Don’t laugh … Here’s the deal, in order to get back to
pounding the pavement (I know, not a great idea, what are you some kind of masochist?)
I’ve taken, thanks to my dear wife and great swimmer, M, to water walking at
our neighborhood Y.
I tried on Monday (Nov. 9) and there I was … non-swimmer
nonpareil in, from top, bathing cap, pink-colored pool noodle strung between my
legs, these cool baby bluey barbell-floaters tucked under each arm, a baby blue
back floatation vest strapped firmly at my waist … water walking. For thirty
minutes.
M, the dear thing, kept careful watch on me. Like the runt
of a less-than-thrilling litter. But I made it, in and out of alive, with this
as a surprising finale – to M in any case: I water-jogged along the side of the
pool into the deep end, which is where I clambered out of the pool.
And the results? Fabulous. I really think this water walking
is the way to go for those with knee, back and ankle issues. Any kind of joint pain. Take it from me, the least likely
person to ever be seen in the heretofore scary regions beyond the kiddie pool,
add it to your training regimen …
I am not exactly pain-free, after suffering a bad knee
sprain on Friday, Oct. 30, but I’m so happy to report that I’m on the mend. Oh,
and I don’t care how many smirks the inflatable me evokes at the Y pool. It’s
taken me almost thirty years to get there, but this is New York, damn it. The
place where people dress up in Elmo suits, sing Spanish dialect opera while
striding down a crowded Midtown street, where women “wearing” nothing but
painted stars and stripes lewd around in Times Square getting people to pay
THEM to have your picture taken with them.
My business at the Y pool is the wee-ist of humiliations
compared to all that …
Next: Running for
Your Life: The Long Hot Stretches
