I've been swimming at the Y lately. Yes, the YMCA. Dig it. Joined last week because I was sick of Stairmasters and elliptical machines and muscle-bound body builders. I was sick of Gold's. Most of all, I was sick of not swimming.

There's a different vibe at the Y than at other gyms. People are a little more down to earth. A little more real. It's hard to put a finger on, but it's there. The Y is more than a gym. It really is a community center, a 'club.' People are nice. It's definitely worth the extra $20 I'll be paying in membership dues. You get little perks you don't get at a places like Gold's. Like big towels. And big lockers. And a pool.

Oh, the pool. Glorious pool. Six-lanes, kept at a perfect 80 degrees, slightly cool, but not cold. And there is a gutter around the perimeter to help absorb the rough water when a lot of people are swimming. Awesome. Did you know the smell of chlorine actually gets me excited? It makes my heart race a little. It's uncontrollable. A triggered reaction, like when a horse hears a gun shot. I've always had a strong reaction to smells, and chlorine . . . it makes me want to race. I even start to perspire a little bit.

Yeah. After a couple of months, after I get my feel for the water back, I think I may even join the master's league.

So the Y is my sanctity, my retreat. Owed in large part to the pool. But then there is racquetball and squash, as well. Two sports I haven't played since college, but which I will certainly start up again. There's nothing better to vent pent-up anxiety then to let loose on a tiny rubber ball for a good 45 minutes. My friend Matt H. says he's going to 'school me,' but I beg to differ. After the first couple of games, it'll be all over for him. Can't wait.

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