It was late Sunday morning and only one lane remained open at the Charleston Family YMCAƵs pool. Well, technically, there were two lanes Ƶ but not really.
In four lanes, swimmers glided up to one end of the pool and back, but each was in his or her own space. Lanes were separated by plastic buoys strung like pearls on metal cables. But the last lane Ƶ which was two lanes Ƶ had been reserved for YMCA members to do something besides lap swimming.
Kids could drop in and splash around or somebody with aching joints could try a soak to get some relief.
But it was still morning, so no kids yet and nobody was doing therapy. There was just another guy swimming laps. I could fit in here. I just had to give him space.
The lifeguard walked over and said, ƵAre you looking to get your swim on?Ƶ
I shrugged and then I slinked into the pool, like a very reluctant alligator.
IƵm not afraid of water or swimming, but I hadnƵt been in a swimming pool in over a year, not since my abortive attempt to get certified as a lifeguard.
Last year, I signed up to go through lifeguard training. I even took the qualifying basic skills test to get into the classes Ƶ no problem.
During the weeks walking up to the certification, I hit the pool to swim laps --nothing crazy. I wanted to feel a little more confident in the water and capable of holding my own.
I just didnƵt want to get showed up by a bunch of teenagers.
But I did anyway.
ItƵs always the little details that get you.
I wrote down the wrong dates, asked for the wrong days off from work and when the classes came around, I couldnƵt attend.
All that effort was wasted and my dreams of being part of a slow-motion montage on the West Virginia version of ƵBaywatchƵ were again dashed.
After that, there was surgery and a pointed ban from going in pools, ponds or bodies of water larger than a bathtub Ƶ at least, until the glue holding my flesh together became a distant memory.
This cut into what I did at my familyƵs annual lake gathering in Tennessee. Instead of swimming, kayaking and waterskiing, I had to console myself from a deck chair next to my brother-in-lawƵs beer cooler.
I didnƵt even swim during my trip to the Yucatan peninsula. At best, I just dipped my toes in the Gulf of Mexico.
When it came around again, I looked at taking another shot at getting certified as a lifeguard, but the details never seemed to line up. Once again, the opportunity passed me by.
So, it was really out of the blue, but maybe fortuitous that the American Cancer Society reached out about its Swim Five Miles in May program. IƵd been thinking swimming for weeks and the challenge sort of kicked me out of the rut IƵd gotten myself into.
I know plenty about swimming. IƵve been swimming for much of my life, but I donƵt know much about cancer Ƶ not really.
Cancer is in my background. Cancer killed both of my grandfathers. My grandmother on my motherƵs side had a mastectomy for breast cancer and lived with other kinds of cancer for years.
My sisters have had brushes with it Ƶprecancerous cells on their skin. They had the tissue removed and have been fine since, but itƵs something they have to check on regularly.
IƵve had my own second-hand experiences with the disease.
Years ago, the newspaper participated in the valleyƵs Corporate Cup. The paper asked employees to sign up to compete in events like tug-of-war and volleyball for local bragging rights.
I was still new to the newsroom and that sounded pretty good to me. Volleyball sounded fun, but the team roster was full by the time I showed up. There really wasnƵt space on anything else on the signup sheet that I was capable of contributing to, let alone surviving.
So, the Ƶteam captainƵ suggested that if I wanted to help, I could volunteer as a driver for the American Cancer SocietyƵs Road to Recovery program.
The program helped people undergoing cancer treatment get to their appointments. They were just looking for a ride to and from, but it was kind of an ask. So, the point value for the Corporate Cup was big Ƶand I guess we sucked at tug of war.
At the time, the closest I had come to volunteer work was donating blood a couple of times a year, but I was interested, particularly since the newspaper was essentially letting me off work to do this.
And how hard was it going to be to just drive people around?
Harder than I thought.
A number of the folks I met were in a tough place, and not just with their treatment. Their resources were limited. TheyƵd been sick for a long time and had been unable to work. Their money was gone, along with reliable help.
Getting cancer seemed like an added insult for some. TheyƵd lived difficult lives before and now, they were nearly broke and alone.
I was friendly with my riders. If they wanted me to talk about me, I told them about my job at the newspaper and my family. If they wanted to rant about the government, their ex-husband or the potholes in the road, I listened and didnƵt argue.
But we seldom talked about the illnesses. Often, there was never an opportunity. Most of them were just a trip back and forth or two. We shook hands at the end and that was it.
Others, I got to know a little and the outline of what they were going through became more apparent.
I held onto the volunteer gig for a couple of years, beyond whatever benefit the newspaper got from it.
But a challenge to swim five miles in the month of May for the Cancer Society reminded me of my time with the Road to Recovery and reminded me that despite all of that indirect contact with cancer, I know next to nothing about the disease.
I only have vague ideas of how it might be caused. Tobacco, for example, is linked to lung cancer, but it doesnƵt seem to bother everyone.
There is always some healthy, 100-year-old guy out there who confounded the doctors by smoking like a poker-playing bulldog and drinking like a teenager at spring break.
So, why didnƵt he get cancer? Why didnƵt he get anything?
I know something about chemotherapy. IƵve sat with friends undergoing treatment, watched them become almost unrecognizable as they lost weight and lost their hair.
IƵve seen them recover, too.
But I canƵt remember anyone I know who has declined treatment. Do people do that?
I have a lot of questions.
So, I made some calls, sent a few texts and emails, arranged an interview with a cancer doctor and signed up for an online seminar about cancer. That seems like a good start.
In the meantime, I needed to swim some laps. So, I crawled into the pool and did my first 10 laps.
It wore me out Ƶ and it wasnƵt even a third of a mile.
