Pseudo athletes like myself spend alot of time inside their own heads racing to finish lines, rescuing those in need, and imagining great feats of heroism watching the lap counter on the treadmill. Pretty stupid, but running on a treadmill is so mind numbingly boring we have to do something besides think about what hurts, who we're mad at, or what's for dinner.
Some days when I'm not feeling quite right the only reason I can think to try and be as nice as possible is remembering that maybe, just maybe, you may need someone to save your life because, if I keep this up, I WILL have a heart attack. I've been on malfunctioning treadmills where the heart rate monitor keeps going off even though I'm not touching anything. I guess I've been warned.
So I renewed my CPR/AED training this past week. We were told to do the chest compressions to the beat of "Staying Alive." I think if you don't like the person you are trying to save "Another One Bites the Dust" would also do nicely. If I ever do get to be a real hero at the gym I think I'll leave my shuffle on so I can keep the pace up.
The Grand Poobah had his 92nd birthday this week. He really swims - and he's good! We are all in awe. He had some dizzy spells last year and I suggested that at least if he gets dizzy in the pool he won't fall down and break anything. He is all there and totally gets me. I like to make him laugh. The Poobah is a real hero - served as a fighter pilot in WWII. I am in awe. I've promised more than one pool buddy, including the Poobah, that I'd fish them out if they sank. Half the time the lifeguards are so spaced I'm pretty sure we're on our own in there.
Someone mentioned a long time back that if you are going to have a heart attack chances are you'll have it driving from the gym after your workout. Very encouraging. I hope one of my gym buddies is in traffic and saves me. I know I'd do it for them. I'd put my earbuds in and go to it. That's when I crank the volume to "Hysteria" and hope a real hero shows up soon.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Swimming Dreams
You know you spend too much time in the pool when your most recurring dreams are about swimming. It is SO COOL to realize you don't need air.
Sharing a lane with one other person is just okay, unless they are Mr. Splashy, Miss Middle of the Lane, or a Fat Boy. You split the lane down the middle and do your thing. Circle swimming is only JUST OKAY if those involved knows how it should work and are all about the same speed, which is almost never. In my dreams sometimes I'm in a lane with so many people that it's like spawning salmon.
One solution I got from dreamland is to split the lane by dividing the pool horizontally. Some swim on the top layer and the rest swim below on the bottom layer. I have to say I've had some strange looks when I've suggested this to others when it comes time to split a lane. Who needs air???
They (THEY) are planning on closing a downtown facility so now we've got Interlopers checking out our branch and the pool has been really busy and the lifeguards can't shut down lanes and sleep in the office. I dream about pools that are incredible - empty, flat and smooth, Bermuda blue and end at the horizon. Or I get frustrated dreaming that I'm swimming in muck and my short little legs and arms are working hard and I'm getting nowhere because the water feels like molasses. Did you ever swim on land? Now that's a swimming dream that is totally weird. Very weird.
Things change and all of us will have to deal with the place being more crowded. NOTE TO SELF: Elbows out, S.L.B.: this guy ain't gonna take 3/4 of the lane just because I'm skinny and getting old. In my dreams three strokes and I've sailed over the length of the pool to the other end. Way cool.
Sharing a lane with one other person is just okay, unless they are Mr. Splashy, Miss Middle of the Lane, or a Fat Boy. You split the lane down the middle and do your thing. Circle swimming is only JUST OKAY if those involved knows how it should work and are all about the same speed, which is almost never. In my dreams sometimes I'm in a lane with so many people that it's like spawning salmon.
One solution I got from dreamland is to split the lane by dividing the pool horizontally. Some swim on the top layer and the rest swim below on the bottom layer. I have to say I've had some strange looks when I've suggested this to others when it comes time to split a lane. Who needs air???
They (THEY) are planning on closing a downtown facility so now we've got Interlopers checking out our branch and the pool has been really busy and the lifeguards can't shut down lanes and sleep in the office. I dream about pools that are incredible - empty, flat and smooth, Bermuda blue and end at the horizon. Or I get frustrated dreaming that I'm swimming in muck and my short little legs and arms are working hard and I'm getting nowhere because the water feels like molasses. Did you ever swim on land? Now that's a swimming dream that is totally weird. Very weird.
Things change and all of us will have to deal with the place being more crowded. NOTE TO SELF: Elbows out, S.L.B.: this guy ain't gonna take 3/4 of the lane just because I'm skinny and getting old. In my dreams three strokes and I've sailed over the length of the pool to the other end. Way cool.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Dear John
If I'm not at the gym at my usual insane hour of the morning staff and other regulars will notice. "You're late today." It's 5:30 a.m. Pretty weird.
I'm in a bad mood and if anyone asks me "So how are you" and I actually tell them I know they'll quickly tune me out. Most folks don't REALLY wants to know if you are anything but FINE. So I shut up, which for me is not easy.
One day when I came in the lady at the front desk, Cookie, said, "Goooooooooood Morning" in this high, sweet sing song of a voice. I turned and looked at her dead in the eye and said really loud "AW JESUS CHRIST". We were laughing so hard we had it tough making kissie noises at each other as I escaped down the hall to the locker room.
Sometimes beating yourself up in a workout is the best part of the day. You don't want to talk to anyone. The ipod is on really loud, you avoid eye contact, and try to lose yourself in the workout. You're itching for a fight, but then all these really nice people will spark a conversation and try to make you laugh. God bless them. A couple of hours later, 15 minutes in the hot tub, and I'm almost nice.
There's a new book group at the gym that I've gotten in on that just read Nicholas Sparks' "Dear John". Here's my take: If you meet a boy with a buzz cut, scary tatoos, a bad temper, and no clue what to do with his life you should probably steer clear. I want to rename this stupid book "Dear John: Eat My Dust." He wasn't worth it. Were that I were so wise 25 years ago.
Wonder Woman met a guy that shared swimming workouts with her for a short while, then walked out on her. If he ever shows his face at the Y again me and the Cheater are going to beat him up. It would be nice to take out our mutual frustrations about men out on something besides a treadmill.
Thank you, everyone, for being so nice even when I'm crabby. Thank you, Cookie, for being so perceptive and noticing that just being 15 minutes late to the gym is a sign that all is not well. Thank you T.B.B. (Tall, Blonde and Beautiful) for caring enough to ask me how things are. Thank you EVERYONE for putting up with me. And Wonder Woman, I mean it, that guy has definitely been voted off the island.
I'm in a bad mood and if anyone asks me "So how are you" and I actually tell them I know they'll quickly tune me out. Most folks don't REALLY wants to know if you are anything but FINE. So I shut up, which for me is not easy.
One day when I came in the lady at the front desk, Cookie, said, "Goooooooooood Morning" in this high, sweet sing song of a voice. I turned and looked at her dead in the eye and said really loud "AW JESUS CHRIST". We were laughing so hard we had it tough making kissie noises at each other as I escaped down the hall to the locker room.
Sometimes beating yourself up in a workout is the best part of the day. You don't want to talk to anyone. The ipod is on really loud, you avoid eye contact, and try to lose yourself in the workout. You're itching for a fight, but then all these really nice people will spark a conversation and try to make you laugh. God bless them. A couple of hours later, 15 minutes in the hot tub, and I'm almost nice.
There's a new book group at the gym that I've gotten in on that just read Nicholas Sparks' "Dear John". Here's my take: If you meet a boy with a buzz cut, scary tatoos, a bad temper, and no clue what to do with his life you should probably steer clear. I want to rename this stupid book "Dear John: Eat My Dust." He wasn't worth it. Were that I were so wise 25 years ago.
Wonder Woman met a guy that shared swimming workouts with her for a short while, then walked out on her. If he ever shows his face at the Y again me and the Cheater are going to beat him up. It would be nice to take out our mutual frustrations about men out on something besides a treadmill.
Thank you, everyone, for being so nice even when I'm crabby. Thank you, Cookie, for being so perceptive and noticing that just being 15 minutes late to the gym is a sign that all is not well. Thank you T.B.B. (Tall, Blonde and Beautiful) for caring enough to ask me how things are. Thank you EVERYONE for putting up with me. And Wonder Woman, I mean it, that guy has definitely been voted off the island.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
What's in the bag???
Most of the ridiculously early gym crowd heads off to the stone quarry after our workout. We have to make money to pay for our Y membership. It's a vicious cycle.
When I was a Swimmer Only I arrived at the gym wearing swimsuit underwear but otherwise dressed for work. So my bag was regulation size with only the essentials - goggles/cap/fins/waterbottle, makeup, ditty bag and a towel. Oh yeah and underwear. I felt very European with my spartan carry on.
Until the day you show up and the pool is CLOSED (someone shit in the pool, probably). I would speed home mad at the whole world, which is mostly made up of me, eat a big breakfast and wish I had brought my sneakers so at least I could have walked the track. I guess I have to learn the hard way: I decided to pack sneakers, tee-shirt, sports bra, shorts, socks, peds. I had a backup plan! So the bag got a little bit bigger.
When I started varying my routine because my "friends" said I needed to do more "weight bearing" I arrived in my sweats with whatever I needed on underneath - a "dry" or a "wet" workout, whatever the plan was. I added a CD player (which eventually morphed into a Shuffle). Plus swim gear JUST IN CASE and gym gear JUST IN CASE.
The bag got a big bigger still.
Comes the day when your bathing cap splits open or your goggles just aren't there, you forget underwear or socks or a belt, you need a band-aid, a pen, a dollar for a bottle of water, damn two more ibuprofen, a hair dryer because the Y doesn't know how to buy in bulk, a safety pin, tampons, a new razor, lint brush, or pantyhose. Throw it in the bag.
Bigger bag.
Someone is always forgetting something. We dress in a hurry and it shows. No belt. No socks. No bra. No towel. There aren't too many women that can wear my bra (an "almost A") but we've bailed each other out a few times. One lady always "forgets" her bra. Yeah right. Sometimes we just have to go to work mismatched or just not happy about the outfit. Like anyone will notice.
Now I have TWO bags - one with my clothes/shoes and another with all my gear. I have an extra everything. Plus a snack. They were accepting book donations not long ago for a fund raiser and when I walked in with my box the lady at the desk asked me what I had and I just said "Damn, I spend so much time here I decided to just move in." She didn't even blink. She knows me.
The bags are as big as me almost and weigh more than I do, but now instead of being proud of my spartaness I try not to look like an idiot carrying all this stuff around. About 6 months ago on a weekend morning a man asked me "What's in the bag???". I looked at it and said "I have no idea. I can't wait to find out!"
When I was a Swimmer Only I arrived at the gym wearing swimsuit underwear but otherwise dressed for work. So my bag was regulation size with only the essentials - goggles/cap/fins/waterbottle, makeup, ditty bag and a towel. Oh yeah and underwear. I felt very European with my spartan carry on.
Until the day you show up and the pool is CLOSED (someone shit in the pool, probably). I would speed home mad at the whole world, which is mostly made up of me, eat a big breakfast and wish I had brought my sneakers so at least I could have walked the track. I guess I have to learn the hard way: I decided to pack sneakers, tee-shirt, sports bra, shorts, socks, peds. I had a backup plan! So the bag got a little bit bigger.
When I started varying my routine because my "friends" said I needed to do more "weight bearing" I arrived in my sweats with whatever I needed on underneath - a "dry" or a "wet" workout, whatever the plan was. I added a CD player (which eventually morphed into a Shuffle). Plus swim gear JUST IN CASE and gym gear JUST IN CASE.
The bag got a big bigger still.
Comes the day when your bathing cap splits open or your goggles just aren't there, you forget underwear or socks or a belt, you need a band-aid, a pen, a dollar for a bottle of water, damn two more ibuprofen, a hair dryer because the Y doesn't know how to buy in bulk, a safety pin, tampons, a new razor, lint brush, or pantyhose. Throw it in the bag.
Bigger bag.
Someone is always forgetting something. We dress in a hurry and it shows. No belt. No socks. No bra. No towel. There aren't too many women that can wear my bra (an "almost A") but we've bailed each other out a few times. One lady always "forgets" her bra. Yeah right. Sometimes we just have to go to work mismatched or just not happy about the outfit. Like anyone will notice.
Now I have TWO bags - one with my clothes/shoes and another with all my gear. I have an extra everything. Plus a snack. They were accepting book donations not long ago for a fund raiser and when I walked in with my box the lady at the desk asked me what I had and I just said "Damn, I spend so much time here I decided to just move in." She didn't even blink. She knows me.
The bags are as big as me almost and weigh more than I do, but now instead of being proud of my spartaness I try not to look like an idiot carrying all this stuff around. About 6 months ago on a weekend morning a man asked me "What's in the bag???". I looked at it and said "I have no idea. I can't wait to find out!"
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