Danger at the Y

When I arrived this morning for my swim, two fire trucks and an ambulance were at the entrance to the Y, lights flashing.  Checked to see if my son-in-law was one of the first-responders, he wasn't.  They were wheeling out a very grey patron who had just had a heart attack.  Didn't look like he was going to make it, but I hope I'm wrong. 

A lot of people decide to get fit and jump in too hard and fast.  The other day I asked a lifeguard to keep an eye on a new guy in one of the lanes, he couldn't breathe.  "Are you alright?" I asked.  "I can't get my breath."  "Don't have a heart attack, rest for a while," I suggested.  "That's what my daughter told me," he gasped.  That was a few weeks ago and now he's swimming like a trooper.  It doesn't take long -- about two weeks -- to get your lungs back. 

Karen, my research-doctor friend in the locker room (also the gal who made me Christmas cookies), was really shaken up about the heart attack victim.  "I run with him every day upstairs and he seemed fine," she said.  "Take it easy," I said, giving her a hug.  There is great camaraderie among some of the women there.  On the other hand, there are quite a few b-tches I never talk to. 

One of the lifeguards I have become fairly friendly with is a young kid (19) who is leaving shortly for a two-year stint in Winnipeg and Northern Manitoba.  He is a devout Mormon and has to do this service.  So, I took him to lunch yesterday.  He might as well be my grandson, but he is so polite and charming it was a real pleasure.  This is a kid who lived on the street for a few years and was a drug addict.  How he has turned his life around is nothing short of miraculous.  "My mother just had her seventh baby a week ago," he told me.  "G-d, how old is your mother?"  Thirty-eight.  My step-son is 40, my step-daughter 38 and my own son 37.  I was floored.  Seven kids.  With another birthday fast-approaching, I felt ancient.

As I have said, everyone is very young in Calgary.

Footnote:  The guy didn't make it.