20160307 (exercise)

If J. Alfred Prufrock measured

Out his life with coffee spoons the

Same may be said of us with pillbox

Refills. I did not want my life to go

This route—pasted together in my

Later years by psychogenic baling

Wire and bodily fluid up-tuners

Needing to be taken at measured

Intervals and increasing volumes

And numbers. I had planned to 

Spurn all meds, even the occasional

Aspirin. “Look at me,” I said to my

Self one day in a mirror, “veritable

Picture of health but for a few

Pounds of jolly belly that’ll fall

Off to nothin’ once I get serious

About working out.” Signed up

For alumni gym privileges at the

JCU pool at negligible cost (it 

Was near me at that time—maybe

Ten minutes by car—never considered

A bike which could have worked 

In the summers). At that time I was

Working as substitute teacher for

The Cleveland schools. Got home

Early enough to walk Sam then zip

Off to the pool for a dip and then 

A workout in the gym or reverse.

I never achieved swimmerhood.

Took a course at Heights’ pool

Called “Stroke Improvement.”

After several days of watching my

Efforts the instructor called me 

Aside and said in my honor they 

Would rename the course “Thrash

Improvement.” No, she did her 

Best, but she was trying to make

A racehorse out of a pack burro.

It wasn’t going to happen and it

Didn’t. At the university pool 

I also failed to get the rhythm

Of breathing out when my face was

In the water, then breathing in

When my mouth rotated out of

The water. Simple enough, no?

No, not simple enough, and a

Disaster when you get it wrong.

Something like doing things

In the right order like,”Pick your

Nose; pick your butt.” You don’t

Want to get that backwards.

Plus they kept the water in 

The pool cold so lap swimmers

Wouldn’t overheat. Only under

The most favorable conditions

Could I actually make one lap:

Except for me, the pool would be

Abandoned. I would have liked

A friend to witness—a friend 

Who would not expect me to 

Try to repeat it. If I swam with

My therapist there’d be someone

To help me through “half-lap

Panic,” by slapping me silly 

About not being able to put my

Feet on the bottom and gulping

Too much water. The gym held

Other terrors: flying off the 

Treadmills, falling off the 

Stationary bikes, the reclining

Bikes, and of course the weight

Machines—people called them

Scales—whose needles bent

To ever higher numbers. 

Can you call that exceeding

Your goals? I didn’t think so. 

Eventually I realized I was 

Getting fairly tired and needed

A few days, weeks, months off. 

I had a weight problem but

That’s behind me now.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016