Recently, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not going to die anytime soon. This is a mixed blessing. On one hand, being alive is a lot more fun than being dead (as far as we know anyway – the dead people I’ve met, never seem to be enjoying themselves). On the other hand, if you’ve made the decision that you are going to live, you should work towards ensuring that your life is going to have some sort of quality. For this reason, I’ve decided to exercise.
The other solution would be to give up the smoking, drinking and deep-fried foods. This is not an option in the short term. Exercise it is then.
I don’t like sports. Gyms are full of muscle-bound narcissists in tiny shorts. I have bad knees, so abhor running – if you ever see me running, follow me, as there’s something nasty coming. I’ve always enjoyed swimming though, so this is my exercise of choice.
The week I was born, a swimming pool was installed at my family home. There is some debate as to whether my siblings were more excited by me or the pool: the consensus lies with the pool. I’m told I could swim before I could walk, and even today, feel more at home in water than on land.
Growing up in Australia, where 90% of the population live near the ocean, swimming lessons are mandatory. There were school swimming competitions and Sunday mornings at the beach with the boogie-board.
It was interesting moving to Taiwan, another island nation, to find the majority of people I speak to can’t swim. I observed this in Thailand as well. There are swimming pools however, which are fairly well populated.
The first thing you notice about a Taiwanese swimming pool is the uniform. No boardies here: budgie smugglers, banana hammocks and dick slickers, as far as the eye can see; complimented by a compulsory, and usually matching, swim-cap.
It’s good to see people who are so comfortable with their bodies that they are willing to run around in their underwear. I’ve never been too much of a fan, but at the same time, I don’t have to look at myself. It’s either this, or die sooner rather than later.
Why the love of the leotard? One of my friends is convinced it’s for public hygiene: it keeps unwanted hair out of the filters. Fair enough for those of Asian decent. Personally, I have more hair on my face than most Taiwanese men have down their trunks, and the friend in question has more hair on his back, than could be found on the entire Taiwanese rugby team (if there was one).
Whatever. As with most stupid rules, I don’t make them, but I’ll follow them if it makes life easier. I donned the apparel and drove in. A quick 25 laps and…
…stop. A pair of legs in front of me. I stand up and see everyone is swimming breast stroke, at about one kilometre a day.
What can you do? I swam under them and kept going. Eventually, I developed a system of only choosing a lane with one other person then waiting for them to get half way towards me before taking off at a swift free-style. I make it to the end before they finish a length. Then I have a nice rest while they take their sweet time coming back towards me. Seeing the giant hairy foreigner streaking past them, is enough to make most Taiwanese people decide to swim elsewhere, and I get the lane to myself.
Breast-stroke seems universal, except for one group of chaps, who can occasionally be found doing bad butterfly impressions down the centre lane and creating miniature tsunamis that make it impossible for anyone else to use the pool.
At least they give it a bash. For most people, swimming is a mystery. “Spas” are quite popular though. I’ve spent many a hangover relaxing in the variously-coloured therapeutic pools and under massaging water jets at N-Spa. For a 250 NTD day pass they offer: an underused Olympic sized swimming pool, saunas, steam rooms, hot pools, cold pools, bubble seats and deck chairs.
Most people are there to sit in tepid pools of water, rather than to swim. Noticeably the elderly as well: is this why they live so long?
There is also a ubiquitous fear of the ocean. Every beach I’ve been to in Taiwan has signs saying: “No Swimming, Strong current”. This is true, it’s easy to get swept from shore, but with a few simple precautions there’s minimal danger. If you’re at a beach in Kaohsiung, you’re more at risk of heavy-metal poisoning.
God help you if there’s a life guard on duty and you go in past your knees. He will be riding his ATV across the sand, blowing his whistle, yelling and tossing his ciggie butt on the sand, quicker than you can say: “Littering is a crime you arse-hole!”.
This seems fine for most Taiwanese people. The concept of getting ready to get in the drink involves rolling up trouser legs. The braver souls can be seen inflating their adult-sized arm bands and floating devices, before venturing in to the waist.
We were recently on Green Island, which would have to rank in my top five places to visit in Taiwan. The snorkelling was amazing; such a plethora of tropical fish. Local tour operators run “snorkelling adventures”. It would have to be one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Picture: 20-30 people wearing full-length wetsuits, booties, life-vests, masks, carrying life-preservers and being pulled over three meters of water on a rope by a tour guide. Hilarious.
The cultural fear of the ocean is deeply ingrained. Mazu, Goddess of the Sea, is one of the most popular deities on this tiny island. There’s about 1,000 temples dedicated to her worship. Right now we are in “ghost month” when spirits rise from the underworld. Anyone in the ocean is liable to pulled to a watery death.
Personally, I fear death by lack of exercise or execution for the murder of slow swimmers, rather than angry maritime ancestors. Either way, you have to die sometime. For now, I will keep up with the swimming, in the hope of extending my life just a little longer.
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