I cancelled tomorrow’s lesson

That's really me.

It's not a stomach ache!  It’s the swimmer’s shoulder, I swear! After practicing yesterday morning (on my own! all by myself! without anyone telling me I had to be there!), I spent the rest of the day icing it and then went to bed with a heating pad (which is, by the way, delightful). I never know if it’s heat or cold that fixes all bodily woes so I opted for both. And still I woke up this morning feeling like I had pitched nine innings and totally wished I had one of those badass ice sleeves to make me feel like a real athlete. (Maybe I should buy one of those.) I think it was racing the water walkers that did it.  They're fast!  They didn’t know I was racing them and I’m sure I was very subtle about it except for the one time when I yelled, “Eat that, blue hairs!”

There was an older woman there yesterday---I know gyms are "judgement free zones" but go with me here---who was water walking a couple of lanes over from me and she was rocking a full face---a very thick, full face---of makeup.  Also, the hair was very high and layered and teased and stiff. She caught me staring---I was just so impressed with the control---and I tried to pull off the I’m-not-staring-I’m-smiling thing, but she wasn’t having any of it. So I splashed her. (Almost. I really almost did.)

That’s me not being judgy.

But in my defense,  I’m sure Ethel and Dottie were laughing it up at my expense last night at Meat Loaf Monday over at the senior center.

“Not only could she not make it the length of the pool,” said Ethel, bits of loaf flying out with each word, “but at one point her little booby came out and homegirl [Ethel calls me homegirl] does not have a rack to be proud of. My Stanley wouldn’t have looked twice at that little she/him.”

That Ethel is such an exaggerator.  Stanley loved my rack.  But there is truth in her tale.  I looked down after an especially vigorous lap yesterday (dog paddle) and, like the world’s smallest lobster buoy, there I was floating on the surface. This is why I’m a writer who hides inside all day. I really do make a fool of myself wherever I go. It’s not a complex. Sweats on backwards and then the jug slip---it’s only a matter of time before I get caught up in a pant leg during my post-shower speed changing and take the curtain with me as I fall ass-up in front of everyone. And I bet I’ll be wearing bad underwear that day. And that Ethel...she would really make shit out of me then.

But my shoulder---this is where I was going---it hurts! I’m sure I’m doing something wrong to be in this kind of pain. I called my instructor and left her a voicemail letting her know that I had to cancel tomorrow’s lesson.

”Hey Coach, it’s me. [She teaches several people but I said just ‘me’ ‘cause she’ll know.] Listen, the shoulder is really wailing today so I think it’s best if I give it a couple of days to rest before hitting Ol’ Blue. [That’s the pool...it’s swimmer talk...she’ll know.] I sure hope I’ll be ready for the big meet Saturday against East Valley. I know you said the scouts are going to be there looking to see if I have what it takes to swim at the college level and finally get out of this podunk town. Remember when you told me about the scouts coming? When we were in the shower that one time?”

That’s an exact transcript of the message I left her.

And she left me one back! And there was concern in her voice. Nobody sleeps when the star athlete is on the fritz. (“On the fritz” is definitely a phrase people use to describe injured athletes and not damaged appliances.) She wondered what was going on ("I wonder what's going on," she said, with what I'm pretty sure was restrained panic in her voice) and she agreed that we should postpone the lesson until Friday so I can take a couple of days to recuperate. I’ll probably do some soup-can-curls to get my strength back. Coach told me we could cancel Friday too if still hurts at the end of the week, so I’ll keep you posted. I’m pretty sure the town is putting together some kind of website so people can know how I’m doing...no big deal.

And I’m in good hands. Dan will be waiting on me hand and foot.

Maybe I should buy a bell.