Yesterday some douche told me I’m not an athlete.
But, he didn’t know about the compliment I got at the pool.
Per usual, I rigged my iPod on my visor, tightened my flotation belt, set aside my crutch and immersed myself in the deep end of the pool for some kick ass water running. 34 minutes of intervals. I turned up the AC/DC and Black Eyed Peas to drown out the “One two three o’clock for o’clock rock” coming from the ghetto blaster on the side of the pool. The pussy posse water aerobics crowd really digs that era of music. (I don’t say “pussy” in terms of “wimp.” I say it to refer to a body part. Just to clarify. There is nothing wimpy about those women).
If I can’t run on land then I’m going to become manic in the pool. When it was time to start an interval, my little legs propelled me so fast that that cruise ship off the California coast was SO jealous…and I didn’t even have to eat Spam (can you believe they shipped in Spam and Pop tarts to the ship? Some one is going to sue Carnival for sure. Not because their vacations were ruined or there was no running water or AC, but because they got SPAM).
I spent exactly 2,040 seconds kicking ass and taking names in the pool. I was running circles around Ethel and pushed Gertrude to the side as I raced through. I was winning, and no one knew it but me.
When it was all over, I dried myself off, grabbed my crutch and headed to the lap lanes because I wasn’t done yet. Everyone at the pool was astonished, thinking, “OMG she just ran in the water for 34 minutes and now she is going to swim laps. And she’s on one crutch”. Yes, it’s true I live in a fantasy world where people really give a shit and notice what I’m doing, but whatever, it gets me through the day.
So, I carefully picked my lap lane after deciding what type of swimmer I wanted to share with. The 70 year old guy in the speedo with the six pack? The guy with the back hair and the kick board? (Taken this summer by my daughter at the triathlon, same pool. She is scarred for life. You know he has a hairy crack.):
Just as I was getting in the water, an older dude, probably 60, got out. He had the lap lane by the deep end where I was running. I smiled at him because that’s what I do. He looked at me and said, “You get those legs going pretty fast for an injured person.”
Yeah, that’s right. Why, thank you. Take that douche bag who insults marathoners and tells them they’re not athletes.
I then went to the Starbucks’ drive thru to reward myself for my athleticism. I even bought the lady behind me her three pack of mini scones. I was careful to ask what she ordered before I offered to pay. If she had gotten five Venti lattes I would have back out. I’m generous, but not that generous.
Today it is snowing. People moan and groan like, “OH MY GOD, it is snowing and cold and gray!” Yeah, well, it is November 11 and you do live in stinking Colorado. Why so surprised? Every year, why so surprised?
Here’s what went on here this morning:
Hi, it’s me, SUAR, and it’s SNOWING! In Colorado! In November! Amazing! (We bloggers are the masters at self portraits).
Here is my one eye again!
A great morning for oatmeal if you are in 7th grade and have wet hair!
She joined the one eyed club too. Only her club is one-eyed, open mouthed.
Yeah, it’s never too cold for a crap:
You know what you did. Don’t even look all cute and act like, “I didn’t just lay a big one in the snow.” Even if you are the President of the one-eyed club.
Off to yoga for the first time since the big “I” (Injury). The big “I” is NOTHING like the big “O.”
Getting ready to be a warrior,