Silently Judging Captain America and Myself: Chlorinated observations of a triathlete in training.

Captain America

This morning, I locked eyes with Captain America.

Well, I can’t be sure it was him, but if it wasn’t, he was a darn close look alike. I hit the pool at 4:45 am for an hour of underwater basket weaving. Somewhere around the half-way point, (20 laps in), I noticed rotten body spray wafting from one of the locker rooms. The smell was so wretched that I couldn’t help but stop, mid-lane, to see what was causing the stink.  

That’s when I saw him… a hairy man sporting a pair of super short, ungodly tight boy shorts that barely covered his Johnson.

Holy.

But it wasn’t just the outfit that gave me pause…

It was that he was standing at the end of his lane, feet more than shoulder width apart, one foot markedly in front of the other, (think superhero stance), with his chest puffed out. I swear he then tossed his cape to the side (or was it his towel?) threw his arms in the air and shouted, “Da da da dah!” to let us know he was getting in.

So it goes on swim days.

As I pressed on to finish my workout, I couldn’t help but think how lame we all must look. On my left, I’ve got Captain America. On my right, there’s a gal earning a Masters Degree in underwater Prancercizing. (She was running down the lane shaking her tail to-and-fro. The view from below the surface was even worse.)

Behind me, in the community cesspool of germs, (i.e. the hot tub), there’s a woolly man with his hairier-than-humanly-possible foot propped up on the edge of the tub, stretching. (Thank you Jesus the lower half of his body was underwater – I don’t want to know what he was wearing.)

Then there’s me.

The girl still fighting for a medal in the Doggie Paddle Olympics.

Note: my gym is at the corner of Kipling and Bowles in Littleton if you want to stop by for the spectacle.

The 2-3 hours I spend in the pool each week seem to be causing me all sorts of distress:

  1. On swim days, no matter what I do, I cannot diffuse the static in my hair. (#waronstatic, #staticiswinning)
  2. I bought a new type of Suave shampoo that smells worse than whatever Captain America’s wearing and I’m too cheap to throw it out. (#stinkysuave, #cheapa**)
  3. My fingernails are dry, brittle and peeling… which means from now ‘til the end of the year I’ll be sportin’ man hands. (#thissucks, #sorryhubs)
  4. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that no matter how big, small or well-endowed you are, (or aren’t!), no one looks hot in a competitive swimming one piece. (#speedo, #getaclue #pamandersonwannabe)
  5. Is it me, or does it seem like when you get out of the pool, your suit is vacuum sealed to your a**? (#nopeeking #whatashow)
  6. I’ve also had communicable diseases on the brain. For one, I can’t help but wonder why the chlorine levels are so high. (Just what the hell can you catch in there anyway?) And two, I’m the only swimmer who doesn’t wear flip flops in the locker room… are my digits doomed to eternal rotting?  (#rebel, #chlorinehell)

#Chasing70.3 #Imustbecrazy #whatthehell #doingitanyway

ONWARD!

Brook

P.S. I’m serious. If you’re a swimmer help a sister out and come tell me what I need to know… www.Facebook.com/BrooksFirstMarathon

P.S.S. If you loved this post, SHARE it. Then scroll down to the blue box below and join my Sole Sisterhood pronto. That way, you’ll never miss a post.

P.P.S.S. Tracy (L), Angie (M) and Lisa (R) all rocked the Biggest Loser Half last weekend. WOO HOO! Kudos to you sole sisters for rockin’ 13.1 bad a**, take no prisoner miles! 

Angie Nelson Wernli (m)

 

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