Friday night: swimming in the fast lane
It’s Friday night in Shepherd’s Bush in West London, a busy main road right by a football stadium. It’s not a posh part of London by any stretch of the imagination. Tucked behind the busy main road is a small unassuming community pool housed in a tin shed. The reception and changing rooms are perfunctory, and a bit tired, but the pool is always spotlessly clean, and the water cool and sparkling. I am really fond of this pool. And it’s quiet here whenever I visit.
Tonight it’s ‘women only’ night, and curtains have been hung up between the pool and the glass windows of the reception area, for privacy.
The Fast Lane is positioned – unusually – in the very middle of the pool. And here I am – a middle aged lady in a bright-but-sensible swimming costume, regulation swim cap, goggles, earplugs, noseclip. On my own, ploughing up and down, patiently completing the elaborate routine of swims-drills-kicks-swims that I have set myself.
The lane in which I swim is an orderly line dividing hubbub on either side of the pool. To the left of me the space of two lanes of the pool are taken up by a beginners’ swimming class. These pupils cannot swim at all. They are absolute beginners. They have U-shaped sponge ‘woggles’ wrapped around them, and they are clinging on to them as though their lives depended on it, and kicking splashily up towards the point of the pool where they will be out of their depth, and then turning and hurrying back to the safety of the shallow end. The deep end is empty. On the pool deck, at the shallow end, one of the pupils is lying on top a giant float, on her stomach, while the swimming teacher wrestles her legs into the demonstration of a breaststroke kick: knees together, feet and ankles turned out. They look like a diagram from a Victorian book on how to swim.
To the right of me is a large free space, taking up three lanes, for leisure swimming. It’s busy — but very few people in this area can swim either. There is a lot of laughter and gossip in this area. Some splashing and jollity and playing in the water. One woman swims in long flowing trousers, a tee shirt, a long shirt, and a hijab. She is trying to swim a kind of head-up front crawl and it looks like hard work — I feel sorry for her and wonder how much better I would fare with all that gear on. Other women wear leggings and long sleeved tee shirts or modesty suits. One woman wears a brightly coloured turban, another protects her hair with a shower cap. Smiles and chattering. One woman wears a bikini, and another an old fashioned swimsuit and a ‘float-coat’ buoyancy aid. Everyone is having the time of their lives. Nobody is wearing goggles yet they are diving below the water and playing and watching one another with wide eyed wonder and grinning as someone dives under the water. They are relaxing in a very different way than I am.
In between the swimming lesson and the ‘free’ area, in this kind of central reservation, which separates the two zones, that’s me in there on my own, swimming in the Fast Lane.
Come and swim with me, I think. I’m not that scary, it’s not that special. I’d love the company of one or two of you. You look like you are having the times of your lives. Here I am, just swimming on my own, watching you enviously underwater, as I plough up and down. Do pop in and say hello. And if you don’t join me, when I’ve finished my session, can I come and join you?
If you liked this article, please clap the clappy things below to show your appreciation. Click the (Follow) button if you’d like Medium to alert you when something new is published.
