Jia J.
Yelp
For a while, I was inconsolable (weren't we all?) about the annual draining of the outdoor pools. However, after a few weeks of not exerting myself whatsoever, I started to get that pent up (a.k.a. FAT 'N' LAZY) feeling and knew that I had to get a move on.
Still, I wasn't mentally prepared to downsize to one of the small indoor pools in the public system, nor did I feel like suddenly shelling out huge sums to join one of the just-as-small and way overpriced pools in my neighborhood. I was also loathe to "yog" in the park before OR after work...
But then I got a new job that immediately overhauled my schedule and made exercise a daily possiblity again! More awesomely, I had ALL Thursday and Friday off last week, which merited a journey to the Flushing Meadows Corona Park Pool. A lifeguard had raved about this newest addition to the NYC public pool system before, but I'd never had a chance to go.
Knowing that golden opportunities like this were rare, I planned my trip right in the middle of the day. This way, the ride on the Queensbound 7 was still quite full, but actually bearable.
Once I got to the Mets-Willets Point stop, the penultimate point on the line, I found that the directions on the NYC Dept. of Parks and Recreation oversimplified things a bit. The directions tell you to basically just go left down a ramp and walk about four minutes past a "Pitch 'n' Putt" and over a little pedestrian bridge.
So I went down something that could be construed as a ramp and found myself in a creepy ass, deserted underpass below a tangle of screaming highways. Luckily, an MTA worker on a bike who had the face of Anderson Cooper and the voice of Alec Baldwin set me straight. He made me a bit nervous though, with his constant references to how far away it "actually" was.
Per his instructions, I re-entered the subway stop and followed a very obvious boardwalk that seemed out of place with no ocean around. The Mets stadium loomed overhead, and all I could think was what a shitshow this place would be during games, but how nice it was otherwise. I could see the cabled spires of the pool from the walk, and it did seem very far away.
Very soon, though, I saw pillars bearing the familiar NYC Parks maple leaf, and a gigantic concrete ramp deposited me in what I guess is Flushing Meadows. Totally reminded me of the Simpsons episode in which Homer and family find themselves stuck in Midtown. Seeing a bus that says "Flushing Meadows," Homer goes into a reverie about porcelain toilets spouting in an idyllic landscape of meadows. Well, Flushing Meadows was just like Homer's vision, minus the toilets.
The path through the park was obvious and clearly marked. In about four minutes, I found that the Parks website had in fact not lied about the Pitch 'n' Putt mini-golf range being just four minutes away from the ramp. The oddest feature of this place was the obscenely blue (like Blow Pop blue) fountains of water coursing over the miniature landscape.
After the Porpoise Bridge took me over a canal of sorts, the pool appeared, towering behind a stretch of bramble-covered footpaths cordoned off with police tape. Landscaping, I guess! Stepping around mangled debris, I walked into the building.
Before I gained admittance to the pool on the second level, I was drawn like a moth to the YEAR-ROUND ICE SKATING RINK ($5 a skate) on the ground floor. A huge American flag presided over the icy scene. As I proceeded upstairs, the Olympian aura of the place only intensified. The steely double doors and the wide, spotless hallways made me feel like Moira Kelly on the Cutting Edge. Another door put me into a state-of-the-art locker room, which seemed so intensely all-American that I felt like I was somewhere in the heartland...until the sound of a showerer humming in the pentatonic scale reminded me of where I was.
A large, frosted glass door admitted me to an epic trio of pools...and what a sight it was in the light of day, also with a giant American flag hanging over it. To the right, a wading center quarantined children and their parents. To the left, an unused diving tank sat in glassy silence. In the middle was a lane pool, divided horizontally into countless 25-meter lanes (64 round trips makes one mile). It was a blissful 7.2 feet deep througout, making for an environment that deterred loitering at the walls, but was not tiresomely deep. It was a treat to be able to dunk down to the bottom after sets.
The natural light through the humungous windows grace-noted this world-class experience. Before I knew it, I had churned out two miles with very little pain or anxiety even in my atrophied state.
After such a healthy reprise, even the long haul back to the UES wasn't so bad. Hell, I almost giggled at the sight of the 7, approaching like an arthritic caterpillar over the track - reminding us all to stay fit, even if it means journeying to outer limit Queens.