Sound carries, especially across a locker room full of gossip mongers. Of course I was listening when the big black lady told Cookie she'd lost her goggles but that they weren't in the Lost 'n Found. So I just said I was eavesdropping when I suggested she check the pool office for them. Might as well be honest.
When I swim I wear ear plugs, sticky white things that keep the water out and also any kind of conversation that's not at an elevated pitch. Half the time I don't hear what people are saying - I nod alot and smile, but most can't hear me either, since they are also wearing ear plugs. When Evil Lifeguard tries to bump me from a lane THEN I REALLY make like I can't hear her. Kind of fun and totally obnoxious at the same time.
Upstairs in the Fitness Center (they tried a couple of years ago to rename it the "Wellness Center" but I think they gave up - sounds like Rehab if you ask me, which, in some ways, it truly is) I wear my shuffle, the volume way up. This is partly to give me ooomph, and partly to block out conversation. It's just that most often I don't care for the chit chat and there are Talkers that don't know how to shut up.
Conversations start out as "WHAT? Sorry - the volume is really loud". SteveArino was trying to say something a few months back and I shouted back at him "Two-hundred dollars?" He went beet red. Maybe you remember the joke about the guy in the bar that tried to talk to the pretty lady a few seats over that dissed him, and on leaving thought to apologize, she gets so tired of being hit on, and "$200" was his response. We're still buds but the embarrassment factor didn't exactly win me any brownie points.
They bought new mats for outside the door to the Fitness Center about a month ago and they were really squishy - no support - they sucked. Why couldn't they replace at least one of the two mats with one that wasn't so squishy, I asked? We complained, of course, among ourselves, and I was told that whoever is in charge said they couldn't do this because "they wouldn't match". So I went to fill out a Suggestion Box form last week, recounting this conversation, saying Isn't That Stupid only to find out that one of the ladies behind the desk was responsible. No brownie points there again, I assure you.
Today I discovered they had switched out one of the mats. I know change is good but choice it better. I've been heard! Jeez Marie this has to be a first.
Listening in on other people's conversations is often amusing, sometimes really irrating (especially if they are really loud), and though the "what factor" of earplugs or a shuffle can be a Godsend, there are those times when we talk and we laugh and we really love and listen closely to the events and the issues that we share. Thanks for listening to me when I need you. I hope that I'm not always so wrapped up inside my own stupid head that I listen and tell you, too, that I care.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
In A Fog
I'll eat just about anything and I eat well, but I vowed this year not to spoil my appetite for yummy Greek food by avoiding those before-dinner goodies at my family's Easter gathering. Consequently the wine went right to my head and Monday morning was not pretty. I had a hangover.
I took the morning off and got to the gym late. I don't remember driving there (it's often a surprise, early in the morning, half awake, when I arrive and think "Hey, I'm at the gym! Cool!"). I was in my own world (where at least everyone knows me), in a total fog, and to avoid what promised to be a very dangerous time to get on a treadmill instead I got on the elliptical, which, in case you don't know, has got to be the most boring exercise machine ever. I don't remember the workout: this is a good thing.
There was heavy fog driving in on Wednesday (I think, maybe it was Tuesday?). I was going really fast even though I couldn't see very well, but between knowing the road and Auto Pilot I figured I'd get to my destination just fine. I'm glad the fog inside my head finally lifted in time to see the cop sitting at the side of Western Avenue.
Then I almost walked right into the barriers outside the Women's Locker Room, with signs saying that it was closed for "cleaning". We had to use the Girl's Locker Room instead. The lockers are small, so you have to imagine that my first magic trick of the morning, getting all my shit into a space that is less than 10" x 8" x 60", was quite a feat. Almost didn't need to workout after that.Eventually I went into the steam room. Realizing there were two sweaty fat old guys in there I was again grateful for the fog.
We apologize for being in a fog, and it can be a warning that maybe you need to slow down, maybe have a soda for a change. I'm not giving up my wine (or chocolate; Little Bug - I hope I make you proud), but note to self: Eat More Shrimp. Hangovers suck.
I took the morning off and got to the gym late. I don't remember driving there (it's often a surprise, early in the morning, half awake, when I arrive and think "Hey, I'm at the gym! Cool!"). I was in my own world (where at least everyone knows me), in a total fog, and to avoid what promised to be a very dangerous time to get on a treadmill instead I got on the elliptical, which, in case you don't know, has got to be the most boring exercise machine ever. I don't remember the workout: this is a good thing.
There was heavy fog driving in on Wednesday (I think, maybe it was Tuesday?). I was going really fast even though I couldn't see very well, but between knowing the road and Auto Pilot I figured I'd get to my destination just fine. I'm glad the fog inside my head finally lifted in time to see the cop sitting at the side of Western Avenue.
Then I almost walked right into the barriers outside the Women's Locker Room, with signs saying that it was closed for "cleaning". We had to use the Girl's Locker Room instead. The lockers are small, so you have to imagine that my first magic trick of the morning, getting all my shit into a space that is less than 10" x 8" x 60", was quite a feat. Almost didn't need to workout after that.Eventually I went into the steam room. Realizing there were two sweaty fat old guys in there I was again grateful for the fog.
We apologize for being in a fog, and it can be a warning that maybe you need to slow down, maybe have a soda for a change. I'm not giving up my wine (or chocolate; Little Bug - I hope I make you proud), but note to self: Eat More Shrimp. Hangovers suck.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Choices
Every day we have choices to make, like, do I run the yellow light or slam on my brakes instead? At 5:00 a.m. it's usually "run the yellow". What a rush.
Unless some bitch took my parking spot, or my locker, the next big decision is which swim lane I'm going to get into. Earlier this week Lover Boy and I were getting in the pool at the same time, so being as polite as I know how at that hour of the day I gave him first dibs and asked if he wanted the cute black guy or the skinny white guy. He didn't think it was very funny, but I still do.
Sharin' was smart this morning. She had a choice and got in the lane with Mr. Dumbells. She KNEW that this was a Non-Sharing tactic, because you can't swim circles if one person is water jogging. Very smart. I admire her swim sense.
Also this morning Fat Lumbering Man asked the Womanizer and Wonder Woman, two of the fastest swimmers on earth, if they would swim circles with him. NOT. W and WW had a choice and they decided screw that noise, old man, wait your turn. It's hard to choose what to say if it seems mean but they were right. Fat Lumbering Man waited and took another lane. He was veeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry slooooooooooooooooooow.
On Tuesday, 5:00 a.m., driving 48 mph in a 45 zone, stopped at the red light, started on the green, and damn if I got pulled over by a cop. I turned off the music, which was really loud, and waited. Finally Hurly Burly came up to my window and started with the flashlight thing. I had a choice: sit patiently and let him have his fun, or ask "Why did you pull me over?". I asked (was that dumb?). Apparently one of the light bulbs was out over my license plate - THAT'S why he pulled me over! Christ I didn't even know I HAD a light over my license plate. But he let me go, just "Everything's OK - have a nice day." Choice: I wanted to say "Thanks for trying to fuck it up for me" but I didn't.
When I hit the treadmill I had the best run I'd had in weeks. Must have been the adrenaline. Note to self: take more chances - it's a good buzz.
Unless some bitch took my parking spot, or my locker, the next big decision is which swim lane I'm going to get into. Earlier this week Lover Boy and I were getting in the pool at the same time, so being as polite as I know how at that hour of the day I gave him first dibs and asked if he wanted the cute black guy or the skinny white guy. He didn't think it was very funny, but I still do.
Sharin' was smart this morning. She had a choice and got in the lane with Mr. Dumbells. She KNEW that this was a Non-Sharing tactic, because you can't swim circles if one person is water jogging. Very smart. I admire her swim sense.
Also this morning Fat Lumbering Man asked the Womanizer and Wonder Woman, two of the fastest swimmers on earth, if they would swim circles with him. NOT. W and WW had a choice and they decided screw that noise, old man, wait your turn. It's hard to choose what to say if it seems mean but they were right. Fat Lumbering Man waited and took another lane. He was veeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry slooooooooooooooooooow.
On Tuesday, 5:00 a.m., driving 48 mph in a 45 zone, stopped at the red light, started on the green, and damn if I got pulled over by a cop. I turned off the music, which was really loud, and waited. Finally Hurly Burly came up to my window and started with the flashlight thing. I had a choice: sit patiently and let him have his fun, or ask "Why did you pull me over?". I asked (was that dumb?). Apparently one of the light bulbs was out over my license plate - THAT'S why he pulled me over! Christ I didn't even know I HAD a light over my license plate. But he let me go, just "Everything's OK - have a nice day." Choice: I wanted to say "Thanks for trying to fuck it up for me" but I didn't.
When I hit the treadmill I had the best run I'd had in weeks. Must have been the adrenaline. Note to self: take more chances - it's a good buzz.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Heroes
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.
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.
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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