My first hostile encounter here

I’ve always wanted to check out the pool in Sentagaya so I thought today would be a great opportunity since I was free.

As usual, I got lost. I even gave up on the idea of swimming since it was already 815pm (I started travelling from home at 615pm) and thought I would find it anyway so I would know how to go another day.

A kind Japanese man in a funky hat and outfit pointed me in the right direction (I had gone off the opposite direction of the pool instead of going towards it). Finally, I arrived half an hour later and I discovered the pool at the Tokyo Met Gym opens till 11pm on weekdays. Sugoyi (excellent)…

The premises were sprawling and the locker room had everything a girl could need before and after a swim. They didn’t provide towels but I brought my own anyway. A small modern onsen was also part of the spiffy public gym. Only 600 yen for two hours. I could get used to this, I grinned to myself.

I was also impressed by how considerate everyone was in the pool. People only swam one after another in a line in each lane. No accidents and annoying bumps while paddling along. I loved it. The crowded pool also gave off an energetic vibe.

On my third lap, the lifeguard came over to direct a few swimmers ahead of me to turn around because in front of us was an injured or handicapped guy who had problems swimming fast with his lame leg. I followed suit. In my next lap, the same thing happened and there was an incredible jam of six or seven people who stopped swimming behind this guy. I was keen on a good workout so I ducked under the rope and joined the next lane.

I stopped at the deep end to adjust my goggles as they were leaky. Just as I was about to turn around, this Japanese dude starts talking to me. I could not understand his bullet-gun style nihongo. I just stared at him and waited for him to take a breath so I could tell him I didn’t understand what he said. His voice got louder and louder — I thought he looked like one of the peeps on Japanese soap operas with big gestures and choppy speech. I gave up and said: “Gomenasai, wakaranai (Sorry, I don’t understand).”

With that, he shouted at me: “GET AWAY, YOU STUPID BITCH!”

Good grief! I ducked back to the lane I originally came from. My first reaction was: “Why did he scream at me?” I was thinking maybe we weren’t supposed to change lanes but the sign said no overtaking so I thought it meant within the lane. But even if I made such a gaffe, why such a violent reaction? I made sure there was nobody nearby when I made the switch. In fact this dude was way behind so I couldn’t have kicked his face by accident.

Then I thought he was crazy so I wondered if he would follow me. I tried to look out for him but all the men wore black trunks and black goggles — I couldn’t recognize him at all!

My confusion turned into fury: “How dare he talk to me like that! Who the hell does he think he is?” I hated chauvinistic Japanese men with a vengeance. I had a few brushes with them before and they always left me feeling miffed and bitter. Anyway, my anger fueled my workout. I’m tired now. I thrashed through many more laps and conceded defeat about an hour later.

Such a weirdass encounter. But I’m glad I made it to the pool.

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