Busy Day

Whoever said Sundays should be a day of rest? It was probably the same person who came up with that old adage, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” I dismiss both of these. Then again, I’m an anomaly; I’m not your Average Joe, your 9-5, 40-hour weeker. I get off on pushing the boundaries of time and space, especially when everything works-out favorably.

Having said that, two Sundays ago was an eventful day rife with activity—both routine and somewhat whimsical. First of all, the weekly routine of going to the Y.M.C.A.: My aunt and I always venture to the Beaumont Center Y on Sunday morning. I prefer going at this time because it’s practically empty there and there’s no waiting to use certain aspects of the facility, e.g. a lane in the pool, a changing room, a piece of exercise equipment.
And it’s not that I’m impatient (okay maybe about some things), but when I go to the gym I want to get in and get out, do my thing, as quickly and as smoothly as possible without any hold-ups or hassles. Plus, I do have to adhere to a time schedule since we always take the Wheels Bus and they operate by appointment—one must schedule their pick-up and drop-off times at least a day in advance.
But the day’s activity actually began before we went to the Y. There was a thing, a poetry thing, billed as “The Wild Women of Poetry,” taking place at this bar, The Green Lantern, at 7 o’clock that night. I knew that it was something I wanted to go to; I’d known about it all week. But the problem was I didn’t have a ride, so right out of bed my intention was to get a lift that night. So I set the wheels in motion, I posted a message on Facebook that I was hoping to make it out to The Green Lantern that night but that I still needed a ride, “Any takers?” I said.
Then I got suited up for swimming and drank some coffee and ate some fruit. The Wheels Bus arrived; we loaded up and were off. That was at 10:45.
Business as usual at the Y: 20 laps in the pool, then a little standing in the water, 20 minutes on the hand bike, and a couple big sets on the torso-twist machine. I felt good, albeit physically exhausted. Wheels picked us up around 2 o’clock.
When I got home, I saw on my phone that my friend Katherine called and left a message that she would come pick me up around 6:30. Feeling elated, I went to the kitchen to relay the news to my aunt and inhale a sandwich. Then it was back to the PC, I had work to do; I wanted to write something to read at the open-mic at this thing tonight.
So I spent about the next three hours crafting this poem about swimming. Look:


Swimming

When I’m swimming
I’m all business
Don’t even try to talk to me
when I’m swimming
Can’t you see
I’m concentrating?
Trying to stay in rhythm—
stoke, breath in
arms in, let it out
All the way down
Then once I’m at
the shallow end
I’m standing and reclining,
then I’m headed back again.

When I’m swimming
most likely I’m counting—
always keeping tabs
on the number of laps
Or thinking about the clock
Wondering how I’m doing
with respect to when
the ride’s coming

Mostly my eyes stay down—
focused on that big bold black line
on the bottom,
trying to stay centered
Except sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse
of some tight thigh walking by

Perhaps I’m reciting
the Presidential Rhyme
from eighth grade:
“Wash, Ad, Jeff, Mad, Mon, Ad, Jack, Van Har, Ty, Po, Tay, Fil, Pierce, Buke, Con…”
It gets fuzzy after Lincoln
Or, maybe I’m singing the state song:
“Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut…”
Sorry, I never really learned “My Ole Kentucky home
Or, I could be constructing a poem
Either way, it’s tiring
yet refreshing,
confining yet liberating
It makes me feel free
cause in the pool
it’s flowing and moving
and…it’s all me

There is always something to write about. The secret is capturing it quickly, before the feeling subsides. Few young people have the freedom to take the necessary time to do this. Like I said, I’m an anomaly.

When I had finished, I read it to Sherry. Then I got dressed, folded and stuffed the poem in my pocket, hastily scarfed down some dinner, shot down a 5-hour energy, puffed on a Camel, Katherine showed up and we left
Going to a new place is slightly nerve-wrecking: Will there be steps? Will I be able to get in the restroom? If not will anyone help? I soon discovered – yes – there were two steps at the front, no – there was no way of fitting inside the restroom, yes - two guys helped me get inside and back out, and – yes – a lady pointed me to a room I could use as a “restroom.” I peed in a bottle by a cooler in the backroom.

It’s a good thing I don’t shy away from inconvenience; otherwise, I’d never do anything!