Adventures in Aquacise

I am now enrolled in an Aquacise class at the YMCA.

Go ahead, laugh. Get it out of your system. When you’re finished, keep reading.


Initially, I decided to enroll in a pre-natal Moms N Motion water class that the Y was hosting. As I am a member of the Y I was going to be able to take this class for free, so I figured why not? A water class wasn’t my first choice for exercise, but somewhere around 3 weeks ago I stopped being able to ride my bike due to the horrible round ligament pain (read: Satan himself stabbing me repeatedly with a jagged piece of broken glass in the muscles on the bottom of my tummy) that ensues whenever I make it to my destination. The bike also didn’t help with the random bouts of hip pain and ‘shooting down my leg from seemingly nowhere and completely disabling me’ pain that also seems to come with the pregnancy, so I decided it was time to move on. As I would prefer not to be a doughy blob of flesh when this baby pops out, it seemed I had to do something in terms of exercise, and the Y was going to let me do it for free. Besides, I reasoned, I would meet lots of other expectant moms and the rest of my friends’ eyes would no longer glaze over with constant talk of baby-ness. So I thought.

Apparently there are only two other pregnant mamas in all of downtown Fort Wayne who can spare an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Thus, the Moms N Motion class was cancelled. The nice lady at the Y called to tell me the bad news, but offered to enroll me in Aquacise. Okay, whatever, I thought.

Aquacise isn’t actually all that bad. There are, however, a few factors that make it slightly humorous to me, namely that:

1) the class consists of a bunch of little old ladies and me

2) I have to stuff my huge pregnant self into a bathing suit in order to take the class and then waddle out of the changing room and over to the pool in plain sight of anyone who happens to be walking around the lobby of the YMCA.

Now, if I had actually read the description for this class I might have seen the blurb that read, “ideal for active older adults!” and anticipated the little old ladies. And had I been more observant on my past several hundred trips to the Y I might have observed the way you can see right into the pool from the lobby. However, I am neither practical enough to read nor observant enough to figure out what’s going on with myself most times, let alone other people in the pool at the YMCA. Thus I didn’t see these enormously humorous circumstances coming.

Aside from the way I have to physically brace myself and swallow my pride every time I walk out into the pool area in my giant bathing suit, the class is going well. The little old ladies like to dote on me because I am the cute pregnant chick they all remember being so well. Little old ladies love pregnant chicks. I don’t know why, but they do. This has worked out in my favor. The instructor has also been given instructions (I presume by the nice lady who called me) to be gentle on me and make sure I don’t drown myself or put myself into labor during her class. As much as I appreciate the concern, it’s a little bit humiliating to be swimming around with a bunch of 70 year old ladies who are all paddling and using weights and jogging underwater while the instructor looks over at me – a perfectly healthy (if pregnant) 27 year old woman – and tells me not to worry about keeping up the pace if I can’t.

Example:

Instructor: Jog forward everyone…. arms beside you… let your arms scoop the water! Great job Nancy! Keep it up Georgia! (looks over at me worriedly) H, don’t worry about keeping up if you can’t. (I slow down and she looks to someone else) Wonderful job Betty!

How humiliating.


Another example:

Instructor: Ok, everyone, keep your head up and balance yourself on the noodle. Keep that back straight and those shoulders down! Squeeeeeeze those glutes! Work those abs! (looks over at me) oh, H, don’t worry about the abs.

Me: (turns bright red) I can’t feel my abs.

Instructor: I know. It’s okay. Great job Susan, keep it up!


So basically, I go to class twice a week with 12 little old ladies who look like I could break them in half with my pinky but who are totally kicking my ass at Aquacise, swimming around and around with their weights and doing lunges while I wander meekly around the pool trying not to do anything that will send either the instructor or the old ladies into panic mode believing I have gone into labor. These old ladies are swimming laps around me, I tell you.