gate-crashing the pick-up pool

As biking has lost some of its appeal during the increasingly chilly and wet days, I ventured to the pool to find an alternative form of exercise. We have a view of the gym and pool from our patio, but I have to admit that until I discovered I was pregnant I had very little interest in getting in the pool. The elliptical was more appealing, and if I wanted to join a class there were better alternatives than water aerobics. I had been hoping to get up the nerve to join the spinning class, but the all spandex outfits gave me pause. The Dutch do things properly--you wear proper bike shorts and a jersey (matching, of course) even on the exercise bike. But the water aerobics class seemed an increasingly sensible choice--it meets on the two mornings that Ellie's at school and it's supposed to be the perfect exercise during pregnancy. I figured that I should give it a try, get used to it and then I'd enjoy it later on when I really needed something for my mama body. So on Tuesday, I ventured into the pool and lamely looked around, waiting for someone else to start doing something that I could follow. I noticed a few things as I waited for the class to start:

1. I was the youngest by at least 35 years. No one except me was under his or her late sixties. Some daring individuals had to have been pushing ninety. The one individual who was in his 40s quickly hustled out of the pool as soon as the water weights were being distributed, leaving me in a pool with 25-30 of my elders. These were serious elders, too--you could tell they had known a lot of success in their lives just by the way they carried themselves. Also, this part of Maastricht is known as the place where the up and coming live alongside the pensioners whose success allowed them retire in a chic little apartment next to the river.
2. The women were ignoring me and, when I would catch one of them looking at me, she would quickly look away pretending not to have been wondering what I was doing there. No women smiled or said hello.
3. The men, however, were very interested in me--two men started conversations and many others smiled or nodded approvingly that I had joined the class.
4. The woman who was my age who handed out the water weights at the beginning pretended that it was normal that I was there, but she did have a jaunty little smile with questionable sincerity. Later I caught her and a friend laughing after looking at me flapping my arms around in the pool with all the other would-be exercisers.

I wondered what I had done. At first I felt I should never have gotten into the pool, but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. To everyone, even before they realized I wasn't Dutch, I was a curiosity by virtue of my age. And to these folks, this was the equivalent of the bar, a place to check each other out and maybe meet up with someone. So to the women, I was an unwanted distraction, competition even. To the men, I was a welcome curiosity.

I think I'll go back. I was really sore afterwards--contrary to my low expectations, this isn't wimpy exercise. And eventually one of the women will talk to me. Eventually it will become obvious that I'm expecting and then hopefully the suspicion will fall by the wayside. I'll still be an oddity in the pick-up pool, but perhaps I'll feel more welcome.

pining for home

I write after a windy rain storm swept through Maastricht, pelting our windows with water though we have almost 2 meters of overhang on that side. Though our mail slot has been opening and closing in the wind all evening, I'm just now learning not to check for mail with each door clatter. Besides, it's Sunday. In Minnesota there's a fresh 10 inches of snow, in Des Moines they closed the airport yesterday. It's times like this I really miss home. Ryan's in LA, Ellie's sleeping upstairs after finally agreeing to part with her pink leotard (courtesy of Becky) and get into her pajamas, the wind is now dying down now. In lieu of dwelling on the NY Times news (I can be obsessive, which becomes depressing), I finished reading Harry Potter--again--trying to nurture my hope, which it always does. The tea kettle's on and I'm thinking of all the people at home I'd like to share a cup with. Sending love.