Breathe Deep and Count to 50

This is the 50th Gym Junkie blog. Cool. I read through some of the older posts and the newer ones are just as lame as the older ones. At least I'm consistent.

OK this week I want to review Holding My Temper. I used to tell a witch that once worked for me "Breathe deep and count to 10" to remind her not to lose it over stupid things. I think, in my case, I need to count to 50, holding my breath the whole time, so I don't pop like I did in the pool yesterday.

Curry is a nimwit. He alternates spastic dog paddle with back sprawl, hitting out in all directions. Last week I had to tell him twice to move over (he was sprawling close to the line in the next lane, right next to me, even though there was no one in the lane with him). He kicked me, hit me and "accidentally" touched me almost every time I passed him. I was ready to pop him one "accidentally". I proceeded through my swim kicking extra hard and making big splashes for effect.

So yesterday the pool was busy, but Little Bug and I happily shared a lane with Lover Boy. I was the slowest of the three as we circle swam, but I was feeling great. Until Lover Boy left and Curry decided, when they closed his lane, to move in with me and the Bug. I popped. I said outright to his fat face that I wouldn't swim with him, he couldn't swim, he was too slow, and to choose another lane. Then the pool director came over to insist. So I told her, again, that he was too slow, that ours had been the only lane circle swimming all morning, and to GO AWAY. I swam off into the sunset, pissed at being interuppted in my workout twice now by a dork who, I must insist, has no business trying to circle swim with anyone until he figures out (or the lifeguards explain to him) How It Works.

I will shun him. I wish this cold wasn't past me because I'd like to spit, too.

I still feel crummy about Losing It, even though the guy is almost as inconsiderate as me. But I AM the pool bitch, FYI. So I'm not saying I'm sorry.

On a friendly note, I have a new boyfriend, which totally smooths the day if I think again about Curry the Nimwit. My new man is blond, very cut, young, and he wears tight fitting bicycle shorts. When he smiles at me I note he has perfect teeth. We went on a bike ride together. He was very encouraging. He had some good suggestions for my form, pushed me through the workout, and even reminded me to drink water. Near the end he thanked me for riding with him. Just as I tried to ask him up to my place for a couple of REAL drinks the program ended! I'll have to stop by next week to see if he'll still ride with me.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17...(suck air). Oh well. There, I feel better already. At least for now.

Happy 50!