43 Days Until Dragon*Con 2012!!!
That is about 6 weeks. I can math.
Today I wanted to post something about fitnessing, which I have not done in awhile.
In particular, swimming. A very summertime activity enjoyed by millions who are not connected at the short hairs to Skyrim or World of Warcraft.
Swimming is also an activity that is fun, for most people. At least, I think it is supposed to be.
Growing up, I was forced to learn to swim. There was a lake across the street, a river at the end of my road, and depending on which one you wanted to go to, a beach within 30 minutes or an hour.
Swimming was a necessity for survival. Alligators are not going to outrun themselves.
I learned to swim early, but it was all underwater swimming. I am under the impression that kids who learned to swim at a country club (instead of in the river, competing with cottonmouths) learned to swim “above” the water, like true mini-olympians.
I have never been good at this sort of swimming.
While the other kids looked like graceful like Michael Phelps, I looked gangly and awkward like Mr. Toad. In fact, my full-body natural state of swimming is very toadlike, which is amusing now that I am old and could probably pass for a fat Michigan J. Frog. If Michigan were far less dapper. And talented.
It is a sad day when you realize that you are probably less desirable than a cartoon frog.
In the films, when you see the rich folk swimming laps in their pools, they are backstroking, or some other nimble bourgeois swim method, lazily and calmly back and forth in their marble-lined outdoor bathtub. If someone were to stumble upon me “swimming laps” in my backyard cement pond, they would probably infer that some great beast had somehow stumbled out of the mesozoic era and into a backyard pool in the suburbs. Perhaps a wooly mammoth… who can’t swim. Like Snuffleupagus.
To that end (so you don’t get the two confused):
For instructional and educational purposes, for my Brethren, I have made a moving picture demonstrating what it looks like to swim in a pool. Because I know none of you have ever seen it.
Observe my toadlike form in action:
Spoiler Alert: I have spared you any glimpses of my nearly-naked, hirsute, form blithely and gracefully gliding through the waves like a mermaid’s wet (dry?) dream.
Total chaos, right? That’s why it is called exercise.
And nevermind the leaves in the pool. They clearly do not bother this mastodon. Our pool is outside, under a tree, and we don’t have a pool boy. We’re not Scrooge McDuck or Richie Rich or anything.