Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

It was only 120 inches ... or 10 feet, just depends on how you want to look at it. I prefer 10 feet, sounds shorter. Three digits seem so much longer.
Anyway, it really was only 10 feet. Ten feet from the chaise lounge on which I’d plopped my beach bag, towel and sunscreen. Ten feet from the spot I’d kicked my sandals off and slowly removed the slacks covering my bathing suit.
Yep, I’m fat and I have a bathing suit. I really like it, it’s navy blue with bright red, orange and yellow tropical flowers across the top of it. Just wish there wasn’t quite so much in it but I like it just the same. It is in fact one of the best suits I’ve had in a while. I don’t have to worry about the straps falling down because it hooks around my neck. I like it because it’s cut in so my shoulders tan so I don’t have a strap mark.
Before I picked this particular suit out last summer I tried on several. Jay was there, offering his opinion, and we agreed on this one. The bathing suit I didn’t choose  was the blue and white batik-looking one with the see-thru swim dress overlay. There would have been too much stuff floating around me in the water. The metallic gold and black tank with attached swim shorts was also out ... I’m not a fan of tank tops and didn’t have 14K sandals to match it. Neither did I select a ruffled or bejeweled tankini, a camikini (which I learned is a hybrid, part camisole, part bikini), or a bandeau. Instead, I settled on the navy maillot with the island look.
Face it, people like me probably shouldn’t be at the pool at all, least ways a public one ... but my grandchildren were here and when they’re in York they like to visit the FAC (Family Aquatic Center). So I literally suck it up (or in) and go.
Once the water is up to my waist I’m good. I’m comfortable, as long as my lower extremities are sub-surface, so to speak. Sidestroking is my thing ... it’s a graceful Esther Williams-y way to move through the water. Wading is my other thing, walking back and forth for exercise.
Last Tuesday Ben and I went to the pool. He had a couple of new torpedo toys and a squishy ball he wanted to try out so we grabbed our gear and headed to the FAC a little after 1 p.m.
We paid, found a spot and proceeded to ready ourselves for an afternoon of fun in the sun. I schmutzed sunscreen on Ben’s arms, back, face and legs. He was anxious to jump in ...
Me, I was dragging my feet. My sandals came off one at a time. Slowly ... I unsnapped the button on the capris I had pulled on over my bathing suit.
“Come on Gus,” Ben kept saying, “let’s get in.”
“Hurry,” Ben pleaded, “Gussssss, come on.”
Where was my towel? I couldn’t be seen without a towel wrapped sarong-style around my waist.
Whew, there it was, under Ben’s striped version and his T-shirt.
Channeling Houdini, I pulled off my clamdiggers and whipped on the terry cloth covering in one super swift movement. A feeling of relief washed over me as I cinched up the white towel. But as you and I know, life is a rollercoaster ... one minute you’re up and the next ... well, let’s just say you’re living in the real world. Because just then I realized I was still 10 feet away from the water. Eventually I would have to leave the security of my beach towel behind and walk the walk.
Understand, all of this was happening at lightening speed. Even though it seemed like hours to Ben.
Speaking of Ben, he was really getting antsy. So I said a prayer, “Please God, make me invisible for 10 feet,” dropped my towel and headed for the water.
Ben went crashing in ahead of me, splashing a path. Water covered my ankles, knees, thighs and finally, finally it reached my waist. Yeah! I’m in ... I pitched a soggy pool ball at Ben in celebration just as a voice came over the loudspeaker ... “Attention swimmers it is now 1:50 and time for a 10 minute safety break. We need everyone to please get out of the water at the nearest exit. Stay away from the diving board and slides ... thank you.”
“Thank you” ... I guess they’d better thank me for getting out. I’d just gotten in.
I woefully took the 120 inch walk back to the safety of my towel. Again, Ben led the way. Oblivious to my agony, he headed for the concession stand, m&ms on his mind.
Slowly I followed, “It’s just 10 feet, It’s just 10 feet,” I chanted to myself as I altered my state of being. Approaching the chaise onto which I had thrown my belongings, I noticed Shirley Witte lounging nearby.
“Hi,” I said, acknowledging her presence, “That’s the longest 10 feet I will walk all summer,” I told her.
“I know what you mean,” she answered with a knowing smile.
Apologetically I grabbed my towel wrapped it around my waist. One hundred-twenty inches later I took off after Benjamin, dreading the moment the clock would strike two.