Help! I've lost my noodle

I developed plantar fasciitis a while back and it’s been cramping my walking program. And because it’s reduced me to limping, I decided to take my friend Kathy’s advice and do water aerobics while I recoup. Water aerobics, she explained, will take the weight off my injury. Further Kathy said, “Anyone can do it.”

I thought I’d write today to tell you why Kathy is now my “ex-friend.” What she failed to mention is that one of the requirements of water aerobics is coordination.

The first thing I have to do when taking up water aerobics is wade through my chest of drawers to find my bathing suit, then type up a confidentiality agreement for anyone who sees me in it.

I arrive at our local high school, a little superior, because my ex friend has promised I will be one of the youngest in the program.

There’s about 20 bobbing heads in the pool upon my arrival. Kathy introduces me, I smile and patronize my way into the freezing water, wait for my teeth to stop chattering and jump around to see what our instructor has in store.

We start with a warm up, I do my best to follow along, which in my defense, is hard because our teacher’s underwater and I’m not exactly sure what she’s doing.

I’m just barely adjusting to the temperature, when our teacher begins the first routine, and the women around me transform into amazing, graceful Ester William clones, while I manage a fantastic impression of Lucille Ball.

I lift my leg to imitate the instructor’s movements, bump into the woman behind me, mumble I’m sorry, and promptly kick the woman in front of me in the head.

By this time, I’m praying my umbrella policy’s still in force, because if I don’t learn how to do this soon, I could be sued. Kathy smiles knowingly at my discomfort, hands me these web-like things and says, “Here. Put these on. They’ll help with the resistance.”

I slip the gloves on, they do indeed help me glide through the water and my confidence returns. That is, until our instructor says, “Ladies, grab your noodles!”

Now… it’s been a while since I’ve grabbed my noodle,  and quite frankly, I’m not sure what one is. But I’ll be darned if I’ll tell any of them that. We jog toward these long Styrofoam tubes, and I learn that noodles are used to help you float. You see, we’re going into the deep end of the pool.

The ladies around me stick their noodles between their legs — as if that’s the most natural thing in the world — and they look like little gray haired “U’s” traversing the Olympic-sized pool. Me, I look like a middle-aged N because my noodle has turned me upside down, it’s now floating away from me and I’m seriously trying not to drown!

I go under a couple of times, and as my life passes before me, I think I‘ve had a good life. I’ll miss my husband, my kids. I hope the refrigerator’s not too dirty. And then my life is spared as my instructor grabs me by the waist, adjusts my noodle — much to my mortification — and we end up in 12 feet of water.

I finally manage to keep my noodle intact and my head above water, all while these women watch me with grins on their faces. They’re chatting about their grandchildren, politics and life. And suddenly I’m happy to provide their morning’s entertainment. In truth, they are a delight, and I love seeing the camaraderie that is keeping them young.

I’ve decided to keep up with water aerobics even when the plantar fasciitis is under control. I could use a little coordination development, and I’m no longer quite so superior. Plus, I can always use material for my writing, and this class will be a treasure trove.

As for my ex friend, Kathy, I’ll forgive her this time. After all you can never have too many friends. Although the moment she suggests sky diving or tofu cooking lessons, she’s history.

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