On Swimming Laps

 

Swimming laps is great exercise. It’s a full body workout. But it’s also a huge hassle.

First of all, I have to be ready for the time commitment. There is all the dressing and undressing to consider. Get dressed, drive to the pool, undress, put on my suit, swim, take off my wet suit, shower, and dress again. I could have just gone on a hike.

Secondly, there are the goggles. If you don’t have just the right fit, you are in for trouble. If they leak, it will ruin your swim. I hate to have to empty water from my goggles every few laps. Or even if they do fit, I think all is well until after all the aforementioned showering and dressing. I look in the mirror and notice the huge circles around my eyes. Goggle marks. I look like an owl.

Then there is the chlorine in the water. I suppose this is necessary. But if you swim often it will dry out your skin and your hair. (Even after cramming your hair into an ever-so-flattering swim cap).  I don’t know if it’s the chlorine or just the swimming, but I always sneeze and sniffle for hours after my swim.

So between the goggle marks and the sneezing after a swim, I might feel really healthy, but I look like I have the flu. And if I lose an earplug and get water in my ear, not only do I look like I have the flu, I also look like someone with an extreme nervous tick as I shake my head violently to one side.

People ask me if I get bored counting laps. Not so much. I try to pray or plan my day as I count. But it’s hard to concentrate and not get the numbers off. “Our father (16), who art in heaven (16), hallowed be thy name (17)…” It doesn’t make for a very contemplative prayer. Sometimes I count in French to practice. There are, consequently, times I’ve done too many or too few laps if I’ve let my mind wander.

Having said all this, I really enjoy swimming. I try to go every week. I’m the healthy, wet-haired woman with the circles under her eyes.

Sensible Shoes

I’ve reached the age for sensible shoes.

To be fair, I’ve always opted for sensible shoes. I was a Birkenstock trendsetter back in the day. People thought they were really ugly. Now they are everywhere.

On our recent trip to France, I tried not to look so much like the American tourist that I was. I wore skirts and black tops with a bit of jewelry. I did not carry a backpack. I tried to walk with that confident Parisian stride.

But I wore my Chacos. A dead giveaway. Those are the chunky sandals with a big, supportive arch. And my feet were happy, as happy as two feet can be.

I like the look of women in nice shoes. I know high heels look sexy. And ballet flats look lovely. If I could, I would wear cute, little ballet flats. But I have yet to find inserts that render a pair of flats as comfortable as my supportive, sensible shoes.

It’s easy to tell which shoes are which by the brand names. Uncomfortable, fashionable shoes tend to be called by a person’s name or sound Italian or French. Comfy, sensible shoe brands usually have just one or two syllables and have an earthy, hippie ring to the name.

Young women wear high heels or cute ballet flats. They look great. It doesn’t seem to bother them. I look at these young women as I would someone from another planet. How can they walk around all day without a pained expression on their face?

Just wait, young women. Your day will come. One day you will reach a certain age and the level of comfort will become more important than the level of fashion. And you will be wearing comfortable, sensible shoes like the rest of us.

Fortunately, I live in Colorado. Not Paris or New York. I can go almost anywhere in sensible shoes. Ok, maybe it’s stretching it to go to a wedding or formal event in my Chacos. Not that I haven’t considered it.

I am “comfortable” in saying that I totally “support” sensible shoes.

 

The Refrigerator Personality Test

You can tell a lot about people by looking in their refrigerator.

Are things neatly arranged or shoved in there haphazardly? Is it filled without an inch to spare or practically empty? Are there lots of restaurant leftovers and prepared foods or only veggies and raw ingredients?

I want to be the kind of person who has everything under control. I want to be the one with fresh, healthy food neatly arranged in my clean refrigerator.

But I don’t quite measure up to my aspirations. My fridge is somewhat clean. It’s sort of orderly. There are no containers with mystery leftovers, but there is a jar or two of condiments which haven’t been opened in a while. Maybe I should double check the expiration date on that mustard?

I think we could make a new personality test based on the question, “What’s in your fridge?”

Move over Myers-Briggs. No more computer questionnaires. Just open the door and the answers will be evident.

We could have categories for the Refrigerator Personality Test (the RPT for short).

One category would measure your organizational abilities. You would either turn out to be an “O” for OCD or an “S” for slob.

Another category would measure how you make decisions. “I” for impulse buyer – evidenced by more food in your refrigerator than could possibly be consumed. Or “T” for tightwad – with a practically empty fridge so that when you go to make something you never have all the necessary ingredients.

And there could be a category for cooking choices. “E” for easy living – a few restaurant leftovers and some snacks. Or a “R” – for the hardcore cook who only uses raw ingredients. The only thing you could grab between meals is a carrot.

Oh, and the health factor as well. “J” for junk food, of course. Bring on the high fructose corn syrup and sugar. And “H” for Holier Than Thou, that stuff will never touch my lips.

But like the Myers-Briggs, most of us don’t fit neatly into the categories provided.

I’d probably test as a STRH (but it’s a STRetcH). I have my junk food moments and some pre-prepared foods. The test is not always accurate.

Dinner tonight looks like veggies and chicken with possibly expired mustard. And maybe some chocolate or some ice cream afterwards.

What’s in your fridge?

 

Smart Phones

I call my phone a “somewhat smart phone.” It’s an off-brand.

Calling these phones androids sounds like they should be ultra techie. They may be capable of all the things that really smart phones can do, but I think it takes more operator savvy than I can muster.

I have an i-pad and I am comfortable with that technology. I should probably cough up the money for a real smartphone.

Then all the Apple apps made for the i-phone would work more smoothly. Life might be easier. Not so much frustration with my phone.

But for now, I think my “somewhat smart phone” matches my personality. Cheap. Somewhat smart – with a memory chip that is occasionally faulty. And definitely off-brand.

I’ve had it forget people’s names. The number will show up, but the contact name will have been dropped somehow. Just like me.

Its battery runs out by the end of the day if I’ve left some app running by mistake. Just like me. My battery will run out these days if I’m doing something that uses too much bandwidth.

Sometimes I see the message, “Currently unable to download. Please try again later.” Yes. I feel exactly like that at various times during the week.

The camera is ok. Maybe a bit fuzzy. Or maybe that’s me looking at the pictures without my reading glasses.

I hesitate to give up my android mini-me. It’s too much like me. But sometimes it’s the relationships with those too much like us that annoy us the most.

Besides, do I want to be that connected to the world? Do I want to be accessible to everyone I know all the time?

Nothing personal, but I don’t think so.

Still, if I do get an i-phone maybe it would actually help me instead of frustrate me. I could be the new and improved me.

Maybe an apple a day keeps frustration away.

Another Day at the Library

A forty-year-old man approached me at the circulation desk at the library.

He said, “I’m embarrassed because I need to pay for a book. I put it in my backpack, but I put some ice cream in there too.”

It was August. The ice cream had melted.

I looked up his account.

“You’re lucky,” I said. “At least it was an older paperback. It only costs $7.99.”

He gave me his debit card.

While I was processing the transaction, I noticed that he was looking at me – intently.

“You were probably quite good-looking when you were young,” he said.

What?  What kind of a comment was this? Was this guy trying to flirt with me? Or was he just trying to give me some kind of bizarre “compliment”.

I kept my head down and mumbled something.

It got worse. He continued, “Because you’re still somewhat attractive, even now.”

Really? This was too much. If this was a pick-up line, it belongs in some sort of Hall of Fame of the worst pick-up lines ever.

“Sign here,” I said, handing him the receipt.

I tried very hard to keep calm. I didn’t want to start laughing until he was a good distance from the desk. At that point, I had to take a short break to compose myself.

Every time I think about this exchange, I chuckle. I tell my husband, “You better watch out for the competition. Remember, I’m still somewhat attractive, even now.”

At least to the clever kind of guy who puts ice cream in his backpack in August.