I have been doing a very good job so far, watching the Olympics. I even watch its days later, after I may or may not actually know the outcome. And holy crap the swimming has ruled! I want to glide through the water like Michael Phelps. He is a swimming machine. A killer, I mean a killer.
This morning I decided to test my skills, in our grimey, cloudy apartment complex pool. At first the water was cold, unyielding to my advances. Then, little by little we were working together, I was whooshing through the water with the greatest of ease, and cutting through it's currents with my razor sharp strokes, really it had no choice but to back down and allow me to grace through its curves. Then, when I was crossing the pool doing the butterfly, and envisioning myself propelling through the water just like Phelps, that's when it happened. The pool, bitch slapped me across the face for being so cocky. I propelled myself, face first, into the brick wall of the pool's edge. My teeth jammed up against my bottom lip as it was colliding with the cold hard surface. Instantly I was in shock. I couldn't believe I had reached the end of the pool already, what the heck happened? Then a puckered lip smile crept across my face, because I couldn't believe how fast I had reached the end of the pool already.
4 comments:
I think you're on to something Amber. First Goal: Prefontaine(not sure about spelling). Second Goal: Olympic swim team. I'll root for you in 2012.
"unyielding to my advances. Then, little by little we were working together" Are you still talking about swimming here?
"it had no choice but to back down and allow me to grace through its curves" this one is going into my next romance novel.
Beyond your latent sexual aggression towards pools, I still think it's hilarious that you swam face first into the bridge ledge.
Post a Comment