Another day, more about me

Ah, there’s nothing quite as delightful as the prospect of getting out of one’s warm cozy bed early on a Saturday morning, to go outside into the 20 below wind chill and then jump into a pool. I sprung out of bed this morning as if I had veritable wings on my feet, and…….oh, who the hell am I kidding with this jolly-happy shit. I grudgingly hauled my still-sniffling and sinus-headachy (from working out yesterday, of course) lazy ass out of bed to go to Kommandant Renee Schneidewind’s swim class,
she who motivates us with comments like “You call that swimming, punk??!! MOVE, people, move!!” and “My DOG can swim better than that!! In fact, so can my cat! Achtung!”

This is all a lie, of course, as Renee is one of the sweetest people around, and I could be flailing my arms as if I were doing the watusi and she’d still correct me in the nicest of ways, without the incredulous look of horror that I, personally, wouldn’t be able to keep off my own face if I were in her shoes.

So while my swimming has improved immensely, I’ve also developed a somewhat irrational but Pavlovian hatred of kayaks. Because is it really necessary for these kayaking people to lie in wait like vultures until our swim class starts and then go OUTSIDE into the 20 BELOW temperature, while leaving the door open for minutes on end, to get their damn kayaks, thus causing the pool water to instantly drop about 30 degrees and start icing over? Can’t they just….pretend? Just make paddling motions with their arms? Does one really need to be IN a kayak in order to get the hang of it? I think not. It’s like curling. Some “sports” don’t require practice. Throw a rock around the house, shuffle a mop rapidly across the floor, and be done with it.

Because there I was today, swimming along, gliding through the water, smooth, graceful, slippery, visions of Kona dancing in my head………then bam, that frigid arctic air hit my head, and I did what anyone would do under those circumstances. Like a gopher sensing danger,
I stopped, and then ducked underwater, going to ground as it were. And waited. Waited. Popped my head up on occasion to see if it was safe yet, then went back under. I think I started causing a bit of a swimmer pile-up, and I faintly heard Renee’s tinny voice yelling something about “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tasha?!”, but using the laser-focus that has always helped me in my athletic endeavors, I ignored all that. When I finally swam down to the end of the lane, I noticed that everyone else was looking a little flushed and irate. Not sure what’s up with that. Stress, maybe? Me, I popped a few Swedish Fish, as I try to do between every grueling 50, and was good to go. I don’t know why Renee suddenly cancelled class, but I sure hope that nervous tic in her eye goes away soon.

Anyway, I have also learned that perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to learn my swimming techniques from these guys, as apparently the “dig a hole” motion does not for good freestyle make. Who knew?

Oh, by the way Honey, I did find another picture of me on the internet.

And for those of you who question the fact that I claim to be in shape, well, a triangle is a shape.