily and naked as a jaybird, up next to her.
“Yes, who is that?” I have to ask because I have been averting my eyes and can’t see that far, anyway. It was Linda, whom I have known for roughly 10 years, since my oldest son was in school with her only son.
Pay attention here, because that is reference number 1 to children, and this thread will weave through this story.
What’s new with you? she asks, after she notes she has been hired to promote a band of 20-somethings out of Sarasota, Florida, called “Sleeping Naked.” The irony of us being naked and talking about this is not lost upon us. As well as this is February, and there are not a lot of Minnesota bands with a name like that, even if they do have flannel sheets.
I can only come up with, “well, I’m swimming laps again, the first time regularly in 20 years” – which is when my first child was born (reference number 2). He is, of course, partly responsible -- maybe even half, since he is one of two children -- for the body I now inhabit that needs lap swimming.
I have not really done this a couple times a week with a serious sauna for 30 years, since I lived in Juneau, AK. Juneau had about 20,000 people and a co-ed sauna at the high school pool, where we all wore swim suits and where I saw someone I knew more times than not. Even in a swimsuit, that didn’t matter much in a 20-something pre-pregnant body. About the only thing, physically, that has not changed since those days is my eyesight. People in the Juneau sauna had to say they knew me first.
Linda and I then talked about how after quite a bit of lap swimming and diet modification, I have lost only two pounds. Two, count them. However, I have noticed my pants fit better and my legs, I think, top to bottom, have lost inches, although I have not measured them (I put on tights yesterday and did not want to die, as I usually do when wearing tights or, worse yet, pantyhose).
Thinner legs were confirmed recently by my youngest, who is responsible for the other half of my post-childbearing body (reference number 3). He may be responsible for more than half, actually, since he was a 9-pound 4-ounce baby, and one friend has since told me that “you were the largest pregnant lady I had ever seen.” Thank you.
(I do bear, so to speak, some of the responsibility for not weighing what I did pre-children, since I have never really permanently stopped eating like I was pregnant…)
This child, now 16, when I was in my underwear in the house the other day, remarked that, indeed, my legs were thinner.
“Yeah, Mom, you had really fat thighs.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything, but they were.”
After I had regained my breath, I tried to turn this into a teachable moment, re: if he actually wanted to have a long-term heterosexual relationship with a woman during his lifetime, remarks such as this should not spring froth from his lips. Ever. And the word “fat” should be simply out of his vocabulary, unless perhaps in reference to trimming it from a steak or cutting out of a dead hunted deer while gutting it in the woods.
But, meanwhile, back to the sauna.
Linda and I finished our conversation, as Linda had reached her sauna limit and excused herself. Then I apologized to the third woman naked in the sauna for interrupting her quiet sauna time.
She said she did not mind.
I didn’t admit it, but I actually love eavesdropping on other women’s conversations in the sauna. As one might expect, many of the conversations are about body image, weight, hormones, and exercise habits. Here are a couple of things I have overheard, whether I wanted to or not:
· When I first started swimming, I overheard a conversation by a morbidly obese mother and daughter. They were going to stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken on the way home. Not to judge…but I did not understand why they were at the fitness center in the first place, which was admirable, if they were going to undo all the good they did. This was discouraing.
· Soon after that, I overheard a conversation by four young and thin (I can make out shapes)
women who were sauna-ing after an exercise class together. They were talking about food, too, but it was as in how much water they drink every day and their favorite fruits and vegetables. This was encouraging.
· Two other young women (thin, having finished a class or working out on machines) talked about their workouts. One said that she didn’t feel she worked out hard enough unless when she got in bed that night her legs hurt. I thought this might be a bit extreme.
· The most interesting conversation I overheard was one between two Russian women – who were young and incredibly fit, as well, in case you had lingering stereotypes about all those Soviet carbs. I could only understand four words: “nyet,” “hummmmmm,” as in what you say during a pause, and “natural selection.” I have puzzled over this ever since. Is there no Russian term for natural selection? Were they college students talking about a biology class? Or, speaking of lingering stereotypes, should I assume the Cold War is still on, and this is code for something, and I should be contacting Agent 99 via shoe phone?
For now, this winter, when I get into bed at night, my now-skinny legs do not hurt. I am breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of chlorine on my skin, feeling calm, and tired enough to sleep well.
And I’m thankful, as I always have been, I have those two young men in my life, even if my body isn’t what it used to be. Truth be told, this body would need lap swimming with or without them. And they have been, and continue to be, though I don't always remember it, a gift and a privilege (reference #4).
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