ja_koniga

In the same way I was easily persuaded to strap on a Speedo for extra support, I’m almost completely convinced that competing wouldn’t equate to my demise, or even be half as bad as a circumcision. And less bloody too; assuming that I don’t suddenly learn how to swim five times faster than I already do and slam head first into the wall.

I didn’t compete in yesterday’s event, but I sat near the ceiling to observe. I needed to make sure that there wasn’t some kind of Pagan ritual that involved the slaughtering of the worst swimmer on the team; because that would surely be me. And I’m more proud of that than you know; because six months ago, I was the worst drowning victim on the team.

But I owe a television personality for my determination to compete in the next meet; because besides just comparing our underwear to decide whose were more sexy, we talked a lot about the events and concluded that yes, even though I can’t swim a 1000, 500, or even a 200, I could certainly swim the 50 Freestyle.

My therapist would be so proud.

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