Deep thoughts

My relationship with fitness is long and complicated.

The last four years it's been nonexistent. 

As nearly as I can calculate, today was my 27th first step to getting back to exercise being a routine part of my life since moving to Columbus.

I jumped off the workout train in 2014 after a car accident left me with an open wound. In 2016, I had a knee replaced and incurred some permanent nerve damage with the new hardware.

But now I have arthritis insinuating it's wicked way into my back and hips.

I need to rebuild my muscles and take some stress off my joints -- the original and aftermarket parts. The best place to work out muscles without stressing joints is the pool.

Just so happens, I love pools. I want to have my own one day. And there is one at my fitness center.

I am not a great swimmer, but I can swim. I also know that since I carry around more than my share of body fat, I am so buoyant I float like driftwood.

Yet despite those assurances that drowning is highly unlikely, I have never been a fan of deep water. One could use the word terrified, actually.

So today I took a deep water aerobics class.

This is my year of living dangerously, apparently. The only way to beat an irrational fear is to step up to it and take aim. 

After a bit of emotional hand-wringing, I put an adult flotation device around my waist and eased myself into the 7-foot end of the pool, where I bobbed around like a cork.

And I am thinking: Yeah, I got this. I even slapped myself a mental high five.

When class started, however, things started going a little sideways. Mostly me, really. I started going a little sideways.

As the belt moved its way up my back to become more of a bra than a belt, I found I had almost no control over what direction the water would take me. 

Another class member suggested I hop out and tighten the belt. "Pull it so tight you can't stand it," she said. So I moved on to the deck and tugged the woven belt so snugly I was concerned about breaking a rib. Then I got back in the water.

Great tip, lady. The belt works better around my waist than under my armpits. Control was still an issue. As the instructor shouted out moves I found I was still freewheeling into other people's swim spaces.

Despite my haphazard moves I was getting a pretty good workout when I felt the bottom half of my swimsuit inching its way down my hips and I suddenly recalled why I stopped wearing this pair.

The idea of flashing my fleshy white cheeks to an unsuspecting pool of women and children was more than I could handle on a Tuesday morning, so I flutter-kicked my way to a corner of the pool.

I was able to adjust my wayward pants but I was convinced -- rightly so -- that it would happen again so I just kind of anchored myself to the pool wall and continued thrashing my legs for the rest of the class. 

Thrash my legs, pull up my pants; thrash my legs, pull up my pants. Almost forty minutes of nonstop fun. Not sure how to log that in My Fitness Pal; it seems you should burn extra calories for exercising while guarding your dignity.

So I worked out, did not get arrested for public indecency and kicked a stupid fear to the curb. It's a good day.  

I just ordered new swim pants and I cannot wait to go back on Thursday.