Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [47]
“They are surprised to see that you are not a man. They didn’t believe me when I told them that you held the record for the English Channel. They expected only a man could swim that fast. I told them to come and see you for themselves,” Monir said.
I said hello to them and shook hands. Monir told me that there was a better place to train. It was called the Gizara Club. The club had once catered to the British elite, but now it was where the Egyptians trained, with an American coach named Rick Field. Monir said that he thought the girls on the team would like to meet me too, and perhaps I could come by during the afternoon workout and encourage them. I said I’d be very happy to meet them.
That afternoon I convinced Dave to accompany me to the Gizara Club instead of returning to the Nile. By the time we arrived, Monir was already in the pool, so we introduced ourselves to Rick Field. I watched Monir train. He was a strong swimmer, and each time he took a stroke, the water flowed down his biceps and deltoids, then rippled past his lats and along his streamlined bronze torso. He looked as if he was about the same speed as me. I was eager to get into the pool and have someone to pace with, but Rick asked if I would talk to the girls on the team. He made a point of telling me that there was an equal number of girls and boys on the team. Only two girls had qualified for the Nile race, though. Most Middle Eastern teams, he explained, had few female swimmers. Rick had me talk to the girls about my swims and training. And they shyly told me a little about themselves.
After the workout was over, Rick invited Dave and me for a tour of the city. I wasn’t feeling very well, so I decided to return to the hotel. Just as I was about to fall asleep, there was a knock on my door. It was William Amen, the reporter who had been following me. He asked if he could come into the room and interview me. He opened his writing tablet, sat on the bed opposite mine, and pretended to read old notes. Patiently I answered him, until he suddenly got up and shut the door, saying that with all the noise in the hall, he couldn’t hear me. Feeling uncomfortable with this arrangement, I got up and opened the door halfway, making an excuse that Dave would be back shortly and didn’t have a key.
“Do you like Egypt?” William asked.
“Yes, it is a very exotic country,” I said.
He reached out and touched my arm. “Your muscles are tight,” he said.
“They’re just fine,” I said.
“You know the Dutch swimmer, I give her massage. I give you one?”
“No, thank you,” I said, sensing that something weird was going on and it wasn’t just cultural differences.
William unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and rolled it up, and pointed to his forearm showing a large blue tattoo on his biceps. “I am Christian,” he said.
“That’s nice,” I said.
He reached over and grabbed my hand and declared, “I come to see your father in three years.”
“What for?”
“To marry you,” he said.
“No, thank you,” I said, and thought, You’ve got to be out of your mind.
He looked dumbfounded. “You must marry me.”
“You had better leave,” I said, slipping free.
“You will change your mind,” he said angrily.
“Not in this lifetime.”
Dave and I were so sick that in the morning Morad drove us to see a physician who worked for the swimming federation. The doctor, a plump man in his late forties, let us into his office.
Pickled frogs, unidentifiable organs, animal embryos in jars, and medical books lined the shelves of his office. We sat around his desk while Morad described our symptoms. The doctor said confidently in broken English, “Yes, I have pills. They will