Oh, that confidence high I had; IT'S GONE!

Have you ever been kicked in the face?! Oh, me neither on the physical kind, BUT I sure got an emotional beating today!

So at the pool today I decided, of the three lanes to choose from, to pick the lane with the slow, seemingly uncoordinated old lady to swim with. She already had another swimmer with her, as did the lane to the left, and with 2 people already in the lane to the right, it was circle-swim or do aquacise with the geezers... Wrong choice.

I got to swimming and passed the old lady a few times, but started to get slower as my adrenaline mellowed. Before too long, the "slow" old lady was passing me up. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I kept trying to push myself to go faster, especially because Phelps and his top two competitors were swimming in the lane to the left of me, but I had little success. I swear even the aquacise folk were pointing and laughing at my incompetence. So I just kept swimming and let the invisible tears wash away with each stroke...

About half-an-hour into my swim, girl #2 left our lane. It was me and the old lady for a minute and then she disappeared. I was elated to have the lane to myself and immediately dove (no pun intended) in to my normal "no people" routine which includes a lap of breaststroke and about 5 laps of holding my breath and swimming as far as I can to the other side of the pool, like some silly 5th grader. As I was completing my flip-turn I decided to push off the wall with as much force as I could conjure up and... CRASH!!!! I ran right in to Mrs. Slow-Stroke herself. Of course I should have known that the workhorse just hopped out for a quick drink of water. Nice. Now I'm slower than the old lady and retarded. That's just freakin fantastic.
Now I'm apologizing like crazy to the very sweet, too forgiving old lady and I've messed up my groove. My next 20-something laps are sloppy, uncoordinated and pitiful.

After my rhythm starts to rejoin me, a third party joins our lane. Great. Whatever. She is certainly one of "them" (the competitive swimming kind) and does several uncomfortable laps around me and Mrs. Faster-Than-Me. By this time my goggles are filling up with chlorine, sweat, or tears, and I've almost had enough. I pretend to not be bothered by my slow pace and meticulously execute another flip-turn opening my eyes right before colliding with the old lady again. Yeah. Of course. I nod, and apologize for my painfully slow pace, my inability to circle lanes effectively, the incoordination I was cursed with. On my next few laps I just THANK HEAVEN for not running into her again and try to remember my love for swimming.

A few more laps around the pool and it's already 6:25. I stand at the edge of the pool and pretend to be stretching, even though I'm not really even sure how to do anything that might help my muscle aches. I try to hoist myself out of the pool and my jelly-arms quiver, barely letting me leave the pool. Sweet. A grand exit. I grab what's left of my pride and head to the locker room where I stand in a lukewarm shower and watch the morbidly obese lady struggle to redress herself, like it's an eyesore. I take off my 2-sizes-too-small swimsuit and redress without enthusiasm, devoid of emotion. Maybe drained. Probably tired.

I hop in my car with a minimal amount of energy and sigh like my stinkin world is crashing down. I head back toward Logan. As I'm driving, beating myself up, questioning my ability to even compete in a triathlon, I watch the heifers at the dairy. One is pacing along side a fence and another is on the other side running madly all awkward-like and cattywhompus (which apparently has no 'S'). It's me. That stupid heifer is me.

I speed up just in time to meet eyes with a policeman in an unmarked car. sure. hit me. ticket me. make my day. BUT luckily he doesn't. Maybe you can read defeat on someone's face. Maybe he just saw a heifer driving a car and was too amused to chase me.

So I thank heaven for the second time today and head home to find Max has been screaming for close to an hour, and my Only Solace is off to go to his summer school classes. Why do I swim? Why do I bother? Why do I, the girl that has hated competition in any form ALL MY LIFE, want to compete in a triathlon? I dunno. I just don't know.

...And then Max giggles and laughs with me, maybe at me. Maybe he overheard me telling Lars what happened today. But he numbs it. The feeling of inadequacy. He's my little antidote. And I can't help but laugh.

I'm upset because I'm a slow swimmer. How silly. Who cares if I come in one hour after the last athlete at the triathlon??? At least I'll finish.