Three for One

1. Have you ever walked into a public bathroom (like at the gym) and noticed that the air was rank with doo-doo smell, only to then enter a stall and discover that, given the density and intensity of the doo-doo air compacted within those small walls, you have just entered the actual receptacle toilet of the stanky doo-doo?

No?

Me neither.

2. I hate swimming. That's no surprise, we all know this. Now, there are days when I love it, but it's like this pseudo-type of love, like when you were a kid and you aunt gives you a fiver, and you love her for that minute, but once she starts nagging at you to come and visit her, you don't love her as much anymore. Like that. Conditional.

So it's no big shocker that I have to pull out the mental big guns on my swim days. I go through all my little mottos in my head, then through all the excuses, berate my laziness a bit, then back to the mottos, and then finally I haul my ass into the cold car and go to the pool. And you never know what kind of swim you'll pull off - perhaps the best ever, perhaps one where the 75-year-old lady water-walking in the lane next to you has to notify the lifeguard of your lifeless body at the bottom of the pool. It's a crap shoot.

So imagine my surprise when I hit the pool today and not only was it semi-warm (score!) but I got my own lane. For about 200 yards.

(Note to self - when finishing a set, stand up facing the wall, so as NOT to make eye contact with the swimmers waiting to ask you to share a lane).

Some young looking kid in surf shorts asked to share my lane, and because I'm a nice (kinda) old lady, I said yes. I should have been tipped off to his swimming skills by the shorts, and pretended like I was deaf. Dang, I need to work on thinking on my feet.

And things were going swimmingly (ha) until, after one of his flip turns, he managed to shoot himself in my lane, and hit me head-on. Underwater. Like oncoming traffic.

This must be like, his "thang," because it bothered him none. I, however, jumped up, stopping midlane and breaking what was working up to be a righteous set of 500. I stood at the end of my lane for a second, just to make sure it wasn't me who was violating the lane markings (and no, it was not, as I already knew, since I was repeatedly hitting the wall just to make room for the octopus swimmer) and sure enough, here he came, down the lane, arms and legs flailing like me in my first triathlon.

So I sucked down my frustration, imagined I was at the swim start of the IM, and pretended what it will be like to have my face kicked underwater in Arizona in a few short months. I got about 2000 yards into my swim before the young lad got out.

Ahhhh, and the remaining 1000 was like heaven.

3. Yes, I am a fan of the Biggest Loser, aka The Biggest Whiners (man, they are ALWAYS crying or whining about something!) I am so over Neil and Amanda. First of, he's a lazy bag of bones and big baby complainer. Second, his wifey enables the bejeezus out of him. Sooooooo glad they got kicked off. And while I am on the topic of the Biggest Loser, their product endorsements of Exta, Brita and Subway are nauseating.

On second thought, perhaps I should contact them and offer my psychological services....