Thursday, February 19, 2009

it's not about the bike ...

so today i finally took the plunge [tee hee] and started the swimming part of that lifesucking event, the couch potato triathlon. yes, i have a swim suit. probably about five more than the average non-swimmer. they seem to crop up every time jcrew gives me a load of clothes that were denied by plato's closet because they didn't have the words HOLISTER stitched across the ass.

these are the sort of suits that look better on people without freakishly blue skin. but each covers enough of my body so that i don't end up with my likeness on a poster anywhere near the words "level three sex offender."

the idea of swimming made me a little queasy. my friend the greeter, who is also doing the triathlon, caught kathleen turner's vocal polyps swimming last week. then he slipped into a coma. so i had started thinking of the pool as a soup for the infectious diseases found in toddler nostrils.

things got off to a bad start when i decided for the first time that i'd use an actual bathroom instead of the pool. the ladies stall closest had a toilet seat that was 180 degrees of wet. like it had been riden down the apple river on a summer day. swimmer's butt wet. a wet that one assumes is water, but could be the accidentally spray of a tike who miscalculated the time it takes to peel out of a care bear swim suit. i decided to chance it, as i've heard chlorine kills fecal matter, etc.

the toilet paper was the consistency of glue. similar to what you found hanging in your trees when it rained the night before homecoming.

the smell hit me long before i hit pool level. that universal pool smell is a tricky one. it nauseates me, and it brings back all sorts of phobias, but i kind of like it. sort of like the conflicting emotions i get when i smell drakar.

i'd only done a few laps when some familiar faces paraded in: our neighbor, last seen tanning au natural while al fresco [i almost didn't recognize him with clothes on], his wife and their granddaughter. the only one missing was their young aggressive and obnoxious grandson, who seems to be grooming himself for a career in rapistiology.

the trio hung out in the open swim part of the pool wearing snorkling gear and floating around. before i figured out how i knew these people, everytime i clung to the side of the pool sputtering and coughing chlorine out of my cillia, i watched al fresco, and tried to place him.

WARNING: if you have a middle aged neighbor who hangs out in his back yard wearing a tiger stripped loin cloth, you do not want to spend too much time looking in his direction while sharing a community pool. he WILL misread your intentions. he will think you are hunting silver foxes with mickey mouse tattoos. i am as sure of this as i am that he has liver spots in places he cannot see with the naked eye.

eventually i noticed that for every lap i completed, he dipped under water, his goggled gaze following my slow, flailing progression through this muck.

the swimming wasn't terrible -- aside from the water part. "it really is such a complete, full body exhaustion," i thought to myself afterward. [seriously. i thought that sentence.] i tried to think of something else i could do that would give me the same feeling, without getting water in my eyes.

i think i'm going to start performing as a marionette.


Sproactually said...

nuts.. I though my tiger striped toga was cool.

And level 3 sex offenders don't wear skimpy bathing thongs, they live across the street from a middle school, with a catholic school in the backyard, wait, that's where i live? WTF? I gotta go.

But i'm scarred now, i don't think i'll ever be able to use a restroom at a pool ever again.

feisty said...

good lord, thanks for the laughs! and the gross imagery that brings me back to required swim classes at PHS (the gluey toilet paper, the apple-river-soaked toilet seats).

i also caught kathleen turner's vocal polyps, but it was from borrowing somebody's pen at work.

Amy said...

i learned some marionette moves in mime school, let's hit the lakewalk and earn some money!

Mach1 said...

I hate that you are doing the Couch Potato Tri without me this year. Hate hate hate.

Futbol said...

Rape U offers degrees in rapistiology, rape science, rapist studies and accounting.

Nick said...

Now it all makes sense. You really did deserve that pizza!