my navy blue speedo suit stretches over the area just north of the great white thighs, I don my super-sexy swim cap and new hot pink goggles and plunk... into the pool.
Morning swimmers are an interesting breed. there's the old(er) woman who, let's admit - has better form than me; one or two men who would tell you they are rehabing an injury from some sport that seems more masculine; a few young whipper-snappers, either still in, or barely out of college - slicing through the water like torpedoes... and me. But, three mornings this week, I have dutifully shown up at the pool to swim laps.
It turns out I'm a bit competitive. (I know - it's ridiculous) It's difficult for me to just concentrate on the line on the bottom of the pool coming to a T as I near the wall. I steal glances at the rotund white -haired man in the lane next to me shod with flippers that give him what seems to be remarkable speed. I tell myself I should be faster than him, even without the flippers. I swim faster. I pull my own rotund body through the water and quickly flick my head to the side to steal a breath between strokes. And of course - as I come weary to the wall, huffing... he arrives and gently turns with his flippers, head above water, and starts back up the pool.
I am aiming low. for now - he is my nemesis... and we will meet again tomorrow.
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