The gym is sort of a microcosm of society. At least, ours is. I’ve met
some of the kindest folks ever at the gym, but I’ve seen plenty of pettiness
and a smattering of mean-spiritedness too. Hey, it happens.
Yesterday presented a prime example.
A bunch of us were gathering in one of the workout studios, waiting for exercise
class to begin. As we chose our weights, we glanced through a bank of windows,
overlooking the lap pool. The lifeguard was chatting with a resting swimmer in
one corner. Another swimmer was slogging along in a center lane.
This lady swam so sluggishly that it seemed she was making her way
through molasses. Seriously. But she persisted, creeping along in some
semblance of the freestyle (crawl) stroke. She barely lifted her right arm out
of the water. She dragged her legs along in almost a vertical position.
“Look how slow that lady is!” one onlooker exclaimed.
“Do you think she’s alright?” another asked.
We continued to watch for a few moments, as we stood and stretched a bit
to prepare for our own routine. And the swimmer kept going, stroke after agonizing stroke.
“Maybe she has MS,” one of my cohorts suggested.
“Like me,” I said.
Then a familiar thought hit me like a typhoon, as it
so often does.
I have no idea if that swimming lady has MS. But that might have been me.
I could be the swimmer who barely makes it to the end of each swimming lap (if I even climb into the pool). I could be the runner who stumbles across the finish line, fully spent. I could be the lady in the wheelchair, who cannot walk independently.
I could be the swimmer who barely makes it to the end of each swimming lap (if I even climb into the pool). I could be the runner who stumbles across the finish line, fully spent. I could be the lady in the wheelchair, who cannot walk independently.
When I remember this, I become more mindful. I realize, once again, that
I am grateful for every step I can take. I appreciate that I can even get to
the gym and join a workout class. Living with multiple sclerosis, I know my
days could be very different than they are.
And I salute the struggling swimmer in the pool – because she is
in the pool. She’s out there getting it done, no matter how long it takes her. It doesn’t matter that her
swimming is labored and painfully slow. She is faster than anyone who didn’t
put on a Speedo that day.
Points for playing, girlfriend!
Remember middle school, when kids mocked those who
weren’t so good in gym class?
I surely do! If a kid couldn’t hit the baseball, run a fast 50-yard dash,
or shoot a goal in floor hockey, that kid instantly became joke fodder. And if
someone accidentally scored a point for the opposing team, it was all over – as
in all over the school.
I know. I’ve been there. I was that kid.
And I’m not laughing. I am cheering, especially for the underdogs, who
underneath are the genuine champions.
Image/s:
Public domain image
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