Water Buffalo

I slipped a dainty hoof into the water for the second time this week, particularly aware of my reflection in the surrounding windows. I realized that as I took my place in one of the swim lanes, I looked like a glistening ham flailing about helplessly in the water. Not that I can't swim. I can swim just fine, but when it comes to doing laps, I'm not someone who diligently pushes forth using a butterfly or breast stroke... I flail. I just move my arms and legs and hope it gets me to the other side of the pool.
For the second time this week and more importantly, the second day in a row, I swam laps for a half hour. It wasn't earth shattering, but it was a start. It was something to get my heart rate going that didn't have the words extra cheese in it and my blood flowing that didn't have the word "accident" in it anywhere.
This is my new idea to get me motivated because I actually like swimming and the thought of it is much easier to bear than an hour on a treadmill where I always feel like I'm walking at a brisk pace and accomplishing a goal-- until I look in a mirror and see that it infact appears that I am barely moving at all.
It doesn't take Einstein (the genius, not the bagel brother) to point out that its only getting harder for me to have good, functional workouts since my health is on a rapid decline and my gut is trying to swallow the rest of me away.
Getting back into a routine is more than just working my way up to actually completing a workout session that will make me feel proud. For me, as a female, it is also about remembering to bring everything you NEED. This is a frightening concept for anyone who wants to work out in the mornings.
Work clothes. Shoes. Clean Underwear. Make up. Brushes. A decent hairdryer. Socks. A towel bigger than the ones they provide because, well. You know. Anything you need to bring to work that day. Cleaning products that include deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, body soap, a loofa, a toothbrush and toothpaste. I'm probably even forgetting something else.
Well, this evening, without even needing work clothes or makeup, etc. I forgot to bring a bra to change into after I was through swimming. Super. I put on my workout clothes anyway, since they were dry and looked in the mirror hoping that you couldn't tell. Unfortunately, my left boob had entered itself into a wet T-shirt contest and I knew that no hard-working, decent human being needed to see that.
Thusly ended my Monday evening workout. 30 minutes of swimming followed by 10 minutes in the sauna and a wet boob.

Now so far, this has been a boring story, so I wouldn't dare end it there. My fun at the gym continues. I flung my wet bathing suit onto a hook in the locker to keep it from getting my gym bag wet. Why that seemed like a good idea, I don't know. When it came time for me to get it down, I realized short people shouldn't hang things on hooks.

I couldn't get it to flip off the hook. I tried and tried. Panic started to ensue. After all, where else would I get a swimsuit that looked like it was trying to be a prom dress? Finally, I realized the benches weren't cemented to the floor so I was able to drag one over to the locker. My locker was in the corner, so when I stood up on the bench to reach over and detatch the wet cow frock from the hook, I had to reach as far as I could. So what do you suppose happens next? Well. My 800 pound body apparently was able to counteract the weight of the entire bench and so I went down... the bench went up... and surprisingly enough, I didn't end up in the hospital.

So. Narrowly escaping bruises and broken bones, I took my swimsuit, my wet boob, and went home.

I suppose I'll try again tomorrow.