Making a splash

Ventured back to the pool this morning for the first time since we returned.  "Hey, where have you been?  Long time no see!" 

Mike and Phil, the lifeguards; the retired teached and ex-lifeguard (me too, so we both spend a fair amount of time critiquing the staff); the smart, middle-aged, cool broad and great swimmer with the fabulous body; my old nemesis who couldn't stand my passing him; a bitch who never says hello and thinks she's Marilyn Bell on her flutter board (whoa, that reference ages me!); the so-polite, middle-aged gentleman who always insists I go first, "no after you, please, you're faster"; the very droll American ex-pat...they were all their usual selves and wanting to be filled in on where I had been. 

Swimming my lengths thus took a little longer, as I had to stop and chat pretty often.  And then there was the anexoric I have befriended.  A very accomplished professional, she is the nicest person, but effectively shunned because of her condition.  I have made it a point to chit-chat in a feeble attempt to make her feel more "normal".  But watching her in the shower is like being in a gross anatomy class in med school.  So painfully emaciated, every inch of her skeleton shows through her paper-thin skin.  She swims 70 laps every morning before work and someone told me she does it again every day after.  Sad.

Back to "my nemesis".  He is now correcting my strokes, so feels much better about his prowess and my inferiority.  "Do you mind if I give you a few tips on your backstroke?" he asks this morning as I swim up.  "Please do."  "Well, if you use your arms like this, instead of like that, you will get much more reach -- like they do in competition.  You have to sort of roll with each stroke," he patiently explains.  Gee, thanks!  That's so much better. 

He's teaching himself the butterfly, so I guess that's my next lesson.  Ugh, painful!  It's good to be back in the pool.