Back in the swim

When we were last here, in the summer and early fall of 2018, I signed up for fitness classes at Fidenza's huge open-air pool, determined to keep up my two- or three-times-a-week water aerobics regimen. I was less concerned about health or "feetness" (as the Italians call it) than about burning enough calories to keep me in the same blue jeans while consuming pasta, pizza, wine, and Aperol spritzes at an Italian-holiday clip.

Unfortunately, my mother's ill health meant that I flew back to New York several times during our stay here, which disrupted my exercise schedule as well as my biorhythms generally, and aqua classes were one of several things that slid off my to-do list. Back in California, it took almost six months to get rid of the ten pounds I put on during that high-anxiety, low-activity stretch in Italy and New York.

Getting back into aqua classes was therefore at the top of my task list when we got to Fidenza a few weeks ago. I wanted to be able to keep eating like a tourist without having to invest in a series of new wardrobes.

The "why" of my commitment to exercise

At this time of year the classes are held indoors in Fidenza's "piscina coperta," the covered pool, so Pam drove me out there. It's a third again as far as the open-air pool I went to last summer, almost two kilometers (a little over a mile) from where we are in the center of town. It's out in what used to be countryside and is now a neighborhood full of apartment buildings, which is what most of newer Fidenza--that is, most of Fidenza--is like.

The pool is behind those green-trimmed windows. It's part of a big municipal sports complex, with soccer fields, a track, and a huge gym devoted to basketball. Ah, socialism...

No unauthorized photos allowed at poolside--I pulled this off the internet.

The pool isn't as immense as Fidenza's open-air pool, but it's plenty big, and they have a full schedule of activities.

Pam helped me get signed up. I had to pay about $150 for 20 classes, plus a small fee to join the Italian Sports Center, whatever that is. I also had to present a letter from my doctor in the U.S. certifying that I am capable of "recreational physical activity." Luckily I'd learned about this the last time and had a signed and translated letter in hand. Now I was ready to get back in the water.

There doesn't seem to be an Italian word for "fitness"

Not having a car, I've had to walk to and from the pool for classes. The walk to the pool isn't bad, when the weather's nice, which it has been. The walk home is more of a challenge, because after one of these classes the last thing I feel like doing is walking a mile plus. However, there isn't any other option--Uber and Lyft don't exist here, and the only bus runs infrequently--so walk I must.

The first class I attended was aquagym. I guessed this was similar to the water aerobics I'm familiar with in California because the other women who arrived early for the class all looked to be closer to my age bracket, most with the bright red-maroon hair that so many Italian ladies develop once past their 50th birthday. 

The shallow end of the pool, where the class was held, was almost up to my chin, so not all that shallow, which my knees were grateful for since we were doing a lot of jumping and bouncing. The instructor appeared and cranked up the music, an EDM mixtape with a "wumpa, wumpa, wumpa" beat that echoed all through the hall. I didn't recognize the instructor at first, but as soon as she started bellowing, "Uno, due, tre..." I realized she was the same terrifyingly energetic Amazon who'd taught the classes I attended last summer, although now minus her summer tan. 

By now a few younger women had joined us, and there were about 18 of us running, jumping, and scooping in the water. Unlike the classes I go to in California, this one offered no rest breaks and no opportunities for conversation, just nonstop frantic activity. As we churned away, the air in the huge hall seemed to get rapidly hotter, thicker, and more chlorinated. When I'd first seen the schedule I'd been disappointed that the classes were not the hour I'm used to, but only 45 minutes long. Now, as I huffed and puffed through the moves, I was grateful.

On Saturday I went in for "aquatrek." This consists of running on a treadmill in the water, interspersed with kicks, jumps, and arm scoops, to the same booming soundtrack. The class consisted of only two young women, me, and the instructor, and the pace was even more grueling. The whole idea of tossing a big metal treadmill into a pool seems mad, and I kept worrying that I was going to either slide off the back or, if I moved forward, tip the whole thing over. But it is certainly a strenuous workout.  

This is obviously another internet photo, but you get the idea. 

A few days later I turned up for aquabike. This time everyone in the class was half my age or less, with the exception of one leathery gal whose ropy muscles marked her as a serious athlete. We had a different, slightly less intimidating instructor, but the class nearly killed me. It probably didn't help that I'd already walked a couple miles that morning, in a quest for a new toilet (about which more anon), plus the mile and a bit to get to the pool. Five minutes into the class and my legs already felt like they'd had quite enough.

A stock photo. I have yet to see a male at any Fidenza aqua class.

Thanks to the water I was able to sneak some time sitting down when we were supposed to be standing in the pedals, and I didn't even make a pretense of going faster when the instructor flogged us on with cries of "Accelerare!" When she stopped after 40 minutes, turned the music down, and led us in a few minutes of stretching, I was almost tearfully grateful.

My fellow water aerobics enthusiasts in California have become a tight-knit group that often goes out for coffee together and even on occasional road trips. So I wondered if the aqua classes in Fidenza, in addition to providing exercise, would also give me a chance to meet some Italian women. But whereas the post-class locker room in California is abuzz with conversation, the one in Fidenza is quiet as a tomb. Which is strange, since in every other situation Italians seem to like nothing better than to talk and talk and talk to each other.

Is it fatigue that keeps the aqua women of Fidenza so quiet? Or being in a shameful state of undress? (A sign in the shower room warns, "It is obligatory to wear a bathing suit when children are present," a rule that certainly doesn't apply in the El Cerrito showers, where exposing children to a bunch of naked old women, and vice-versa, is regarded as a valuable life lesson.) Or is it the disturbing presence in their midst of an exhausted, graying foreigner who keeps looking around yearningly, hoping to make friends?